Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Spider-Society had been in recovery mode for 3 months. 3 months of awkward apologies, careful negotiations, and Miguel begrudgingly admitting that maybe—MAYBE—he’d been a little too harsh about the whole “canon event” thing.

Miles Morales had spent most of that time rebuilding bridges. Some were easier than others. Gwen had apologized approximately forty-seven times. Pavitr sent him care packages. Even Miguel had gruffly acknowledged that Miles had been “not entirely wrong.”

But what Miles really wanted was simpler than grand gestures and formal apologies.

He wanted his original team back.

The ones who’d first shown him what being Spider-Man could mean. The ones who’d fought alongside him against Kingpin, who’d believed in him (eventually!) when he was just a kid trying to fill shoes that felt three sizes too big.

So he sent out a message to the group chat that had been empty for far too long.

 

Miles: hey. you guys wanna hangout? like old times?

 

The responses came quickly.

 

Gwen: YES. Absolutely yes.

Peter B: I’m in. Mayday’s been lonely

Peni: ٩(＾◡＾)۶

Porker: I’ll bring snacks!

Noir: I have an idea for where we should meet.

 

Miles smiled at his phone. This was good. This felt right.

Then Noir’s next message came through:

 

Noir: Come to my dimension. I know the perfect bonding activity.

Peter B: …should I be concerned?

Noir: A little.

Peter B: That’s not reassuring.

Noir: It’s not meant to be.

 

Miles laughed. Same old Noir.

 

Miles: i’m sure it’s fine! when should we come over?

Noir: Tonight. 10 PM my time. I’ll send coordinates.

Gwen: This is either going to be really fun or really weird.

Porker: Why not both?

 

-----

Miles portaled into Noir’s dimension at exactly 10 PM, the grayscale world materializing around him. The others appeared shortly after—Gwen in her hood, Peter B. looking tired but happy, Peni in her mech, and Porker with an oversized bag of what Miles assumed were snacks.

Noir was waiting on a rooftop, his signature trench coat billowing dramatically despite the lack of wind.

“You made it,” he said, voice carrying that old-timey quality that Miles had missed.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Miles bounded over. “So what’s the bonding activity? Please tell me it’s not another musical number because I still haven’t recovered from—”

“We’re stopping an arson attack,” Noir said simply.

Everyone froze.

“I’m sorry,” Gwen said slowly. “Did you say arson attack?”

“Against a synagogue, specifically.” Noir checked his watch. “Should be starting in approximately fifteen minutes. Plenty of time to get into position.”

“THAT’S your idea of a bonding activity?” Peter B.’s voice climbed an octave.

“We bond through shared adversity and the protection of the innocent,” Noir said, like this was obvious. “What did you think we were going to do? Play board games?”

“YES,” Porker squeaked. “LITERALLY YES. THAT’S WHAT NORMAL PEOPLE DO.”

“We’re not normal people. We’re Spider-People.” Noir was already moving toward the edge of the roof. “Come on. The synagogue is three blocks east.”

Miles looked at the others. Gwen shrugged. Peter B. sighed heavily but started stretching. Peni’s mech whirred in what might have been excitement. Porker pulled out his wooden mallet with a resigned expression.

“You know what?” Miles said, grinning despite himself. “This is the weirdest team-building exercise ever, but I’m kind of here for it.”

“That’s the spirit,” Noir said approvingly. “Now let’s go punch some Nazis.”

“There are NAZIS?” Gwen yelped.

“It’s my dimension. There are always Nazis.”

“I hate the 1930s,” Peter B. muttered.

-----

They swung through the cityscape, all shadows and dramatic angles, until Noir held up a hand to stop them on a building overlooking a modest synagogue.

Below, three men in dark coats were approaching with gasoline canisters.

“Okay,” Miles whispered. “So what’s the plan?”

“We stop them,” Noir said bluntly.

“That’s not a plan, that’s a goal,” Gwen pointed out.

“The plan is: we drop down, we incapacitate them, and we make sure they never think about doing something like this ever again.” Noir’s voice went cold. “I’m partial to breaking kneecaps, but I understand if you prefer a gentler approach.”

“Let’s maybe… not break kneecaps,” Peter B. suggested. “We can just web them up and call the authorities?”

“Your dimension has such soft justice,” Noir said, but there was amusement in his voice. “Fine. We’ll do it your way. This time.”

“I’ll take point,” Gwen said, already positioning herself. “Miles, you go left. Peter, right. Peni, can you provide overwatch?”

“Affirmative!” Peni’s mech chirped.

“And me?” Porker asked.

“Snacks,” everyone said in unison.

“I HAVE A MALLET.”

“We know, buddy,” Peter B. said gently. “Save it for emergencies.”

Miles felt something warm settle in his chest. This. This was what he’d missed. The easy teamwork, the banter, the way they all just… fit together.

“On 3,” Gwen whispered. “1… 2…”

“THREE!” Miles launched himself forward.

What followed was a brief, chaotic scuffle that involved a lot of webbing, one very surprised Nazi who got hit in the face with Porker’s mallet (“IT WAS AN EMERGENCY”), and Noir delivering what he called “physical corrections.”

Within five minutes, all three would-be arsonists were webbed to a lamppost, groaning in various states of consciousness.

“Well,” Peter B. said, dusting off his hands. “That was… something.”

“That was AWESOME,” Miles corrected, still riding the adrenaline high. “Did you see that combo Gwen and I pulled off?”

“The synchronized kick?” Gwen grinned. “I’ve been practicing. Check this out—”

She demonstrated a new move she’d learned, a complex spin-kick that ended in a perfect landing. Everyone applauded.

“Very nice,” Noir said approvingly. “The dedication to the craft is admirable.”

“Speaking of craft,” Peni chimed in from her mech, “I upgraded my web-canons based on the designs I saw in the Society archives. 47% more efficient.”

“That’s my girl,” Peter B. said proudly.

“And SPEAKING of improvements,” Porker held up his mallet, “I carved this from reinforced oak! It’s got a spider and everything!”

“It’s beautiful,” Miles said sincerely. “Did you hit that guy in the face with your beautiful handcrafted mallet?”

“He was going to set fire to a house of worship. He had it coming.”

“Fair.”

Noir pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, leaning against the lamppost next to their webbed captives. “You all did well tonight. Swift. Efficient. Minimal property damage.”

“Is this really what you do for fun?” Gwen asked.

“I don’t do it for fun,” Noir said, smoke curling from his words. “I do it because it needs doing. But doing it with people I trust?” He looked at each of them. “That makes it more bearable.”

Miles felt that warmth in his chest again, stronger this time.

“You know,” Peter B. said, settling down next to Noir, “in my dimension, bonding usually involves pizza and maybe a movie.”

“We can do that after,” Noir conceded. “I know a place. They make a mean knish.”

“What’s a knish?” Miles asked.

“Oh kid,” Peter B. said sadly. “You’re missing out.”

They sat there for a while, the webbed Nazis groaning next to them, waiting for Noir’s police contacts to arrive. Porker distributed snacks—somehow he’d managed to bring sandwiches that weren’t flattened. Peni played some music through her mech’s speakers, something jazzy that fit the noir aesthetic.

Gwen sat down next to Miles, bumping his shoulder. “You okay? I know things have been rough.”

“Yeah,” Miles said, and he meant it. “I’m good. This is… this is just what I needed. Just us. Being Spider-People together.”

“Even if it involves stopping hate crimes as a team-building exercise?”

“Especially then.” Miles looked around at his friends—his original team. “We did something good tonight. Together. That’s what it’s all about, right?”

“When did you get so wise?” Gwen teased.

“I learned from the best.” He smiled at her, then at Peter B., who was now holding a sleeping Mayday (who’d somehow appeared in his baby carrier—Miles had questions but decided not to ask). At Peni, who was showing Porker some modification plans. At Noir, who was standing guard, watching the streets with that eternal vigilance.

“Thank you for this,” Miles called to Noir. “Seriously. This was perfect.”

“We protect what matters,” Noir said simply. “And you all matter. To me. To this world.” He paused, then added in a softer voice, “I missed this. I missed you all.”

“Group hug!” Porker announced, and before anyone could protest, they were all being pulled into an embrace that somehow included Peni’s entire mech.

“This is structurally unsound,” Peni said, but she was laughing.

“I can’t breathe,” Peter B. wheezed.

“Good,” Gwen laughed. “Suffer with us.”

Miles laughed, surrounded by his team, his friends, his family. In the distance, horses whinnied as the authorities arrived. Above them, the sky loomed in eternal gray. But here, in this moment, everything felt colorful and bright and right.

“Same time next month?” Noir asked as they finally broke apart.

“Only if we can do something less violent,” Peter B. said.

“We could stop a robbery?”

“NOIR.”

“Fine. We’ll get knishes first. THEN stop a robbery.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

Peter B. smiled. “No. I don’t.”

Miles portaled home that night with a full stomach (knishes were AMAZING), a happy heart, and approximately forty new photos of his team being ridiculous. Gwen had gotten a great one of Noir trying to teach Porker how to brood properly. Peter B. had fallen asleep on a bench with Mayday on his chest. Peni had somehow managed to make her mech do a peace sign.

Before bed, Miles updated the group chat:

 

Miles: ty for tonight, guys. love you all. even if Noir’s idea of bonding is fighting crime.

Noir: There is no stronger bond than shared purpose and mutual protection.

Gwen: …he’s not wrong.

Peter B: He’s a LITTLE wrong.

Peni: Statistically speaking, shared experiences do increase group cohesion.

Porker: My mallet has a body count now and I don’t know how to feel about it.

Miles: we should do this more often guys!!

Gwen: Stopping hate crimes?

Miles: hanging out. being a team. whatever that looks like.

Noir: Next month. Same time.

Peter B: Can we PLEASE just get pizza next time?

Noir: We’ll see.

Miles fell asleep smiling, his phone buzzing with continued conversation, feeling more like himself than he had in months.

Sometimes bonding meant movie nights and pizza.

Sometimes it meant stopping arson attacks against synagogues.

Either way, as long as they were together, Miles was good.

His gang was back.

And that was all that mattered.

Chapter Text

Peni: hey guys! my turn to host? ๑(◕‿◕)๑

 

Miles stared at the message for a long moment. Peni had always been quieter about her dimension than the rest of them. She showed up for their monthly hangouts, participated enthusiastically, but whenever the topic shifted to her world, she got… evasive.

Which was fine. Everyone had their things. Miles wasn’t going to push.

 

Miles: ofc! when were you thinking?

Peni: this weekend? saturday night 8pm?

Gwen: I’m in!

Peter B: Mayday’s with MJ this weekend so I’m free

Noir: I’ll be there.

Porker: Wouldn’t miss it!

Peni: yay! i’ll send coords (⇀‸↼‶)⊃━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

Peni: fair warning: bring ur A-game ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ

Miles: ???

Peni: you’ll see.

 

-----

Miles portaled into Peni’s dimension on Saturday night, immediately struck by the neon-soaked Tokyo cityscape. Futuristic. Beautiful. Exactly what he’d expected from—

The ground shook.

“MILES, MOVE!”

He looked up just in time to see a building-sized mechanical monstrosity with too many eyes and wings that looked like they were made of dark energy swooping toward him.

He dove left. Gwen grabbed him mid-roll, yanking him behind cover as the thing crashed into where he’d been standing.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?” Miles shouted.

“Demon mech!” Peni’s voice crackled over a comm system. “Class-3 aerial variant! I’m engaging!”

Her mech—much larger and more battle-worn than Miles remembered—rocketed past them, firing some kind of energy weapon at the creature.

“THIS IS THE HANGOUT?” Peter B. yelled, landing next to them. He had what looked like a medical kit strapped to his back. “THIS IS WHAT SHE MEANT BY ‘BRING YOUR A-GAME’?”

“Apparently!” Gwen webbed up to a better vantage point. “How do we fight that thing?”

“Raw!” Porker appeared, mallet in hand, looking grimly determined. “We go RAW!”

“What does that even—”

The demon mech’s tail swept through the building they were hiding behind. Debris rained down.

“SCATTER!” Noir’s voice cut through the chaos. “Peni, what are its weak points?”

“Joints! Eyes! And there’s a core in the chest cavity but you’ll have to—INCOMING!”

Another demon mech dropped from the sky.

Then another.

“Oh, that’s just great,” Peter B. said faintly. “There are more.”

