Archive of Our Own

“Our latest number is Miles Morales,” Finch says, gesturing to a picture on one of his monitors. It looks like a school photo. “Thirteen years old. His mother is a nurse; his father is a police officer.”

“So someone could be using the kid to get to his dad,” Reese says.

Finch nods. “That would be my guess. It seems hard to imagine that he’s the perpetrator, or that someone might target Miles for his own sake, although I suppose we’ve met some teenagers in interesting situations in the past.”

“Where do I find him?”

“He’s currently boarding at Brooklyn Visions Academy,” Finch says. “Rather prestigious. They’re strict about background checks for their staff, even the janitors, but with the correct financial incentive they were at least willing to carry out those checks quickly.”

“Guessing I’m a janitor,” Reese says.

“Students aren’t allowed phones during the school day, which limits my ability to track Miles from here. Do keep a close eye on him, Mr Reese.”

Reese suspects he’s going to be fired as a janitor within the first couple of days, but a couple of days is probably all he needs. The corridors outside every class Miles Morales has had today are sparkling, at least.

“There’s been rather an interesting development,” Finch says through his earpiece. “I’ve accessed the location history on Miles’s cell phone, and I’ve been looking back over his recent movements. They intersect with the movements of someone I’ve been tracking for some time. If this is to be believed, Miles was present when Peter Parker was killed.”

“Spider-Man?” Reese asks.

“The Machine used to deliver Mr Parker’s number to me several times a week. I had to ask it to stop, in the end; it was clear enough that he could look after himself.” Finch pauses. “I very much regret that we couldn’t help him when it mattered.”

Of course Finch knew who Spider-Man was before the news did. Reese can’t believe he never thought to ask. “And this kid was there when he died?”

“The news reported that it was an earthquake, but my guess is that young Miles saw something he shouldn’t have. The body was found a little closer to Wilson Fisk’s property than I would like, and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you his other identity. It would certainly explain why Miles’s number would come up now.”

It’s too young to watch someone die. Not that the world cares about that. “His school’s letting out soon. I’ll see where he goes.”

Reese isn’t sure where to expect a young teenager to head in his spare time. The arcade, maybe? Is that still a thing? Or to see a movie, or maybe he’ll just go back to his dorm room, play games, mess around on the internet. Try to process the fact that he was there when the city’s hero died.

Miles doesn’t do any of those things. Miles casts some furtive glances around and slips into an empty alleyway. It’s like the kid is trying to get killed.

“Finch?” Reese asks, watching Miles take a corner at the back. “What does the alley by McClane Coffee lead into?”

“Just another alley,” Finch says. “A dead end. I’d recommend catching up immediately.”

Reese is already on the move. He presses himself against the wall by the corner, glances into the second alley.

It’s a completely isolated spot, boxed in, no reason to be there. His guess is that the threat told Miles to meet there, but he’d expect even a thirteen-year-old to know that’s a stupid idea.

The good news is that nobody else is here yet; it’s just Miles, looking up at the dead-end wall. Hopefully Reese can get him out of here before whoever he’s meeting shows up.

Two things happen in the same moment. The first is that Reese steps around the corner. The second is that Miles jumps at the wall and sticks there; he hits the wall and just stays attached to it.

“What?” Reese asks.

“Whoa!” Miles jerks to his feet, but he’s still on the wall; for a moment he’s just standing horizontally. He looks wildly around, spots Reese, stays there frozen for a moment, and then he jumps down onto the ground and tries to look like he wasn’t just defying gravity.

“Mr Reese?” Finch asks, into his earpiece. “Is everything all right?”

“What was that?” Reese asks.

“Uh, nothing,” Miles says. “I mean, what was what? Who are you? Uh, gotta go, bye.”

He starts walking, but his steps falter as he obviously realises he’s going to have to walk past Reese to get out of here.

“You see, Miles,” Reese says, “this is why you don’t go into dead-end alleys.”

Miles’s eyes widen for a moment.

And then he takes off, sprinting, right up the alleyway wall.

“Hey!” Reese calls. This is impossible, yeah, but his biggest concern right now is that their number is getting away.

“He’s running, I take it,” Finch says wearily into his ear. “Did you have to sound quite so threatening?”

