The early morning air had that damp, slightly acrid smell Brooklyn had come to associate with Brooklyn itself—wet asphalt, faint coffee, and the occasional whiff of something… unidentifiable. She tugged her hoodie tighter around her shoulders as she followed Miles through the quiet streets.
"Where exactly are we going?" she asked, her voice muffled by the hood.
Miles didn't answer, only gestured toward the looming shape of an abandoned warehouse. Its brick walls were dark in the pre-dawn light, jagged edges catching the sun's first rays. A few broken windows reflected the dim glow, like eyes watching them approach.
Brooklyn paused. "You call this a training ground? Looks like a haunted house."
Miles smirked under his mask. "Haunted or not, perfect for wall-crawling practice. You'll get used to it."
She glanced up at the walls, feeling the height press into her chest. Her stomach twisted. She wasn't afraid of heights—exactly—but there was something about climbing vertical walls that made the ground seem impossibly far.
"Fine," she muttered, rolling her shoulders. "Let's do this. Just… don't let me die, okay?"
Miles crouched at the base of the wall, gesturing for her to start. "Feet first, palms second. Let the wall support you. Don't fight it."
Brooklyn took a deep breath, pressing her palms against the rough brick. She felt the grit scrape against her skin, her fingers gripping instinctively. She lifted one foot, then the other, and… slipped.
"Whoa!" Miles leapt forward instinctively, catching her wrist. "Easy there. You okay?"
Brooklyn laughed nervously, brushing herself off. "I'm fine! Totally fine. Just… testing gravity."
"Right," Miles muttered, though the corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement. "Testing gravity. Again."
She groaned but tried again. And again. And again.
Each attempt was a battle. Her muscles screamed, her palms were raw, and every slip made her heart race in ways that weren't entirely from exertion. She learned to read the bricks, feeling tiny vibrations, adjusting her weight subtly. Miles's voice was always there, calm and steady: "Shift your weight… yes, just like that… don't panic."
Brooklyn muttered to herself with every climb: Come on, you've got this… oh no, don't fall… okay, breathe… don't look down… Her thoughts raced faster than her movements, but slowly, she began to feel more connected to her body, to the wall, to the strange rhythm of climbing.
After an hour, she paused, leaning against the rough bricks, breathing hard. "I can't believe how exhausting this is. And I'm not even swinging yet."
Miles crouched beside her, studying her. "This is foundational. Swinging is easier once you trust yourself on vertical surfaces. You'll see."
Brooklyn rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. "Easier? That's comforting. Really comforting."
They took a short break, perched on a small ledge. Brooklyn watched the city awaken below them—the traffic growing, streetlights flickering off, the smell of coffee drifting up. She felt a strange mix of exhilaration and dread, wondering what she'd gotten herself into.
"You're improving," Miles said softly, leaning back against the bricks. "Faster than I expected."
Brooklyn flushed. "Thanks… I think?"
Miles smirked. "I mean it. You've got instincts. You just need to trust them."
She laughed softly, shaking her head. "Trust my instincts. Easy enough. Totally easy."
Miles tilted his head, voice lowering. "It's not easy. You'll fall. You'll fail. But you'll learn. And I'll be here to make sure you survive it."
Brooklyn felt her cheeks heat. She wasn't sure why, but the idea of Miles being there, always ready to catch her—not just physically but emotionally—was… comforting. And thrilling. She shook her head, muttering, "I'm not thinking about that."
"Good," Miles said, though he glanced at her meaningfully.
They continued. Brooklyn fell multiple times, each one a small panic spike in her chest, but each time she climbed again, a little stronger, a little more confident. She learned to adjust her balance, to read the bricks for micro-holds, to anticipate slips. Miles guided her patiently, teasing her occasionally—"Watch your feet, Spider-Woman, not your toes"—but always supportive, always steady.
At one point, Brooklyn completely lost her grip, flailing backward. She felt a split-second panic spike, then a firm hand on her wrist. She froze, heart hammering, and looked up to see Miles.
"You okay?" he asked.
Brooklyn swallowed, cheeks flushed, and nodded. "Yeah… I'm fine. Totally fine."
Miles smirked knowingly. "Sure. Totally fine."
As the sun climbed higher, their session grew longer. Miles began introducing subtle techniques: shifting weight to counterbalance, using momentum to propel upward, and adjusting web-sling angles to catch herself if she slipped. Brooklyn's confidence grew with each lesson, though fear never fully disappeared.
Finally, they reached the top of the warehouse, sitting side by side on the edge. Brooklyn's muscles were trembling, her fingers scraped, but her chest felt light, exhilarated. She gazed out over the city, feeling the thrill of accomplishment and the weight of the responsibility her powers carried.
Miles spoke quietly, almost to himself: "You're doing great, Brooklyn. You're really getting it."
Brooklyn smiled, feeling warmth flood her chest. "Thanks… I think. I mean, I still feel like I might fall at any moment, but… thanks."
Miles chuckled softly. "You won't. Not if you trust yourself."
Brooklyn let herself relax against the bricks, thinking about the future. Swinging, climbing, saving people—it all felt terrifying and exhilarating at once. But for the first time since the bite, she felt capable. She could survive. She could grow. And maybe, just maybe, she could even thrive.
"Tomorrow," Miles said finally, "we start swinging."
Brooklyn groaned. "Swinging? Are you trying to murder me?"
"Nope," Miles said, smirking. "Just trying to make you amazing."
Brooklyn laughed softly. "You're mean."
"But you'll thank me later," he said, and she believed him.
Brooklyn wiped her palms on her hoodie, leaving streaks of dirt and sweat across the fabric. "I swear my hands are turning into sandpaper," she muttered. "Do all superheroes get blisters like this?"
Miles chuckled, crouching beside her. "Only the ones who actually try. Some of us just make it look easy."
Brooklyn shot him a mock glare. "Right. Easy for you, Spider-Kid. Must be nice."
He leaned back on his hands, smirking. "Not easy, just… natural. You'll get there. You already are."
She rolled her eyes but couldn't stop herself from smiling. "You're way too positive for this hour of the morning."
They spent the next few minutes planning the next climb. Brooklyn studied the wall, noting cracks and ledges. She muttered instructions to herself as if they were a complicated recipe: Left foot, push, right hand… okay, careful… oh, nope, slipped. Each slip made her heart lurch, but she adjusted, learned, and tried again.
At one point, she scrambled halfway up the wall, hanging by her fingertips, breath ragged, thinking she'd finally nailed it. Then a small chunk of brick crumbled beneath her. She yelped, swinging backward, only to be caught by Miles's outstretched hand.
"Brooklyn! Are you okay?" he asked, concern threading through his tone.
"Yeah… yeah, I'm fine!" she panted. "I meant to do that. Totally part of the training."
Miles raised an eyebrow. "Right. Part of the training."
For a moment, they sat side by side on the edge of the rooftop, the city humming softly beneath them. Brooklyn's muscles ached, her hands throbbed, and yet her chest felt light. The fear and thrill, the danger and exhilaration—it was intoxicating.
"You know," she said softly, glancing at him, "I think… I actually like this. Kind of. A little. Maybe. Terrifying, but… exciting."
Miles's mask tilted slightly as he smiled. "Exactly. You feel alive, and you're learning. That's the point."
Brooklyn laughed quietly. "Alive… sure. Just don't let me get killed in the process, okay?"
Miles gave a small salute. "No promises, Spider-Woman. But I've got your back."
And for the first time, Brooklyn believed him.