-----

What followed was thirty minutes of the most intense combat Miles had ever experienced. These weren’t just villains. They were massive, flying mechanical demons that seemed specifically designed to cause nightmares.

Gwen used her ballet training to dodge impossible attacks, getting in close to web up joints. Noir found creative ways to blind the eye-clusters with smoke bombs and precisely thrown debris. Porker—somehow, impossibly—was cracking mechanical armor with his wooden mallet, screaming what might have been war cries or jokes, Miles couldn’t tell.

Peter B. was everywhere, coordinating their movements, calling out patterns, and—

“MILES, LEFT LEG, NOW!”

Miles hit the demon mech’s left leg joint with a venom blast just as Peni fired from above. The leg buckled. The creature crashed down, and—

It started bleeding.

Not oil. Not coolant.

Blood.

“Oh god,” Miles said. “Oh god, that’s actual blood—”

“Don’t think about it too hard!” Peni shouted. “Core! Hit the core!”

Miles forced himself to move, to web-swing up to the exposed chest cavity where something pulsed with sickly yellow light. He hit it with everything he had.

The demon mech screamed—a sound that was half-mechanical, half-organic—and went still.

“Another down,” Peni’s voice was tight. “Four more incoming.”

“FOUR?” Gwen yelped.

“Welcome to my dimension,” Peni said grimly. “This is a slow night.”

-----

By the time the last demon mech fell, they were all covered in various fluids that Miles was trying very hard not to identify. His hands were shaking. Gwen was breathing hard. Even Noir looked rattled.

And then Peter B. was moving, medical kit open, assessing injuries with clinical efficiency.

“Gwen, that cut on your arm needs cleaning. Miles, let me see your ribs—that’s going to bruise but nothing’s broken. Noir, you’re favoring your left side, sit down before you collapse.”

“I’m fine,” Noir said, then immediately sat down.

“Peni, status?” Peter B. called up.

“Minor damage to SP//dr. I’m okay.” Her mech landed heavily. The cockpit opened, revealing Peni looking exhausted and far older than her years. “Casualties?”

“None critical.” Peter B. was already pulling out supplies Miles had never seen in a Spider-Man’s kit. Sterile equipment. Surgical tools. “Miles, I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”

“Use your venom blast. Low setting. On Noir’s shoulder wound.”

“What? Why—”

“Electrical current can disrupt pain signals. You can act as a localized anesthetic.” Peter B. was already cleaning the wound—a nasty gash that had torn through Noir’s coat. “I need to stitch this and we don’t have proper painkillers.”

“You want me to SHOCK him?”

“Controlled shock. Think of it like… a TENS unit. Can you do that?”

Miles looked at Noir, who nodded once.

“Okay. Okay, I can try.” Miles placed his hand near the wound, letting just a trickle of electricity flow. “Like this?”

“Perfect. Hold that.” Peter B.‘s hands moved with practiced precision, stitching the wound closed with the efficiency of someone who’d done this far too many times.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Gwen asked, watching with wide eyes.

“Had to go undercover as a surgeon once. Long story. Don’t ask.” Peter B. tied off the suture. “Miles, you can stop now. Noir, you’re going to be sore but you’ll live.”

“Appreciated,” Noir said, his voice slightly strained.

“Gwen, your turn.”

-----

While Peter B. played field medic, the rest of them fell into an unspoken system.

Gwen started cleaning up the blood pools with her webs, creating makeshift barriers around the worst of it.

“Can’t have civilians stumbling into this.” She’d mumbled.

Peni was already using SP//dr’s mechanical arms to drag demon mech corpses toward what she called “the labs.”

“What happens to them?” Miles asked, helping her move one particularly heavy piece.

“Analysis. Disposal. Sometimes we can repurpose the tech.” Peni’s voice was flat. “This is every week, Miles. Sometimes twice a week. We have protocols.”

Miles felt something twist in his chest. “Peni…”

“Don’t.” She didn’t look at him. “This is just… what it is here. What it’s always been.”

Noir was methodically collecting pieces of demon mech technology, sorting them into categories.

“For the authorities?” Miles guessed.

“Evidence. Intelligence. Some of it’s valuable for defense systems.” Noir held up what looked like a power core. “This dimension has learned to adapt.”

“By making kids fight demons,” Miles said quietly.

“By surviving,” Noir corrected. “However they can.”

Porker was doing his best to keep spirits up, cracking jokes while helping clear debris.

“Hey, at least the giant robot monsters are polite enough to attack in groups! Very efficient! Time-management kings!”

It shouldn’t have been funny. But Miles found himself laughing anyway, the sound slightly hysterical.

-----

They worked in silence for a while, falling into a rhythm that felt both foreign and strangely natural. Peter B. moved between them, checking injuries, offering water, making sure no one was going into shock. Miles found himself playing anesthesiologist twice more—once for Gwen’s deeper cuts, once for Peni herself when she’d taken shrapnel from a demon mech explosion.

“You’re good at this,” Peni said quietly, as Miles carefully controlled the current while Peter B. worked.

“I don’t want to be good at this,” Miles admitted.

“None of us did.” Peni’s smile was sad. “But here we are.”

-----

Hours later, they sat on a rooftop overlooking the cleaned-up battlefield. Medical supplies were packed away. Demon mech corpses were secured for transport. The city was slowly returning to normal, emergency services doing their sweep.

“So,” Gwen said finally. “That was…”

“Horrifying?” Peter B. supplied.

“Traumatic?” Noir added.

“Really goddamn heavy?” Miles finished.

“All of the above,” Gwen confirmed.

Peni sat with her knees pulled up, looking smaller than usual. “This is what I wanted to show you. Not— this, but… what I deal with. What my dimension is.” She took a shaky breath.

“Every week. Sometimes more. These things just keep coming and we keep fighting them and I just…”

Her voice cracked.

Miles moved immediately, pulling her into a hug. The others joined without hesitation, creating a protective circle around her.

“You’re not alone anymore,” Gwen said fiercely. “You hear me? Not anymore.”

“We’re here,” Peter B. added. “Whenever you need us.”

“Monthly hangouts, combat edition,” Porker tried to joke, but his voice was gentle.

“We protect what matters,” Noir said simply. “And you matter.”

Peni cried then, really cried, in a way Miles suspected she hadn’t let herself in a long time. They held her through it, this strange little family of Spider-People who’d seen too much and still kept going.

