xp_logs | Patent Pending – Brother's Keeper (Reply)

Miles confronts his uncle with this afternoon's discoveries, and it turns out into an all-out brawl that no one can win.

There was no graceful way to go up to your uncle and say, "Hey, this is crazy, but you're a supervillain and I'm a superhero, so let me arrest you, maybe." So Miles was running through a dozen openers in his mind when he pressed the buzzer to Aaron's apartment. No voice responded to greet him, but the front door unlocked with a loud CLINK, anyway. Maybe Aaron was expecting someone. Wouldn't this be a surprise.

The only surprise Miles found, though, was Aaron's vacant apartment. He called to his uncle but no one called back. A note pinned to the fridge caught his attention. It simply said "On the roof" in Aaron's scrawl, accompanied by a little doodle of a spider. Not just any spider, Miles realized. The icon he wore on his costume.

He knew, then. Miles should have expected it. Now that he thought about it, a master thief who had successfully infiltrated four highly secure development facilities in just a couple of weeks would undoubtedly have been able to discern who he was. Maybe this would make it easier, Miles considered as he fired off a quick text to Peter while he walked up the stairs to the rooftop. Complete candor. No need for euphemisms and runarounds.

Just as he said, Aaron was waiting for him on the roof, clad in his dark purple and black body suit. That was ominous. But when in Rome. "You're making me feel under-dressed, Uncle Aaron," Miles quipped as he removed his hoodie and breakaway pants, revealing his own costume underneath.

"You make that yourself?" Aaron, clad in his Prowler costume, stood before Miles with his arms crossed. The costume was designed to make him seem large and imposing, and for the most part it worked. But without the mask, he seemed more human, and as he stood before his nephew, he looked pleased. Almost impressed. "Not bad. You've got real talent."

"Had some help. I'm not really an artist myself." Miles was a small guy, even by the standards of 15-year-olds, but he stood as tall and defiantly as he could. "What the hell, man? Who even are you?"

"Miles, I'm your uncle." He dropped his hands down to his side and stepped forward. "I've always been in your uncle, and we've always been tight. You know who I am."

"Do I?" Maybe that was a little dramatic, but seriously, what the hell was this? "My uncle is not a thief. He's not a bad guy. He definitely wouldn't've beaten the crap out of me and my friends last night. He doesn't steal from Worthington Industries. Explain this to me, please."

"This coming from Spider-Man?" Aaron raised an eyebrow. "What exactly were you doing there last night, Miles? Innocent surveillance? You and your friends came after me too."

Miles clenched his fists, his frustration clear on his face, but he kept his uncle's gaze. "We were there to stop whoever was stealing from Worthington. That's, you know, our job. We stop bad guys. Never would've thought it'd be someone in my own family. What kind of Star Wars realness."

"Well, this is my job." Aaron didn't look away from his nephew and showed no sign that the kid was getting to him. "And it was your dad's job for a while. And it can be yours too." Aaron's eyes softened a bit as he looked at his nephew's costume. "We have to make a living in this world, Miles, and it's hard for people like us. I know that, and there's a part of you that gets that too." He raised his gaze to meet Miles' once more. "I know your secret, and you know mine. And now we can work together."

This had quickly gone from unbelievable to downright preposterous. Spider-Man as a bad guy? Like, a for real one, not just what the Daily Bugle considered one. It was enough to elicit a bark of laughter from Miles. "Ay, what did I just say about Star Wars? I'm not joining the Dark Side no matter how many cookies you have."

"Well, that's pretty damn judgmental." Aaron frowned. "Right and wrong are relative, Miles. Ask your dad about that. He'll tell you all about it."

"Stop talking about my dad!" Miles shouted. "Now I know why he didn't want me to see you anymore. Eres basura."

"Okay," Aaron shrugged with his hands in his pockets. "Have it your way." In a quick motion, he pulled an object out of his pocket and threw it toward a spot on the roof between him and Miles. As it moved, it emitted smoke that began to cloud the rooftop and obscure Prowler from his nephew.

The attack was so fast and unexpected that Miles's spider-sense didn't ping until Uncle Aaron – Prowler, Miles told himself, this wasn't the uncle he knew – had disappeared from sight. Miles dropped to his hands and knees to retrieve his mask from his hoodie pocket, and just barely avoided a kick to the face.

Listening in from a nearby rooftop, Matt was in motion almost as soon as the smokebomb was thrown, the smoke not hindering his sonar in the slightest, though he didn't care for the smell. He could ignore that. "Move, Bug!" he called to Miles, grabbing the teen to haul him out of the way. He wasn't operating at 100%, but so long as his stitches didn't tear, he would be okay. He didn't want to have to face Jean again to get them fixed.

Mirroring Matt's actions, Peter swung into action at the same time, swooping in towards Prowler from the other side. While Matt moved Miles out of the way, Peter was 100% focused on striking Prowler, both feet out and aimed the slam into their would-be assailant with as much force as possible.

Prowler maneuvered his body out of the one Spider-Man's path with surprising reflexes for someone his size, dropping and rolling to his left as the wannabe hero tried to connect. As Peter swung past him, Aaron pointed his hands toward the young man and pressed a button on his left wrist. Metal flechettes shot out of the gauntlets on his wrist and flew toward Peter's back.

"Ungh!" Peter rolled backwards, contorting midair in an attempt to evade the blades. It almost worked, right up until the last one found purchase and pierced his lower left side. It wasn't a serious wound but it was more than enough to throw him off balance and cause him to tumble to the ground, wincing in pain. "Dammit!"

"Spidey!" Miles shrugged off Matt's hand and lunged at Prowler with superhuman speed. He just needed to land one hand on him. A single venom blast and this would all be over. But Prowler moved with an astonishing speed, avoiding all of Miles's attempts to reach him. "Stop moving, dammit!"

"Hmm," Prowler said, his voice following him as he darted out of Miles's grasp. "Nah." A whipping sound seemed to punctuate his reply. A bola soared through the air, its weighted balls sticking out as they crossed through what remained of the smoke and moved toward Miles.

His spider sense alerted him to the trap and quick reflexes sent him down to all fours so the bolas passed overhead. Miles was back to his feet less than an instant later, flinging small bolts of webbing to at least keep Prowler on his toes and distract him.

Pulling out his billy clubs, Matt joined the fray in earnest, launching one at the bolas to tangle them up as he anticipated where the other man was going to go, flipping so his legs grabbed the man and took him down with him. The Prowler landed hard on the concrete and Matt was already moving again, his fist connecting solidly with jaw. He was looking for payback after their last go-around, not to mention for Miles.

And Miles took the opportunity to get in close himself and briefly press his hand against Prowler's side, pushing through as much energy as he could muster in that single second, before he slipped back out of reach again. "DD, get back!" he ordered so his partner wouldn't get shocked, too.

"Yo!" Prowler rolled aside at the touch, the contact clearly surprising him. When the venom blast finally kicked in a few seconds later, he clutched his side and let out a few pained grunts. His teeth clenched, he looked up and rasped out a quick "The fuck, kid?" Shouting as he tried to right himself, he hit a button on his gloves with his thumbs.

Almost immediately, sonic waves emitted outward from Prowler, sending concentrated pulses of air out at a high, audible frequency.

Stepping back, Matt wasn't able to handle the noise and the Prowler had to know it. Disoriented, he wasn't as put-out as he was with Billy that time, but he was out of the fight until he could get his head together. Reaching to his side, he realized that some of his stitches had ripped and he was bleeding again. Fuck.

"This guy," Peter said, through gritted teeth, "is seriously starting... to piss me off!" He crouched low and then leapt with all his might towards the Prowler, lunging at the man without any real plan as to what he might do if and when he reached him, exactly. It probably involved a lot of punching, and the anger and frustration was practically rolling off of Peter in waves.

Sonic blasts continued to emit from Prowler's gloves. As Peter approached, the criminal rolled off his side and onto his knees, the effects of the venom apparently fading from his system. "Fuck this." As Peter approached, he sprung off his knees, leading with his left foot in a kick to the other man's chest.

"Ugh!" was all Peter could manage in response, bouncing off of the Prowler's foot and skittering off to one side, his momentum gone once again. The previous wound from the flechettes and the resulting blood loss was taking its toll, and he struggled just to raise himself to one knee as a result.

Miles was the only one left on his feet, and he doubted if that would be for long, not if his uncle (his uncle!) had any say. Disoriented by the piercing blasts of sound, Miles forced himself to focus through the head-splitting pain to activate his camo mode. Blending into the shadows, he wildly threw a dozen web balls in the hopes that one of them would find its mark and disable the weapon.

The plan worked. Prowler held up his gloves to block the webbing, which spread itself around the gauntlets and stopped them from vibrating. "Nice move, kid." In fluid motions, he ripped the gauntlets off and threw them at Peter, who he saw starting to rise. "Shame you reject your heritage." He glanced around for his nephew and frowned, then reached into his bag of tricks and lobbed another smoke bomb onto the rooftop.

"Running out of tricks?" Miles taunted from behind Prowler. He'd have to thank Matt's brother again for the new suit and the gas filters built into the mask. He shimmered back into sight and shot a web line at his uncle's arm, and used it to pull him in close for a punch to the gut. A reined-in one, though; despite his uncle's treason, Miles didn't want to kill him with a superhumanly strong jab. "I've got a rich heritage," he said, delivering a roundhouse to his head, "Super crime isn't part of it!"

Aaron staggered back from the blow to the head, stumbling until his body found the casing housing an air conditioning unit on his roof. A bit of blood trickled out of his nose, and even though he felt a little dizzy, he was instead clutching his stomach. "Oh, buddy," he looked up, mock pity on his face, "but it is." He wiped his nose and cut the webbing with a knife from his pocket, then ran toward Miles with a speed unexpected for a man his size.

"The things I could have taught you." As he moved toward Miles, he seemed to have a sixth sense, anticipating dodges before they happened and recalibrating his approach. When he got near, he kicked Miles to the knees, hoping to disarm him.

His spider sense was blaring non-stop, making it impossible to keep up with Prowler's relentless attack. Miles fell for feint after feint, and the kick drove him to his knees, and only instinct got him to raise his arms quickly enough to block a kick to his face. "Not strong enough," he panted, struggling back to his feet. "You're not . . . Not gonna let you get away . . ."

Prowler snorted. "Not giving you much of a choice, kid." As Miles' fist came toward his face, Prowler grabbed onto his forearm, exerting enough strength to hold the limb in place. "You know," he said for a second, his features softening a bit behind his mask, "I'm gonna miss you." Before his resolve could totally fade, he gave a half-hearted palm strike to the kid's solar plexus.

Even without the enthusiasm dealt to Miles's partners, the blow was strong enough to knock the wind out of him, and he collapsed in a breathless heap when Prowler let him go. By the time he had regained a semblance of coherence, the rooftop was empty, save for him, Matt, and Peter.

"W-what happened?" he asked hoarsely. "Where'd he go?"

"Fuck," and Matt wasn't at all concerned about his language in front of the younger men. "I don't hear him," wherever he sent, it was fast and thorough. "...and I ripped my stitches," he added, holding his side.

"Good riddance." Peter muttered as he finally got to his feet with a groan. "Dude is a real dick." He scanned the rest of the rooftop himself just to be sure and then turned his attention to the cuts he'd received. "So, uh, is anyone else bleeding or..."