Miles gets halfway up the wall, springs away from it, reaches out his arm. A thread or a rope or something shoots out to connect with the wall behind Reese, like a grappling hook without the hook, and Miles is swinging through the air like—

“Crap!” Miles yelps. It looks like he’s lost his grip on his end of the rope, or maybe it’s snapped. Whatever the case, it’s got away from him somehow, and Reese barely has time to register that before the kid slams into him and they both hit the ground.

“Mr Reese?” Finch asks, sounding alarmed.

Hard to talk when you’ve taken a pair of shoes at that speed, but Reese makes the effort. “I’m fine. Kid just Spider-Manned into my face.”

“He did what?” Finch asks.

“Sorry!” Miles squeaks, already scrambling to his feet. “Sorry, look, I don’t know who you are, I don’t have any problem with you—”

“Stay still,” Reese grits out. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help. Just give me a moment to talk.”

Miles hesitates, bouncing a little in his sneakers. He hasn’t run yet, but he could take off any moment.

“You called me Miles,” he says. “Who are you?”

Reese gets himself upright, dusts off his suit. “That’s a great question. Mind answering it yourself? ’Cause I thought you were just the kid who was there when Spider-Man died, but, from those moves, I’m starting to wonder if you’re the real Spider-Man. Maybe the news got it wrong.”

“Mr Reese,” Finch says through the earpiece, “I’d like to reiterate that I’ve been following Mr Parker’s work for a while, and, moreover, that Miles would have had to start operating as Spider-Man when he was three years old.”

“Or not,” Reese concludes. “Either way, something’s going on here. Did Parker choose you as his successor?”

It’d make sense, right? The kid was there when Parker died; maybe Parker shared his technology with him, wanted him to carry on his work. The kind of move Finch might make.

Miles looks pained. “Uh, he didn’t choose me. This powers thing just kind of happened.”

“Happened how?”

“I, uh,” Miles says. “I got bitten.”

“By...” This doesn’t seem like it can be right. “By Spider-Man?”

“What – no! There was this weird glowing spider.”

“Okay,” Reese says. “So you’re Spider-Man’s successor by coincidence?”

Miles hunches his shoulders, wrapping his arms around himself. “I’m not anything like that. I’m just a kid.”

“Well, if anyone suspects you might pick up where he left off, that’d explain why you’re in danger. We need to get out of here before whoever you’re meeting shows up.”

“What?” Miles asks. “I’m not meeting anyone. I’m – I’m in danger?”

Huh. “Then what are you doing here?”

“I needed to practise,” Miles says. “With my powers. There’s this key thing Spider-Man gave me, I need to plug it into this thing on a ceiling, but I’m not gonna get up there if I can’t swing properly.”

Okay, Reese is lost. “What?”

“There’s this thing, uh, this supercollider under Fisk Tower. Spider-Man said it’s... kind of gonna destroy everything. The override key lets us blow it up.”

Reese pauses.

“When you say it’s going to destroy everything,” he says.

“He said it could open a black hole under Brooklyn,” Miles says, fidgeting with his sleeve.

Well, that doesn’t sound good. Reese has known for a long time that Wilson Fisk is bad news, but black holes would definitely be a new one.

“Finch?” Reese asks, tapping his earpiece. “If it’s a real risk, I’m guessing the Machine would’ve given us the numbers of everyone in Brooklyn?”

“If it’s a real risk, the Machine would likely consider it relevant,” Finch says. “When there’s a case involving prospective victims in those quantities, the Machine doesn’t bring it to us, Mr Reese.”

There goes the reassurance he was hoping for.

“Uh, who are you talking to?” Miles asks.

“My partner,” Reese says. “We help out people in trouble, and we’re pretty sure that includes you. Does that sound about right?”

“What, you mean apart from the black hole thing?” Miles asks. “Uh, Kingpin’s guys chased me away after he – after he killed Spider-Man. But I don’t think they saw who I was. I guess there might have been cameras?”

“There are always cameras,” Finch murmurs. “I’ll see if I can find and erase any footage of our friend on Mr Fisk’s security systems.”

“And... now I’ve got to go back there and fix this whole thing,” Miles mutters. “I’m guessing that’s gonna be dangerous.”

Fisk killed Spider-Man in front of this kid, and Miles has the key that can blow up Fisk’s collider? Sounds like they know where the threat’s coming from, at least. “Any chance I could take that key and destroy the collider myself?”

Miles hesitates. Shakes his head. “It looked like it’d be pretty tough to get up there without spider powers. And... no offence, I don’t know you. I don’t know if I really want to hand over the save-the-city key to some stranger.”

“Sensible,” Finch comments, “if inconvenient.”

“Got it,” Reese says. “How about letting some stranger protect you on the way?”

Miles lets out a breath. “Honestly, that sounds amazing. I’ve been freaking out over this whole thing, and there’s no one I can talk to – I mean, Spider-Man knew, but he’s...” He scrubs a hand over his hair. “Uh, yeah. If you wanna help, that sounds great. Even if I still kind of have no idea who you are.”

“Call me John,” Reese says.

Miles shrugs. “I guess that’s better than nothing.”

This job involves a lot of standing around and waiting for something to happen, which tends to make Reese restless. Turns out it’s slightly more interesting when you’re watching a kid try to master his newfound superpowers.

“So how does this actually work?” he asks, watching Miles pick himself up off the ground again.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Miles says. “I think Spider-Man must have had some kind of wrist attachment to, like, direct the web stuff better? I think it’s probably possible to swing around even if I don’t have one of those, but, uh, it’s tough. I mostly just end up slamming into walls.”

“And into people,” Reese comments.

Miles winces. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

“Any chance you could get your hands on some of those wrist attachments?” Reese asks. “I guess specialised Spider-Man equipment probably isn’t mass-produced.”

“I may be able to help with that, Mr Reese,” Finch says in his ear. “I’ve spent a lot of time looking through Peter Parker’s computer files, and I seem to recall seeing specifications for something similar.”

“Think you can get some built quickly?” Reese asks. “I don’t know exactly when we’re expecting this black hole thing to happen, but I’m guessing we want to deal with it soon.”

“Mr Parker built his Spider-Man persona with humble means. His designs became more elaborate as time went on, but his early equipment was designed to be built at home with inexpensive materials. I can probably deliver a working version to you within a couple of hours.”

“Does that include time for testing?” Reese asks. “We don’t want the kid falling to his death.”

“Uh, what?” Miles asks.

“Unfortunately, this isn’t really something you can test unless you share Peter Parker’s abilities,” Finch says. “I’d advise Miles to try it out from ground level before attempting anything riskier.”

Miles is a fast learner, gets the hang of the wrist things quickly once Finch brings them over. It’s impressive to watch, even if it’s a little stressful to see their potential target zooming overhead. Reese has to remind himself that the deaths the Machine foresees aren’t typically accidental.

“Looks like you’ve got it,” Reese says, as Miles rappels back down the wall. “You ready to take out this collider?”

Miles scratches the back of his neck. “Probably not? But... I guess I’ve gotta do it anyway, right?”

Reese is going to bring the whole of Fisk Tower down if he doesn’t manage to protect this kid. “I’ll be there.”

There are probably stealthier ways to get under Fisk Tower if you’ve got spider-powers. But Reese doesn’t have those, and he’s not letting Miles out of his sight, which means they’re going through the front door.

Feels kind of ridiculous to walk into a crime lord’s building accompanied by a kid dressed in Spider-Man pyjamas, but it’s probably best if Miles keeps his face hidden.

It’s not long before Fisk’s armed thugs come to say hi.

“Oh, wow,” Miles says. “You... really shot all those guys, huh?”

Reese holsters his pistol. “They’ll be fine.”

“They’ll have holes in them.”

“They’ll survive.” Reese strips the magazines out of the dropped weapons and pats down a couple of the fallen men, finds a keycard, holds it in front of the nearest camera. “This what we need, Finch?”

“That should give you full elevator access,” Finch reports through the earpiece. “If you take it down to the lowest level, you should be able to find the supercollider.”

“You never said who you guys are,” Miles says, trotting alongside Reese to the elevator. “Are you cops? Do you know my dad?”

“Jefferson Davis,” Finch says. “Not HR, as far as we’re aware. I asked Detective Carter if she knew him, and she gave a glowing assessment.”

Good to hear he’s not HR. It wouldn’t feel great to help Miles out of trouble, then turn around and take down his dad.

“Not cops,” Reese says. He hits the elevator call button. “I hear your dad’s a good guy, though.”

“He is,” Miles says. “But, uh. If you’re not cops, he’d probably try to stop you doing this stuff.”

“Yeah, the police aren’t really fans of us.” Although there are always exceptions. “That’s fine. I wasn’t really expecting dinner at your place, anyway.”

“I mean, if you actually do manage to k-keep me from getting killed, my mom will definitely want to cook for you,” Miles says. “But, uh...”

The elevator arrives, the doors slide open, and Reese looks over at Miles. He’s hunched over a little, gripping his elbows. Even with the mask hiding his face, it’s not hard to see he’s terrified.

If you actually do manage to keep me from getting killed. Maybe the danger wasn’t real for him until he said it aloud.

“Hey,” Reese says, gently. “We’re taking this one thing at a time, okay? Right now, all you have to do is get onto an elevator.”

Miles looks up at him, a quick nervous twitch of a movement. “Um, yeah. I guess I can do that.”

They get onto the elevator, Miles hopping restlessly from foot to foot. Reese swipes the keycard and hits the button for the lowest floor.

“Next thing,” Reese says. “They know we’re here, which means they’ll be there to greet us when we get off this thing. They won’t see you if you’re pressed into the front corner, so I need you to stay there and keep quiet while I deal with them.”

“Wait!” Miles squawks. “Wait, wait, that’s a way scarier thing!”

“You’ve got about ten seconds to come to terms with it.” Reese cocks his gun. “Don’t move until I tell you to.”

“I can see three men in position outside the doors,” Finch reports. “One standing, two crouching. Do be careful, Mr Reese.”

The elevator slides into position. Reese holds the ‘close doors’ button for a few seconds, to throw off the welcoming party’s expectations of timing, then hits the open button and drops them with three quick shots.

He steps out of the elevator, to check that the coast is clear for Miles to come out. It’s a room full of sciency-looking equipment; the wall opposite the elevator is mostly glass, giving a view of what he’s guessing is the supercollider. Looks like some impressive technology. Finch would probably wet himself over it.

A bullet nearly clips his neck.

Reese throws himself backward, raising his gun and firing off two shots. The good news is that they find their mark; the bad news is that the new arrival is Kingpin himself, who is not a man you drop with a couple of bullets. Reese could inflict a fatal wound, sure, but it’s doubtful it’d kill Fisk before he managed to take them both out.

“Mr Reese, get out of there,” Finch says, urgently.

How? There’s a door into some kind of corridor past Kingpin, there’s what looks like a door into the collider in the opposite wall. Neither is an option, because that means abandoning Miles in the elevator, and there’s no way Reese is doing that. Nothing to do but empty his clip and hope it’s enough.

The entire train of thought shoots through his mind in a split-second as he stares down the barrel of Kingpin’s gun.

And then a flash of something white whips past Reese and knocks the gun out of Kingpin’s hand.

“What?” Kingpin demands.

After all the training Reese has seen Miles do, he’s not expecting Miles to resort to exactly the same move that got them acquainted, before he even had the wrist things: Miles swings straight into Kingpin’s face, feet-first. It doesn’t take Kingpin down, but it knocks him off-balance, and Miles immobilises him with a quick flurry of webbing.

Reese watches Fisk struggle in his cocoon; he kind of needs a moment to adjust to the sudden change in situation. Fisk is trying to say something, and Reese doubts it’s friendly, but his mouth is webbed shut.

“I told you to stay in the elevator,” Reese says at last.

“Sorry,” Miles says, sheepish.

“Guess you helped me out, though,” Reese says. “So thanks.” He walks over to pick up Kingpin’s gun. Glances at Kingpin again. It doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere. “I don’t know if you need me here at all.”

“Impressive though Miles’s performance may be,” Finch says, “I’d recommend doing what you came for and reserving the praise for a time when you’re at a safe distance. It looks to me like the coast is clear; you should take advantage while it lasts.”

“You sure about that?” Reese asks. “How’d you miss Fisk on the cameras? The guy’s the size of a tower block.”

Finch clears his throat. “Yes, well, I apologise. I was concerned by the fact that Miles had started to move; I failed to notice that you were in jeopardy. I’ve now looked thoroughly over the building’s systems, I assure you.”

Reese waves Miles towards the door into the collider. “Sounds like we’ve cleared the place. Ready to blow this thing up?”

Miles hesitates, looking at Kingpin, at the guys Reese shot down outside the elevator. “Um, how big is the explosion going to be? Are these guys going to be okay?”

Honestly, Reese isn’t sure whether the guys outside the elevator are going to be okay either way. His priority was speed; non-lethality takes a back seat sometimes. But, if the kid’s asking, he guesses he can at least raise their odds. “Fine. Let’s get them out of here first.”

Finch has already contacted Carter, to clear people from the site of the imminent explosion, and they’re able to deliver Fisk and his thugs pretty much into her hands outside the tower. Turns out it’s a lot easier to transport people when you can drag them around with webs.

Carter looks at the webbing all over the guys. Looks at the kid in the Spider-Man costume.

“See you,” Reese says, and he pulls Miles back into Fisk Tower before she can ask any questions.

Reese can’t exactly follow Miles onto the ceiling of the collider tunnel, but he waves him up there with strict instructions that he’s only to press the self-destruct button if he can set a reasonable timer to get out of there. If it’ll blow the machine up instantly, that’s Reese’s job.

He’s not sure how he’ll get up there. But he’ll figure something out if he has to.

Reese watches through the window of the control room, or the monitoring room, or whatever it is. Looks like Miles has made it to the right spot. He fiddles with something on the ceiling for a while, and then pauses, and then—

Miles flips off the ceiling, he’s falling, and Reese jerks forward even though there’s a glass wall and half the collider tunnel between them, even if there’s no possible way to catch him from here.

It takes him a second to remember Miles doesn’t need catching. By that point, Miles is already swinging full-speed, straight at—

Straight at the window, and Reese takes a few quick steps back so he won’t get a faceful of glass.

Miles crashes through the window, snags Reese with a web, yells “One minute!” and catapults them both through the vent into the elevator shaft.

In retrospect, maybe Reese should have been more specific when he said ‘a reasonable timer’.

It’s a close-run thing, but they make it out. They take a moment to catch their breath on a nearby roof while the rubble settles and the dust clears.

“Mr Reese?” Finch is asking repeatedly into Reese’s ear, with increasing urgency. It’s possible he’s been doing that for a while. Reese was kind of distracted.

“We’re fine, Finch,” Reese says. “Collider’s been dealt with.”

“I should say so. I’m looking at the security cameras in the area; it’s quite a sight. Detective Carter won’t be happy.”

“Probably better than a black hole.” Reese looks over at Miles. “You okay, kid?”

Miles pats himself down, arms and legs and face. Lets out a burst of anxious laughter. “I’m still alive, huh?”

“Looks like it,” Reese says. “Good work.”

Reese drives Miles back to his dorm. They caused a lot of disruption tonight, and the police are out in force; it’s probably not the best time to be seen web-swinging across the city.

“So,” Reese says, pulling in to park, “what’s next for you? Any plans for those powers?”

“I don’t know,” Miles says. “I mean, I wanna help people. Like Spider-Man, or like you guys. It’s just...” He hesitates. “It’s kind of a lot.”

“It’s dangerous,” Reese agrees. “I can tell you that starting to help people was the best decision I ever made.” He gestures to his ear. “But I have a feeling Finch is going to chew me out if I tell a thirteen-year-old to become a vigilante.”

“Very astute, Mr Reese,” Finch mutters.

“I’m not sure I really have a choice,” Miles says. “I’m the one with these powers. Spider-Man’s not here to help people any more. I’ve gotta do something, right?”

“Sounds to me like Spider-Man is right in front of me,” Reese says. “Probably best to give it a few years before you go full superhero, but I don’t know if you’ll listen to me.”

“I don’t know either,” Miles says. “But, uh. Thanks.”

He climbs out of the car, gives Reese a quick wave. Reese raises his hand in return, watches until Miles is safely inside the building. Keeps watching a little longer, just in case.

“I suspect that might be a number we’ll be seeing a lot more of,” Finch says.

Sounds about right. “Don’t ask the Machine to filter this one out.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Finch says. “It’s probably not the most efficient use of resources to have one of New York’s crime preventers tracking another, but I think we should watch over Miles for a while.”

If he’s honest, Reese isn’t sure how well he’s going to be able to protect Miles. He has a certain skillset, but it doesn’t include walking on the ceiling. They can’t protect people they can’t keep up with, and they can’t exactly drive after someone who can catapult himself over rooftops.

Still. Doesn’t mean he can’t try.