“I’m sorry,” Peni finally said, pulling back and wiping her eyes. “I shouldn’t have—this was supposed to be a hangout—”

“This WAS a hangout,” Miles interrupted. “We hung out. We fought demon mechs together. We learned that Peter B. has the most random skill set ever—”

“Still not elaborating on the surgeon thing,” Peter B. cut in.

“—and we learned that I can be a human TENS unit, which is weird but also kinda cool?” Miles continued. “And we learned that Peni’s been dealing with actual hell and we weren’t there for her.”

“You’re here now,” Peni said softly.

“And we’re coming back,” Gwen said firmly. “Every month. We’ll help with this.”

“You don’t have to—”

“We want to,” Noir cut in. “This is what we do. What we’ve always done.”

“Fight the impossible and make jokes about it?” Porker suggested.

“Exactly.”

-----

They stayed on that rooftop until dawn, talking about everything and nothing. Peni explained the demon mech situation—an incursion that had started years ago, after her father died. She’d been fighting alone, with her dimension’s defense forces, against an enemy that didn’t stop.

“We thought we were just having fun hangouts,” Miles said, feeling guilty. “While you were dealing with this.”

“The hangouts helped,” Peni insisted. “Knowing there was something normal out there. Something that wasn’t… this.”

“Nothing about stopping arson attacks and fighting Nazis is normal,” Gwen pointed out.

“More normal than demon mechs,” Peni countered.

“Fair point.”

Peter B. pulled out his phone, scrolling through photos of Mayday. “You know what helps me? Remembering what I’m fighting for. Not just abstract concepts. Actual people. Actual moments.” He showed them a picture of Mayday covered in spaghetti, grinning. “This. This is why I do it.”

“What do you fight for?” Miles asked Peni gently.

She was quiet for a long moment.

Then: “My father’s legacy. My city. The people who can’t fight for themselves.” She looked at each of them. “And now? You guys. This team. This family.”

“Then we fight for each other,” Noir said. “All of us. No matter the dimension.”

They made a pact that morning, as the sun rose over a Tokyo that was equal parts beautiful and broken. Monthly hangouts would continue. They’d rotate dimensions. And they’d face whatever came together.

Even if “whatever came” included demon mechs, arson attacks, or—as Porker ominously predicted—“something even weirder next time.”

-----

Group Chat - Later That Day

 

Miles: so that was intense

Gwen: Understatement of the century

Peter B: Everyone healing up okay?

Noir: Shoulder is sore but functional.

Peni: SP//dr needs repairs but I’m okay. really.

Peni: thank you all for coming. for helping. for not running away screaming.

Porker: Pal, we’re Spider-People. Running away screaming ain’t in our nature.

Porker: Running TOWARD danger while screaming, however…

Miles: next month is my dimension. promise it will be less traumatic.

Gwen: Can we make that a rule? Decreasing trauma levels per hangout?

Noir: Where’s the fun in that?

Peter B: NOIR

Noir: I joke. Mostly.

Peni: any dimension. any danger. i’ll be there!! ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ

Miles: same

Gwen: Same

Peter B: Same. Though maybe let’s invest in a proper medical kit for the group.

Porker: And therapy. So much therapy.

Miles: we have each other. that’s way better than therapy.

Gwen: That’s not how therapy works???

Miles: emotional support Spider-People!!!

Peni: i like that better anyway

Noir: Agreed.

Porker: I’m bringing snacks! Speaking of which, I have a new recipe!

Gwen: NO

Porker: You didn’t even let me finish!

Peter B: We’ve learned our lesson about your “experimental cooking”

Porker: That was ONE TIME

Gwen: It was 3 times

Porker: The third time was a bit!

 

Miles smiled at his phone, reading the familiar banter. They’d seen things tonight that would probably haunt them. They’d fought monsters that shouldn’t exist. They’d played roles—surgeon, anesthesiologist, cleanup crew, evidence collector—that no one should have to play.

But they’d done it together.

And somehow, that made it bearable.

His gang was back. Really back. Not just for the good times, but for the nightmares too.

And as Miles fell asleep that night, sore and exhausted and still smelling faintly of demon mech blood, he felt grateful.

This was family.

And in six different dimensions, six Spider-People went to sleep knowing they weren’t alone.

And in Earth-14512, Peni Parker smiled at her phone, feeling lighter than she had in years.

The hangouts had gotten close in a way that none of them had ever wanted.

But also in exactly the way they needed.

Chapter Text

Miles: ok so my turn to host

Gwen: Please tell me it’s something normal

Miles: define normal

Peter B: Literally anything that doesn’t involve demons, Nazis, or near-death experiences

Miles: …

Miles: i can’t promise that last one

Peni: oh no

Porker: So what’re we doing this time?

Miles: trafficking ring. drugs, weapons, people. like… rlly bad

Noir: I’ll bring my brass knuckles.

Peter B: Miles. Buddy. ???

Miles: i’ve been tracking them for months! they’re moving a huge shipment this Saturday and I can’t take them down alone. too many variables, too much security.

Gwen: Sooo you need us for backup

Miles: i need you all for a full tactical operation

Peni: …did you just say tactical operation? ／(=✪㉨✪=)＼

Miles: i’ve been spending too much time with the Society’s strategy division haven’t I

Peter B: Oh no.

Miles: i have roles assigned and everything!

Porker: Oh this is gonna be complicated isn’t it

Miles: very

 

-----

They met in Miles’ dimension on Friday night for a briefing. Miles had set up a whole situation in an abandoned building—maps, photos, surveillance footage, the works.

“Okay,” Gwen said slowly, looking at the setup. “You’ve been busy.”

“I’ve been thorough,” Miles corrected, pointing at the main map. “So. This is the warehouse. Three entry points, two of which are heavily guarded. They’re moving product tomorrow night—drugs, weapons, and…” His jaw tightened. “People. Mostly young women being trafficked.”

The mood in the room shifted immediately.

“How many hostiles?” Noir asked, all business.

“Estimated 20-30. Armed. Experienced.” Miles pulled up more photos. “The boss rarely shows up in person, but intel suggests he’ll be there for this shipment. It’s too valuable to trust to underlings.”

“And you want to take them all down in one night,” Peter B. said.

“I want to shut them down permanently. Rescue the victims, get evidence for the police.” Miles looked at each of them. “I can’t do this alone. And I trust you guys more than anyone.”

“Then let’s do it,” Peni said firmly. “What do you need?”

Miles pulled out a folder for each of them. “I’ve assigned roles based on your skills and what the mission needs.”

-----

“Peter,” Miles started, handing him a folder. “You’re going undercover as a homeless lookout.”

Peter B. opened the folder, his expression going complicated. “You want me to… act like I’m on drugs?”

“You said once that you went deep undercover during your early years. That you’d seen some stuff.” Miles met his eyes. “I need someone who can sell being strung out and desperate enough that they’d take money to watch a corner. Someone the traffickers won’t see as a threat.”

Peter B. was quiet for a long moment. “I can do that,” he said finally.

“If anything goes wrong, if they try to turn you into a plant, Gwen’s your extraction.”

Gwen held up her folder. “I’m backup?”

“You’re insurance. You’ll be positioned on the rooftop across from Peter’s corner. If things go south, you get him out.” Miles pointed to the map. “You’re also our secondary entry point if the main plan fails.”

“Understood.”

“Peni, you’re tech.”

Peni’s eyes lit up. “Finally, something in my wheelhouse that doesn’t involve demon mechs!”

“You’ll be remote, tapped into their security systems, their communications, everything. I need to know what’s happening in that warehouse before I go in.” Miles handed her a drive. “This has everything I’ve collected so far. Can you work with it?”

Peni plugged the drive into her tablet, fingers flying. “This is good intel, Miles. Really good. I can definitely work with this.” She paused. “You’ve been doing this alone?”

“Ganke helped with some of it,” Miles admitted. “But yeah. Mostly alone.”

“Not anymore,” Noir said. “My role?”

“You’re going in as a customer.”

Everyone turned to stare at Miles.

“Specifically, a customer interested in the weapons,” Miles clarified quickly. “You’ve got the look— mobster type. They’ll buy it. You go in, browse the merchandise, keep them distracted while I work.”

“Distracted how?” Noir asked, though he was already nodding.

“Ask questions. Negotiate prices. Make them think you’re a serious buyer with serious money.” Miles pulled up a photo of the warehouse interior. “The longer you keep them focused on you, the more time I have to locate the victims and sabotage their operation.”

“And me?” Porker asked casually.

“You’re the distraction.”

“I’m always the distraction,” Porker sighed.

“Because you’re good at it,” Miles said. “I need chaos. Confusion. Something that pulls attention away from the warehouse at a critical moment. Can you do that?”

Porker’s eyes gleamed with unholy light. “Oh, I can do that all right.”

“Good. Because once I give the signal, you need to make them think the cops are coming, the building’s on fire, or the apocalypse started. Whatever it takes.”

“This is the most complicated hangout to date,” Peter B. said faintly.

“This isn’t a hangout anymore,” Gwen said. “This is a mission.”

“It’s both,” Miles insisted. “We hang out by fighting crime together. That’s literally what we do.”

 

-----

Saturday night arrived too quickly and too slowly all at once.

Miles watched through his comms as Peter B. shuffled into position on the corner three blocks from the warehouse. He’d transformed himself—clothes rumpled and dirty, movements twitchy and unfocused, eyes glassy in a way that made Miles’s chest hurt.

“Peter, you good?” Miles whispered into the comms.

“I’m fine.” Peter’s voice was distant, method-acting even through the communication. “Just… been a while since I had to do this.”

“Gwen, eyes on Peter?”

“Got him,” Gwen confirmed from her rooftop position. “Two guys just approached. They’re talking to him.”

Miles watched through Peni’s hacked camera feed as money changed hands. Peter took a position sitting against a wall, perfect view of the warehouse entrance, looking for all the world like just another casualty of the city’s drug epidemic.

“I hate this,” Gwen muttered. “I really hate this.”

“Me too,” Miles agreed. “Noir, you’re up.”

 

-----

Noir walked into the warehouse with the confidence of a man who’d bought illegal weapons a thousand times. Which, given his dimension, he probably had.

“Gentlemen,” he said, voice carrying confidently. “I’m told you have merchandise that might interest me.”

Miles, invisible and silent, slipped in behind him.

The warehouse was worse than he’d imagined. Crates of drugs stacked like legitimate cargo. Weapons laid out on tables like some twisted showroom. And in the back, behind a cage made of rusty chain-link fence—

People.

Mostly women, like he’d feared. Some men. All looking terrified and exhausted.

Miles felt rage burn through him, hot and immediate. He forced it down. Rage made you sloppy. Rage got people killed.

“Peni,” he whispered, barely a breath. “I’ve got eyes on the victims. Thirteen total. They’re caged in the northwest corner.”

“Copy that. I’m mapping exit routes now.”

Noir was doing his job perfectly, engaging the traffickers in conversation about the weapons, asking detailed questions that kept their attention firmly on him.

“This rifle,” Noir said, picking one up with practiced ease. “What’s the effective range?”

While they explained, Miles moved deeper into the warehouse, using his invisibility to map out the space, count guards, identify threats.

“Twenty-three hostiles,” he reported quietly. “All armed. Boss is here—northeast office, second floor. Two guards at the cage. Four on the main floor. Rest are scattered.”

“Miles, there’s a problem,” Peni’s voice crackled in his ear. “They’ve got a shipment truck arriving in ten minutes. If that truck loads up and leaves, we lose half the evidence and probably some of the victims.”

“Can you delay it?”

“I can try, but—”

“There’s more,” Peter B.‘s voice cut in, strained. “They’re rotating guards. Someone new just took my corner. They’re watching me watch them.”

“Gwen?”

“I see it. Peter, if they make you, signal and I’m coming down.”

“Not yet. I can hold.”

Miles made a decision. “We move now. Before the truck arrives. Peni, kill the lights on my mark. Gwen, be ready for extraction. Porker—”

“On it!” Porker’s voice was followed immediately by the sound of explosions in the distance. Car alarms. Screaming. Chaos.

“WHAT THE HELL—” One of the traffickers ran to the window.

“NOW!” Miles shouted.

The lights died. The warehouse plunged into darkness.

Miles dropped his invisibility and lit up like a thunderstorm, electricity crackling along his body, providing the only light in the space.

“EVERYONE DOWN!” he roared. “SPIDER-MAN! YOU’RE ALL UNDER ARREST!”

What followed was controlled chaos.

Noir had already disarmed two guards before they could react, his experience in his own dimension’s violence making him brutally efficient.

Gwen crashed through a skylight—because of course she did—webbing up anyone who tried to run.

Peter B. abandoned his cover, running into the warehouse despite the danger, heading straight for the caged victims. “It’s okay! We’re here to help! We’re getting you out!”

Peni was in Miles’s ear, calling out positions: “Two behind you! Three heading for the truck! Boss is trying to escape through the back!”

Miles was everywhere at once, venom blasting, webbing, using his electricity to incapacitate without killing. He’d practiced this. Trained for it. Made sure he could take down armed criminals without crossing the line his uncle had crossed.

A gunshot rang out.

“PETER!” Gwen screamed.

Miles’s heart stopped. He spun to see Peter B. on the ground, clutching his side, but still moving, still trying to get to the cage.

“I’m okay!” Peter gasped. “Vest caught it! Keep going!”

Miles had never moved faster. He reached the shooter, disarmed him with a venom blast, and webbed him to the ceiling in one fluid motion.

“Peni, call the police NOW!”

“Already done! ETA three minutes!”

Three minutes felt like three hours.

Noir fought his way to the office, dragging the boss out by his collar. “This one’s mine,” he growled, and there was something dark in his voice that suggested the boss would be lucky if the police arrived before Noir decided to handle this personally.

Gwen got the cage open, ushering victims out, shielding them with her body when more gunfire erupted.

Peter B., still bleeding despite the vest, was talking to the victims in a gentle voice, guiding them toward the exit, making sure they knew they were safe now.

And Miles—Miles was the eye of the storm, electricity crackling, webs flying, taking down anyone who tried to hurt his team or the people they were trying to save.

When the police sirens finally wailed outside, the warehouse was secure. Every trafficker was webbed up or unconscious. Every victim was safe. The evidence was intact.

They’d done it.

-----

Later, much later, they sat on a rooftop across from the warehouse, watching as police and EMTs did their work.

Peter B. had been checked by paramedics—bruised ribs, nothing serious, the vest had saved his life. He was still shaking slightly.

“You okay?” Miles asked quietly.

“Yeah. Just… haven’t been shot in a while. Forgot how much it sucks even with protection.” Peter managed a weak smile. “Good plan though, kid. Really good.”

“You were amazing down there,” Gwen said, squeezing his shoulder. “All of you were.”

“Thirteen people are free because of us,” Peni said, watching the victims being loaded into ambulances. “Thirteen people who would have disappeared into the system.”

“And now the system’s dismantled,” Noir added. “At least this branch of it.”

“There’ll be more,” Miles said tiredly. “There’s always more.”

They sat in silence, processing what they’d just done. It’d been dangerous. Complicated. More intense than even the demon mechs because these were human victims, human criminals, human stakes.

“This was the most nerve-wracking hangout ever,” Gwen finally said.

“Agreed,” everyone chorused.

“But we did it,” Miles laughed breathlessly. “We really did it.”

“Your planning was impressive,” Noir said. “Assigning roles based on our skills and experience. That took insight.”

“I just knew what you were all good at,” Miles said, embarrassed.

“You knew us,” Peter B. corrected. “Our strengths. Our limits. That’s what made it work.”

“Can the next hangout please be something less traumatic?” Peni asked. “Please?”

“I vote board games,” Gwen said.

“Or pizza,” Peter B. added.

“Or literally anything that doesn’t involve getting shot at,” Porker finished.

“No promises,” Noir added darkly.

“NOIR!”

But they were all smiling, even through the exhaustion and adrenaline crash. Because they’d done something that mattered. Something real.

And they’d done it together.

-----

Group Chat - Two Hours Later

 

Peter B: I’m officially too old for this

Miles: i’m so sorry.

Peter B: Miles. Stop. You planned an incredible operation. We all knew the risks.

Peni: 13 people are safe bc of us. that’s what matters.

Noir: The big boss is in custody. His entire operation is destroyed. Well done.

Porker: Did anyone else see my distraction? I think I outdid myself.

Gwen: You set 3 cars on fire

Porker: CONTROLLED fires

Miles: the police are still investigating that btw

Porker: They can’t prove anything

Peter B: You know there might be video evidence right?

Porker: Circumstantial!

Gwen: Next month. My dimension. We’re doing something LOW STAKES.

Miles: are there low stakes things in ur dimension?

Gwen: I’ll find something dw

Peni: pls do bc I can’t handle another mission this intense ༼ ༎ຶ ᆺ ༎ຶ༽

Miles: srsly tho. thank you all. i couldn’t have done this without you guys.

Peter B: That’s what family does, kid. We show up.

Gwen: Even when it’s scary

Porker: Even when it involves arson!

Miles: love you guys

Peni: love you too!! (づ ◕‿◕ )づ

Miles fell asleep that night knowing that thirteen people were safe. That a trafficking ring was destroyed. That his team—his family—had come through when it mattered most.

The hangouts were getting increasingly intense. Fighting Nazis. Demon mechs. Trafficking rings.

But Miles wouldn’t trade it for the world.

… even if he would like a normal hangout for once.

Chapter Text

Gwen: OKAY. New rule. This month’s hangout is going to be NORMAL.

Miles: so… define normal

Gwen: No combat. No demons. No trafficking rings. No Nazis. No getting shot.

Peter B: That sounds amazing

Peni: what’s the catch? ʘ‿ʘ

Gwen: THERE IS NO CATCH. We’re going to a CONCERT.

Noir: A concert.

Gwen: Yes! A normal and fun activity! There’s this band called Sundown and they’re playing in my dimension this Saturday. We’ll go, listen to music, maybe dance, and have a COMPLETELY NORMAL TIME.

Porker: I don’t trust it

Gwen: There’s nothing to trust! It’s just music!

Miles: …ok so do we have to wear anything specific?

Gwen: Sunset colors! Oranges, pinks, purples, yellows. It’s the band’s whole aesthetic.

Peter B: I don’t own anything in sunset colors though?

Gwen: Then ACQUIRE SOME. This is going to be normal and fun even if it kills me.

Noir: Famous last words. Don’t jinx it, kid.

Gwen: NOIR I SWEAR TO GOD

 

-----

Saturday arrived, and Miles portaled into Gwen’s dimension wearing an orange durag, a white shirt, lavender button up (stolen from his dad), and jeans. He felt ridiculous but also kind of excited. A normal hangout! Just music! What could go wrong?

Everyone else appeared one by one. Gwen was in a pink and purple gradient dress (with a matching bag) that looked really good. Peter B. had managed to find an orange Hawaiian shirt that he wore with surprising confidence. Peni’s mech was decorated with sunset-colored lights. Noir had… well, Noir had added an orange pocket square to his otherwise entirely black ensemble.

“That’s your idea of sunset colors?” Gwen asked.

“It’s a compromise,” Noir said flatly.

Porker showed up in a full sunset-gradient suit that somehow worked on a cartoon pig.

“I CAME PREPARED.” he announced.

“You look great,” Miles said, grinning. “We all do. This is gonna be awesome!”

“See?” Gwen beamed. “Normal! Fun! Just wait until you hear Sundown—they’re incredible. They blend alternative rock with electronic elements and the lead singer has this voice that just goes so well with the drums—”

“Gwen,” Peter B. said gently. “Let us hear it ourselves first.”

“I’m excited! I’m allowed to be excited about normal things!”

They got in line with hundreds of other concert-goers, all dressed in sunset colors, all buzzing with anticipation. Miles felt something relax in his chest. This was what being a teenager was supposed to be like. Standing in line for a concert with friends. Normal. Simple.

“I think this might actually work,” he whispered to Peni.

“Don’t jinx it,” she whispered back.

The line moved slowly but steadily. They talked about normal things—Gwen’s new drumsticks, Peter B‘s attempts to baby-proof his apartment from an increasingly mobile Mayday, Peni’s latest tech project that had nothing to do with demon mechs.

“This is nice,” Peter B. said, sounding almost surprised. “When’s the last time we just… hung out? Like normal people?”

“Never,” Noir said. “We’ve never done this.”

“Well, we’re doing it now!” Gwen linked arms with Miles and Peni. “Come on, we’re almost at the front!”

They showed their tickets—Gwen had gotten good seats, close to the stage—and filed into the venue. It was packed, the energy electric, lights already pulsing in sunset colors.

“This is so cool,” Miles breathed, looking around. The stage setup was elaborate, with scaffolding and lights creating an almost ethereal atmosphere.

“Right?” Gwen bounced on her toes. “They’re supposed to start in fifteen minutes. Oh! I should get us drinks—”

“I’ll go with you,” Peni offered. “Safety in numbers.”

They disappeared into the crowd, leaving Miles, Peter B., Noir, and Porker to claim their spot near the stage.

“You know,” Peter B. said, “I think this might be the first time in months I’ve actually relaxed.”

“Don’t say that,” Noir said immediately. “You’ll curse us.”

“It’s a concert. What’s going to happen? The band attacks us?”

Miles and Noir exchanged a look.

“You just jinxed it,” they said in unison.

“You’re both paranoid,” Peter B. said, but he was smiling.

The lights dimmed. The crowd roared. On stage, four figures appeared in silhouette, backlit by sunset-colored lights.

“HERE WE GO!” Miles heard Gwen shout from somewhere behind them.

The first chord struck—

—and it was actually really good.

Miles found himself getting into it, the music washing over him. The lead singer’s voice was haunting and powerful, the guitars driving, and the drums (Gwen had been right) were absolutely incredible.

Three songs in, Miles was genuinely having fun. Dancing badly with Porker. Singing along to a chorus he’d just learned. Watching Noir attempt to nod his head to the beat while maintaining his aesthetic.

This was it. This was normal. Finally.

The fourth song started.

The ground split open.

“OH COME ON,” Gwen shouted over the music, which somehow was still playing.

Massive snakes—and Miles meant MASSIVE, like school-bus-sized—slithered out of the cracks in the floor. The crowd screamed and started running.

“WHY,” Peter B. yelled. “WHY CAN’T WE HAVE ONE NORMAL THING.”

“BAND’S STILL PLAYING!” Peni pointed at the stage where Sundown continued their set, seemingly oblivious to the chaos. “THEIR EYES—THEY’RE GLOWING!”

Miles looked closer. She was right. All four band members had eyes that glowed an unnatural green, their movements mechanical, their expressions blank.

“HYPNOTIZED!” Noir shouted, already moving toward the stage. “SOMEONE’S CONTROLLING THEM!”

One of the giant snakes lunged at a group of fleeing concert-goers. Its mouth opened wide enough to swallow a person whole.

“OH HELL NAH,” Miles yelled, venom-blasting the snake in the face. It recoiled, hissing.

“MASKS!” Gwen shouted, already pulling on her spider-gear over her dress. “WE’RE DOING THIS!”

“I DIDN’T BRING MY SUIT,” Peter B. groaned, webbing up a snake that was trying to eat a teenager. “I THOUGHT THIS WAS A NORMAL CONCERT.”

“MY MECH IS DECORATIVE RIGHT NOW,” Peni wailed, but the lights were already shifting to combat mode. “I HAVE SUNSET STICKERS ON MY WEAPONS ARRAY.”

“STYLE POINTS,” Porker yelled, smashing a snake with his mallet. “WE GET STYLE POINTS FOR FIGHTING IN SUNSET COLORS.”

Miles would have laughed if he wasn’t currently dodging a snake that was definitely trying to eat him. He went invisible, repositioned, and hit it with a venom blast that sent it crashing into another snake.

“THE BAND,” Noir shouted from the stage, where he was now standing behind the drummer. “WE NEED TO BREAK THE HYPNOSIS!”

“HOW?” Gwen web-swung past a snake, landing next to Noir.

“VILLAINS FIRST!” Miles pointed to the back of the venue where a figure in a snake-themed costume was standing, hands glowing with the same green energy as the band’s eyes. “THERE!”

“PENI, TAKE THE BAND!” Peter B. was now fighting three snakes at once, his Hawaiian shirt torn. “SEE IF YOU CAN DISRUPT THE SIGNAL!”

“ON IT!” Peni’s mech extended robotic appendages toward the band members.

Miles, Gwen, and Noir went for the villain. Peter B. and Porker held the line against the snakes, protecting the fleeing crowd.

“THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE NORMAL!” Gwen shouted as she dodged a blast of green energy.

“WHEN HAVE WE EVER HAD NORMAL?” Miles yelled back, web-swinging around to flank the villain.

“I WANTED TO BELIEVE,” Gwen said, and there was real anguish in her voice as she landed a kick to the villain’s midsection.

The villain—who was going on Miles’s mental list as “Snake Guy, very creative”—stumbled but recovered quickly.

“You cannot stop the Symphony of Serpents! These people will feed my children, and then—”

“NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR VILLAIN MONOLOGUE, PAL,” Noir interrupted, punching him in the face.

Miles hit him with a venom blast at the same time Gwen webbed his hands together. The green glow flickered.

“PENI, NOW!” Miles shouted.

“DISRUPTING SIGNAL—” Peni’s mech emitted a high-pitched frequency.

The band members stumbled, their eyes clearing. The music—which had somehow been playing this entire time—cut out abruptly.

“What the—” the lead singer looked around in confusion. “Why are there massive snakes on the stage?”

“LONG STORY,” Peter B. shouted, currently wrestling with a snake. “LITTLE HELP?”

The drummer, bless him, picked up his sticks and started beating on a snake that was getting too close to the stage. “GET OUT OF MY VENUE!”

The bassist grabbed his instrument and swung it like a bat. “PEOPLE PAID TO BE HERE! THESE ARE EXPENSIVE TICKETS!”

“I LOVE THIS BAND,” Gwen said, returning to the snake fight with renewed vigor.

With the hypnosis broken and Snake Guy webbed up, the snakes became disorganized. Miles and his team made quick work of them, webbing them up or driving them back into the holes they’d come from.

20 minutes later, the venue was secure. The snakes were contained. Snake Guy was gift-wrapped for the police. And Sundown was standing on their destroyed stage looking shell-shocked.

“So,” the lead singer said weakly. “That happened.”

“Are you okay?” Gwen asked, still in her spider-gear and looking genuinely concerned. “Being hypnotized is—”

“Weird. Very weird.” The singer shook his head. “Thank you. All of you. You saved a lot of people tonight.”

“It’s what we do,” Miles said tiredly. “Sorry about your concert.”

“Are you kidding?” The drummer gestured at the chaos. “This is the most metal thing that’s ever happened to us. We’re absolutely writing a song about this.”

“Called?” Porker asked.

“‘Spider-People Saved My Life While Giant Snakes Tried to Eat the Audience,’” the bassist said immediately.

“That’s… very literal,” Peni said.

“It’ll be a hit,” the lead singer insisted. “Also—” He looked at Gwen specifically. “You’re Ghost-Spider, right? My daughter has a poster in her room.”

Gwen jolted, seeming surprised even through her mask. “Oh. Um. Yeah. That’s me.”

“She’s going to lose her mind when I tell her we met. Can we get a picture? Of all of you?”

So they ended up taking a group photo with Sundown—Peter B. in his destroyed Hawaiian shirt, Peni’s mech still covered in sunset stickers, Noir with his orange pocket square somehow still intact, Porker holding his mallet proudly, Gwen in full costume, Miles holding up a peace sign—standing in front of a destroyed concert venue.

“Best worst night ever,” the drummer declared.

-----

Group Chat - Later That Night

 

Gwen: I’M SO SORRY

Gwen: I PROMISED NORMAL

Gwen: BUT THERE WERE SNAKES

Gwen: THAT TRIED TO EAT PEOPLE

Miles: to be fair we did beat them

Peter B: My Hawaiian shirt is ruined

Peter B: I LIKED that shirt

Peni: my mech still has sunset stickers on it

Porker: Keep ‘em! They’re fun!

Noir: We defeated a Snake Guy who hypnotized a band to summon giant snakes at a concert.

Noir: Even by our standards, that’s absurd.

Gwen: I JUST WANTED ONE NORMAL HANGOUT 😭

Miles: hey it started normal!

Peter B: For like 30 minutes

Miles: that’s a record for us

Peni: he’s not wrong tho (┳◡┳)

Gwen: This is the worst

Porker: On the bright side, we got to hear some of the concert before the snakes!

Gwen: …the music WAS really good

Miles: it was! and now they’re writing a song about us!

Gwen: A song called “Spider-People Saved My Life While Giant Snakes Tried to Eat the Audience”

Peter B: It’s kinda catchy

Noir: We got a… what’s it called? A photo with the band

Noir: That was… nice. Despite everything.

Gwen: You know what, you’re right. We did save a lot of people. And we got to meet Sundown. And we all wore sunset colors like I asked.

Miles: we looked good doing it too

Peni: yeah! except Peter’s shirt got destroyed

Peter B: I’ll buy another one don’t worry

Porker: Next month: my dimension!

Peni: oh no

Porker: I PROMISE IT’LL BE FUN

Noir: Isn’t that what Gwen said?

Gwen: TO BE FAIR I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE

Miles: whatever it is, we’ll handle it together

Peter B: Can it please not involve things that try to eat us?

Porker: …

Porker: I’ll see what I can do

Gwen: At least it’s not a no?

Miles: i love you guys still… even when our hangouts go downwards.

Peni: literally.

Gwen: And yet we handled it!

Peter B: Pretty well, actually.

Porker: We’re getting good at this

Miles: too good

Gwen: Is there such a thing as too good at stopping giant snakes at concerts?

Noir: Yes. Because it means we keep ending up in situations with giant snakes at concerts.

Gwen: Fair point

Gwen: Well. Same time next month?

Peni: ofc!!! ╰(⸝⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝⸝)╯

 

Gwen fell asleep that night exhausted, disappointed, but also kind of happy. The hangout had gone downhill—literally, the ground had split open—but they’d handled it.

Together.

Like family.

And maybe they’d never have a normal hangout. Maybe every time they tried, the universe would throw something ridiculous at them.

But at least they’d face it together.

In sunset colors or otherwise.

(The next day, Sundown’s lead singer sent them all a demo of their new song. It was actually pretty good. Gwen added it to her playlist immediately.

The group chat had a field day with the lyrics:

“Giant snakes from hell below / Spider-People steal the show / We were hypnotized but now we know / Never trust a villain at your rock and roll show.”

It was absurd.

And kinda perfect.)