Chapter Text
Aaron Davis didn’t hate being paired with The Rose whenever he was hired onto a mission. At least, he hated it less than most of the goons he ended up being saddled with when on the job, though. Sure the man was a bit “eccentric”, with the purple mask and weird sunglasses attached to it, the tan almost classy suit with the rose pinned onto it, the white button down and blue tie under, the blue gloves, but most people went ham on their costumes to distract anyone from their true identities. Aaron got it; it was basically pot calling kettle black with the kind of getup he wore, but still, the man could have worn anything, and he decided an expensive double-breasted suit with villainous accessories was the way to go.
The Rose was rarely someone a freelancer like the Prowler worked with since the Rose, from what Aaron had gathered from the times he was hired by the Kingpin, was considered more to be middle management than on a level which would throw him into guard or enforcer duty. But the guy wasn’t too talkative, too quiet; could hold a conversation that didn’t have to do with the darker sides of the job Aaron wasn’t actually proud to do. Aaron also knew, though, that if the Rose was on guard duty with the Prowler, then it wasn’t exactly a simple operation he was hired to protect; the paycheck for it would agree with Aaron’s assessment as well.
“How important is it?” Aaron asked, walking down the hall underground, a little wary about how close they were to the subway system, trying to keep in his head how long it would be for the next train to come and if they were going the right pace to dodge it at the next opening.
“Do you really want to know?” asked the Rose, and even in the purple mask and the sunglasses and how dark the tunnel was, Aaron could see him raising an eyebrow.
“Probably not,” said Aaron, the two of them walking a little quicker as they heard the subway, ducking into an engineering area, “But it feels like I should ask.”
The Rose shrugged.
“All you need to know is that it’s a highly classified project. Trust me. The less you know about it, the better,” said the Rose, and Aaron could sense the frown in his tone, “It’s honestly very depressing. And not in the usual way.”
Aaron… felt it was probably best not to prod. When something was unusually depressing, that usually meant a sad backstory, and Aaron didn’t exactly want to feel bad for the top crime lord of New York City. Aaron, waiting for the train to pass, glanced through the bars behind him, the ones hiding where “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY” could go, peaking in despite the “DANGER” and “DO NOT ENTER” sign, squinting.
“Hey, can we take a second here?” asked Aaron walking over to the fence and beginning to climb.
“Another place for your nephew to make art?” asked the Rose, following Aaron as Aaron hopped the fence.
This wasn’t the first time he’d made a detour like this on the job. Honestly, it had become a habit ever since he found out his nephew, Miles, liked creating street art. Sure, Jefferson wasn’t pleased that Miles decided to use his art skills to “graffiti”, but Aaron knew his brother appreciated Miles’ talents too. Jefferson wouldn’t buy the kid an art desk if he didn’t, the kind that went up in an angle. The problem was more of the platform of the art than the medium itself for Jefferson. Aaron was a proponent of street art, though. How could a person say Banksy was art yet not see art when looking at the fantastic pieces Miles made as a fourteen-year-old?
It wasn’t as if the kid didn’t need the stress relief of expressing himself.
“Look at this space. It’s perfect for him,” said Aaron, smiling, looking at the wall in front of him, turning on a light to better see it, “Next time the kid comes over when he needs to work through some feelings, I’ll take him here.”
“I’ll be waiting on pins and needles to see what he makes,” said the Rose, taking in the space as well, “He could make something really special with this much space.”
“I know, right?” said Aaron, grinning, just imagining what Miles could do with all this.
“We’ll have to peak in next time we’re on rotation, though, I’m going to be out of town the rest of the week – vacation with the family. Might need to see it once I come back on my own,” said the Rose, who had talked to Aaron about his feelings about other pieces made by Miles in the past, the both of them fans of his nephew’s work, then looked at the time, “Sorry. We should be getting back on the route before the boss notices. You know how to get back here?”
