Miles almost regretted impulsively spray-painting a Spider-Man suit instead of just making his own later; the stench didn't wear off for a good few weeks, during which he had a really uncomfortable time not passing out while inhaling too much of the fumes.
At least it looked cool.
(And really, it did - it made him feel cool, too, what with the red-and-black theme, the way it fit on him like a second skin, and the mobility, God-)
Even so, in those weeks, through the awful stench, he'd managed to gain a better idea of how the ropes (literally) worked. Now that he'd become better acquainted with his roommate, Ganke Lee, and had a real cover story for why he snuck out all the time, patrolling the city had become loads easier. And he didn't even really have to worry about his parents, seeing as how he only really saw them on weekends.
Not counting his father, of course, whom he saw every time he webbed up a new batch of criminals (and really, New York had to chill with the criminal activity; it seemed there was always either a bank heist or a burning building).
Miles and his dad - or, Officer Davis, as he called him in the suit - had really come a long way in terms of relationship, working together in keeping the city safe and all that jazz. Miles ended up dropping the deep voice after Jeff had exploded and told him just how horrible it was and how he could tell very easily he was a minor, but the accents stayed - wouldn't want to out himself as his son, would he?
(Even if he switched the accent all the time, and occasionally slipped back into his normal voice.)
The only thing Miles truly hated about the experience was the way Jeff insisted on babying him. Like he was his father - like he was Spider-Man's father, not Miles', because he really was Miles' father, but that wasn't the point because Jeff didn't know Miles was Spider-Man.
"Don't you have, like, homework, or something?" Jeff irritatingly said to Miles while he, in his suit, feeling every bit the superhero he was, sat on the hood of his father's police car, supervising the cleanup of a rather nasty robbery from that evening.
Miles tried to hold in a yawn. He did have an English essay due, now that his father mentioned it. "It's only eight-thirty," the thirteen-year-old argued, trying on a faux Canadian accent. (It was awful.) "Don't you have police work?"
Jeff raised an eyebrow pointedly at the police car door he'd just closed, which now housed an extra criminal in handcuffs. "What do you think I'm doing, son?"
"No, not a son, a random stranger man," Miles said quickly, his voice raising a couple octaves higher than he would've liked.
Idiota! shouted a voice in his head. He probably knows who you are now! You blew it! You absolute buffoon, you're awful at this, unworthy of the title of Spider-Man, you-
Jeff snorted. "Alright, random stranger man. Go home, we're taking care of this."
"You sure there's nothing else I can help you with, officer?" Miles asked, heart racing. Oh man. Ohhh man. Oh he was so bad at this.
His father leaned on the car door, staring at his fellow officers as they moved about, paramedics and fire department already taking care of other damages. After a few moments, he turned his head up to peer into Miles' eyes - the bug lenses on the mask, at least, but it felt like he was really seeing right through the fabric - and said, in a voice filled with an emotion Miles found difficult to place, "Why are you so insistent, kid?"
"Not a kid." Yes, you are. Why do you keep arguing?
Jeff began to run his hands through his hair, remembered he wore his police cap, settled with scratching the back of his neck. "You have a home. School. Friends. Parents who are probably worried out of their minds."
If my parents knew who I was, they'd flip out. You'd probably ground me for a month and bar my windows.
"Nah," Miles said instead, which, in hindsight, was probably the stupidest answer he could've given. At Jeff's suddenly furrowed eyebrows, he hastily added, "I mean, they're probably not worried. It's only eight-thirty. Not that I have a curfew or anything, I don't even live with my parents. Because I'm an adult. Yes. Exactly. Thank you."
Jesus, he wasn't getting better, he was getting worse.
Jeff sighed in exasperation and waved his hand. "Whatever, Spider-Man. Yeah, we're good here. You get going. Good night."
"You two!" Miles exclaimed, stumbling to his feet on the slick roof of the car. It'd rained not too long ago, and he knew he'd have to be careful not to get too confident with his wall-sticking abilities. Water tended to dampen the effect, if only a little. "Love ya!" he called as he jumped and scaled the side of a building, leaped off, shot a web, began to swing.
At least the Officer, I love you had lost its initial awkwardness. Now it was a bit of a tradition to say he loved his father in his spidey-suit every night, and Miles just hoped Jeff didn't get any suspicions because of it.
He circled around the block for a bit to make sure no prying eyes followed him on his way home; there'd be hell to pay if it got out that "New Spider-Man" actually attended Brooklyn Visions Academy. Him being much younger than eighteen would be common knowledge, for one.
Miles vaulted over a particularly high building and let himself fall, feeling the rush of cold air around his mask as his limbs instinctively flailed for a moment before resting at his sides, his heart calmer than it had been a week ago if he'd decided to do this. He let out a whoop and stuck his arm out, shooting a web, bracing himself for the jerk at his shoulder and the pull as he swung back upwards, going faster than any car down below.
He'd really gotten better. Miles wished Peter could see him now. (The hobo one.)
Miles tried to think of what the tired superhero would be doing now. Eating pizza, probably - or enjoying a romantic dinner with MJ, if things had gone according to plan and he'd gone to fix his relationship with the woman. Miles hoped things worked out for them.
He was brought out of his thoughts as a building seemingly came out of nowhere, leaving Miles having to twist his body unnaturally in order to evade the glass windows - he ended up just running along the length of them, stepping off the side to shoot a web further out and take a long swing across the block. Within minutes, he'd arrived at his school, crawled up to his window, and opened it to let himself in.
Ganke was, predictably, slurping on a soda and tapping at something on his computer. A pile of homework sat off to the side of the desk, so Miles figured he'd already finished his.
Ganke barely looked up from the screen. "Didn't even start, huh?" If Miles listened hard enough, he could find maybe a drop of sympathy.
Miles threw on a sweatshirt and sat himself down on his bed, where his schoolbag lay abandoned. "Man, I wanted to get a head start before going out today, but..."
"Didn't peg you as a procrastinator."
"I'm not. Not usually." Not when he didn't want to be.
Ganke pushed away from the desk in his swivel chair and spun around to face Miles. "Nice work out there," he complimented, jabbing a finger back towards the computer screen, where a game of Pong stood waiting. "Two robberies in a week? Damn."
"I know, it's like they think I'm incompetent or something," Miles joked, resigned to taking out his homework. "Ugh. At least math should be easy enough."
Ganke took another long sip from his soda. "You'll get there. They may not take you seriously now, but they'll grow on you. They have to."
"You don't think they take me seriously?"
"Think of it this way-" He placed the soda in his lap. "Old Spider-Man dies. Which still sucks, by the way. A few days later, all of Brooklyn is plagued with earthquakes and weirdly 3-D Bansky artworks. