Spiderman Oneshots

Identity Numbers (2)

He was having a crisis: he'd seen the news about Spider-Man. It had been weeks since the hero's number had dropped to zero and it still hadn't changed. Someone needed to check that he was okay, and Miles had a feeling he was the one.

He'd been bitten by a spider and gained powers very similar to the local hero. And then he'd proceeded to ignore this fact and continue with his life to the best of his ability. 

He wanted to be a superhero, sure. What kid didn't? But he was old enough to understand the reality of the situation. His dad was a cop, vigilanteism was illegal, and he'd been around for the whole situation with Spider-Man and that intern (whose name he couldn't quite remember?) where his identity could have been revealed because of his number. 

Miles couldn't risk that. Besides, he was proud of his number. It was in the thousands and ever-climbing courtesy of the memorable street art he threw up in his free time (his dad pretended he didn't know about it but Miles had a hunch he was secretly proud of his son and just couldn't say because, well, cop). The real question was if his street artist identity would dominate whatever superhero persona he took on or if it would stay the same - or maybe the three identities would settle into a little triangle where each one was displayed depending on who he was at that exact moment?

He glanced out of the window just in time to see a red shape arc across the sky and perch atop a building. Miles slumped. He was doing this.

He'd made the suit almost immediately, modelled after the one Spider-Man wore except made more interesting by Miles's spray paints. Now it was black with red accents and a dripping red spider on the chest that Miles was immensely proud of. The suit fit like a glove. A well-fitting glove.

"Hey," Miles called across the rooftop. Swinging had taken a few attempts but he'd made it. Spider-Man startled and whipped around. His eyes went wide when he saw Miles.

"Not again," Miles heard the hero say as he got into a fighting pose.

"Woah woah! Relax, I'm just... I'm just here to chat, I guess."

"Who are you?" Spider-Man asked tensely.

"I'm just... Just a guy. Except I can do this," Miles flickered invisible, "and also stick to stuff, and also lots of other things. I was wondering if you had any advice."

"Oh." Spider-Man sat back down. Miles tentatively walked closer and crouched beside him. "Not really. Nothing you'd want to hear."

"Tell me anyway."

"Don't. Go home, hang up the suit and carry on with your life. It's not worth it. All the glamour of being a superhero is a lie."

"Oh." Miles really didn't know where to start unpicking all of that.

"Told you you wouldn't want to hear it."

"No, I do! Just... you're still here, still being a hero. Why, if it's so bad?"

"Because, Mr 'just a guy', this," he spread his arms, "is all I have. Being Spider-Man is the only thing in my life worth living for. Everything else," he gestured now at the floating zero, "...gone."

"How?" Miles breathed, gazing at the glowing number. His own had changed to the number of people who knew him as Miles.

Spider-Man let out a laugh. "One of the theorists, huh? Want to know the truth? Everyone who knew me, the real me, is dead or they've forgotten me."

"But- but you had hundreds-"

"Yes. And now, zero. This is what being a hero is about, Mr Guy. Sacrifice. And sometimes when you reach the sacrifice you're not willing to make? It's too late to go back. So go home, man. The city is in safe hands, I promise. It's not like I've got anything better to do."