“I do,” said Aaron, taking a note of the place, “Thanks for always letting me scope places for the kid. It means a lot to him whenever cool Uncle Aaron finds him something like this.”
“There’s always lulls on a job, so I don’t mind,” said the Rose as they both got back on the other side of the fence, returning to their route in the subway tunnels, “And I’m a huge fan of beautifying public areas.”
The two kept walking, Aaron thinking about the look on Miles’ face when he sees this new location.
*****
Aaron loved his plants. He had six, all with names, and he would definitely hunt down anyone who even hurt a leaf on Luke, Sam, Misty, Rhodey, Isaiah, or Monica. They were graceful flora that lived amongst his homemade sound system with perfect harmony.
Another thing Aaron loved? His vinyls. He’d been collecting them over the years, trying to compile a true library of the greatest ones; some popular, many obscure. And after the dinner of champions (takeout and two beers while watching Community), he had decided the best thing to do was listen to something classic by one of the greatest MCs of all time and another Brooklyn man himself, the Notorious B.I.G., placing in the vinyl in, letting the beat of “Hypnotize” taking over his apartment, helping him relax.
The thing he loved the most, though? Even more than his plants and music? Miles. Which was why he knew his night would be a million times better when he felt a buzzing from his phone, opening up a QQ Chat to reveal a photo Miles had snagged of him with adorably weird moving stickers and a text scrawled diagonal saying “I’m WATCHIN’ YOU!!!”, a call for him from his fire escape window.
Which was selfish, Aaron got that, but with his relationship his brother, strained with Jefferson as it was, meant that this was usually the only time he ever saw the kid.
Aaron understood why he came to him whenever he needed to just not think about all the pressures. Aaron got it. He’d been Miles. He always had a knack for engineering, had always done well in school. His choice of medium might be music, but he understood the need to be creative in a way the people around you didn’t quite understand.
On the one hand, it scared Aaron to see so much of himself in his nephew, what with how his own life turned out. But on the other hand, Miles had much more going for him. He had parents who cared, he had Jefferson and Rio. Fuck what anyone said about the lottery system, Miles passed all the tests to get into that fancy school. He was bright and talented and curious and becoming more amazing every day. He was on his way. He was the best of all of them and Aaron was proud to be someone Miles called “Uncle”.
Maybe part of why he had told Miles about the new place he found for him was because of knowing that feeling, seeing that look of dread about all the people focusing on him, pushing him in well-meaning ways to reach for more. That propelled him to walk his nephew through the subway tunnels he knew as well as the back of his hand at this point, climbing over that fence, and letting Miles create his art on the walls as he educated his nephew subtly on fantastic songs he should know, like “The Choice is Yours” by Black Sheep.
And it wasn’t as if Aaron hadn’t dabbled in street art when he was younger, did some work with Jefferson before he decided to become a cop, dated a few artists himself. He knew he only had maybe another year before Miles knew more about the artform than him, so he got in good advice whenever he could, like “See what you got now? Makin’ mistakes is part of it”, “Whoa, slow down a little… that’s better… that’s perfect”, “Now you can cut that line with another color. That’s it,” and “You want drips? ‘Cause if you do, that’s cool, but if you don’t, you gotta keep it moving”.
Aaron probably loved it the most when he wasn’t just sitting and watching; when Miles asked for his help. Like he was the kind of guy who could give Miles the help he needs. Aaron loved what Miles made too – “No Expectations”. There was something bittersweet about the striking piece, but he understood the feeling more than he cared to let onto his nephew.
Expectations.
And no expectations.
“Is it too crazy?” asked Miles, suddenly embarrassed.
“No man. Miles, I see exactly what you’re doing here,” said Aaron, and there was something about how Miles smiled, how Aaron made him feel seen that made Aaron relax.
Because he was happy to be the person he never had growing up for Miles.
*****
“I don’t know, kid, you sure this is a good idea?” asked Peter, walking down the alleyway, heading towards Miles’ apartment complex.
“Yeah. My parents sleep like the dead, it’ll be fine,” said Miles, pausing for a moment to look at something on the wall, smiling.
Peter stopped, taking in what Miles was gazing at. Someone had painted the lyrics to a song, one Peter had listened to on the radio before, he was pretty sure. Pre- or Ante- Malone thing, and some Lee Swae, rappers, Peter remembered, and an earworm, humming the melody as he looked at the stylized lyrics surrounding a gorgeous technicolor sunflower.
Then you’re left in the dust, unless I stuck by ya
You’re my sunflower, I think your love would be too much
“I made this with my uncle’s help,” said Miles, filled with pride before glancing over at Peter, waiting for his cynical judgment, surely.
But Peter wasn’t going to shit on a kid’s art, not when it was good art (though, he probably wouldn’t have dunked on it even if it was bad. Peter could be many things, but destroying a child’s self-esteem wasn’t one of them).
“I think it’s cool,” said Peter, shrugging, Miles beaming at him, “That’s your Uncle Aaron, right?”
The kid had talked his ear off about the guy already. About how cool he was, how he had the best music, the coolest apartment, pointing out that the apartment he had originally taken Peter to (when he was held hostage) was his Uncle Aaron’s place.
Peter had to (begrudgingly and enviously) admit that the place was pretty cool. The entire sound system seemed to be handmade, which was an engineering feat to Peter (Peter was the kind of scientist trained to mess with chemicals, not machines. Okay. So, he did know how to hack things, but that was a skill that he learned on the job). He had a million plants he was somehow keeping alive (something Peter had never been able to do in his entire adult life). Hell, Peter was pretty sure the guy had made some of his own furniture from scratch (the coffee table and the media stand in that room matched the sound system too well to not have been). He even had his own workout station and one of the biggest kitchens Peter had ever seen in a one-bedroom Brooklyn apartment.
Uncle Aaron was living the bachelor dream in there, making Peter wonder if he just sucked at being an adult and that was what a well-adjusted adult apartment truly looked like, or if Uncle Aaron was just especially good at taking care of himself.
“Yup! He’s the best. Maybe when all of this is over, you’ll meet him,” said Miles as they began walking up his apartment complex’s wall towards what Peter was hoping was Miles’ room.
“When all this is over, kid, I’m going to be at home finishing up my day-old pizza,” said Peter, Miles ushering him into his tiny room, “Or. I guess it might be a few-day-old pizza, but that’s fine. Pizza never expires.”
“I’m not sure if that’s right,” said Miles, giving Peter a look like he was wondering why he got stuck with this Peter Parker, and not gorgeous, handsome, everything went right for him blonde Peter Parker.
Fair.
“I’m a scientist. Technically. I didn’t finish my Ph.D., but I’m basically lab certified. I know things,” said Peter, leaning on the wall.
There was personality in the room. From their little asides as they trekked over to Miles’ place and that piece he made outside, Peter could tell this kid was an artist, but the room showed that his parents encouraged the kid’s talent. He smiled at the fancy markers and pencils, the special desk.
Good for Miles.
It was good that he had things in his life that he loved that weren’t just the mission to keep New York City safe. Peter didn’t have that solid base before her became Spider-man and look at how he turned out. This was healthy. Good.
“You know things scientifically about pizza?” said Miles, at least out of the Spider-Man suit and into some normal clothes, amused as he walked back into his room, silently closing his door before he shoved a jacket and some socks and shoes at Peter, “Come on, this might fit you better than the rag you have on. It might cover the suit underneath better. They’re spares for the rare occasions that my dad lets Uncle Aaron stay over. I think you’re around the same size? He might be taller and a bit more built – that might even things out.”
Peter frowned, not here for these innocent yet definite comments about Peter’s “shape”, grumbling but honestly happy to take off the raggedy coat he found in a dumpster (Peter was pretty sure he was going to smell forever, but putting on clothes that weren’t actively smelling was a step up to where he was a minute ago. Beggars couldn’t be choosers).
Peter was surprised that the kid was right – the clothes fit pretty well over his suit.
Peter should have known with his luck, though, they weren’t leaving this house without anyone noticing.
Peter B. Parker wasn’t sure why he’d let this kid, this Miles Morales, convince him to swing by his apartment to get some normal clothes, maybe crash there for the night. He knew shit like that was always a bad idea, knew he should have stayed outside the moment he noticed the kid neither had a walk-in closet nor a bed big enough for Peter to hide under, told the kid that he was just going to find a different place to get his five to seven hours of sleep before a breakfast burger and a heist at Alchemax, but no. He had to just go with whatever Miles said.
And get caught by Miles’ parents. Because being an adult male stranger who just looked like he was in a medium-bad fight in Miles’ room doing his best to casually hide a spider suit with the jacket Miles had loaned him wasn’t creepy at all.
“Miles. Who is this?” asked the woman (definitely his mom), the man (yup, that was a dad, not trusting the weird man in Miles’ room at all).
Peter didn’t blame the dad. Peter should have known better.
“Uh,” said Miles, and Peter knew he was usually pretty okay (like, a B- at the very least) at keeping up a cover story, so the kid was bound to have some level of ability to lie too, right, “This is my Uncle Peter.”
Miles said.
To his own parents.
Was Peter inwardly screaming?
Sure.
Out of all the cover stories with all the people, how?
His dad just… stared at Peter as if he’d become that woman doing math meme (was that a meme in this universe? Peter really hoped it was). The mom was instantly dubious.
Peter B. Parker was a lot of things. He was Spider-Man. A Divorcé. Probably in a lot of debt (he tried not to think about it). Maybe not in the best shape of his life anymore (What? He wasn’t twenty-two with the tightest glut on the stoop any longer, sue Peter). He may or may not have lost a case in court about the copyrights to a certain Spider-theme restaurant he was trying to make happen (don’t invest in a Spider-themed restaurant). He could technically call himself a multiversal traveler on his hero resume, so that was at least neat.
But, this kid’s fake uncle?
Fuck it, Peter was tagging in.
“Aaron,” said Peter, the parents both looking confused in very different ways, “I’m married to Aaron. I’m Peter, by the way.”
And maybe the lie would have been called out instantly, but hell yeah, they were looking at how Peter was wearing Aaron’s clothes.
Jackpot.
Peter raised his hands.
“I’m sorry for intruding. I usually wouldn’t, but I got mugged outside, and Miles was just letting me call Aaron, tell him I was fine, borrow some cash to get home,” said Peter because, yes, this could at least minorly solve his money problem.
At least for a meal.
“That was what was happening,” said Miles, “I didn’t want to wake you two up, he was getting out of here pretty quickly.”
The dad… frowned.
“Aaron got married without telling me?” said the dad.
Which.
Fuck.
Good going, Peter, picking up on a strained relationship and throwing yourself in the middle of that. This was why people left you. That and debt. And fear of commitment. And possibly an inability to clean after yourself. But definitely the thing about finding weak points and using them to your advantage.
“You sure you don’t want to report the mugging?” asked the mom, curious.
Peter shrugged. He knew the statistics of anything actually being done about muggers. They weren’t great.
“I’d just rather get home. Think about what to do tomorrow,” said Peter, something that a good chunk of people said when Peter asked them that when he got to a mugging scene late.
The mom pulled out her wallet, handing Peter subway fair.
“Get home safe. And. Please don’t just sneak into our home again,” said the mom, “I’m – ”
“Rio. And Jefferson,” Peter said, smiling fondly, kind of adoring the fact that Miles loved his parents enough to talk about them on the way home as well as thanking his lucky stars the kid was such a chatterbox, “I know.”
Rio gave Peter an undeserving smile, a sympathetic one for a hypothetical love this known bachelor uncle had been hiding from them and wow, the more he thought about Aaron, the better his story got (Bad Peter. Stop using information you glean in shady ways to only save yourself).
Peter found his way to the door (because he understood the general planning of most apartments after twenty-two years of breaking into places in the name of truth and justice and responsibility or whatever), and he could feel them all looking at him. Miles; surprised and impressed. Rio; hopeful still a little dubious. And Jefferson; hurt and confused yet trying not to show it near his son.
Fuck, Peter. This was why no one liked you. This was why the damned restaurant didn’t work out (well, losing that lawsuit didn’t help either, but this definitely contributed).
As he got out of the elevator and onto the street, he’d gotten a series of buzzes from his phone. Peter hoped there wasn’t some sort of multiverse added on charge for his cellular plan as he checked his QQ Chat, smiling as he noticed it was the kid:
MILES
Hey!
It’s me, Miles!
Head over to my uncle’s place to sleep. Tell him I sent you there if he shows up, I’m filling him in on you.
PETER
Filling him in on me???
What does that even mean?
MILES
It means he’ll let you stay there!
Just tell him I sent you, okay?
Peter sighed. He could just try to break into Alchemax on his own, but… no. It wouldn’t hurt to have someone else around to help (When was the last time anyone helped him in a fight? None of the Avengers will even respond to his QQ Chats anymore). And he did need his five to seven hours.
Peter headed back towards Aaron’s apartment, hoping that the guy would let him crash on his couch.
*****
Aaron had had a rough couple of days. He’d never been a fan of the killing part of his job, especially if it meant he had to watch Kingpin pummel someone to death with his bare fists. That was… Aaron really needed to schedule another therapist appointment soon, because he really didn’t want to think about the soupiness of that corpse’s head, how it was definitely a closed casket.
Not to mention his boss had him out searching for some kid who had stumbled into the room and accidentally became a witness to a murder. And it was his job, Prowler understood he was getting paid to do a certain set of things for Kingpin and that there would be consequences if he didn’t, but Aaron hated that he had to look around the city for a kid that was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The moment he opened the door to his apartment, he knew something was wrong.
There.
On his fucking couch.
Eating his leftover sesame chicken.
Listening to his A Very Spidey Christmas vinyl with “Spidey-Bells (A Hero’s Lament)” turned all the way up.
Were those his spare clothes from Jefferson’s house?
“You know,” said this strange (probably dangerous?) man through a mouthful of sesame chicken, “Me in this universe? He’s got a fucking voice of an angel. I don’t have that. No one was like ‘Peter B., make your own rendition of the Chanukah Song, Adam Sandler will love it. He’ll come to your wedding and sing your version of it to you even though the wedding’s in May because he’s just that nice of a guy, big fan of the Spidey’ or whatever. Maybe if I’d invested in pitch-correcting instead of a restaurant, I’d have my own album too. Ever regret all of your life decisions and choose food over thought?”
Aaron was a fast guy. There was a reason that wasn’t only his tech that people like the Kingpin hired him on the regular. And if this were any normal (well, clearly unstable and in need of help) man, he would have tackled him off his couch in an instant. But the guy seemed to have some sort of sense about when Aaron was coming at him, ducking, Aaron seeing a half-eaten sesame chicken fall onto his couch, on his leather couch.
“Seriously? I haven’t eaten in like, at least half a day. Let me finish first,” said the man, dodging the first few of Aaron’s attacks, before Aaron got him lulled into a sense of patterns and clocked him with one good punch, taking the small window he had to wrestle the man to the ground, “I give, I give! I’m not here to hurt you! Have you not seen the QQ Chat messages?”
Aaron was usually pretty good at gauging whether or not someone was making something up to get out of a situation. Weirdly enough, his BS radar wasn’t binging on this man, keeping him in a hold as he moved his other hand over to pull out his phone, skimming through the messages.
“Married?” Aaron said, letting go of the weird man he found in his home.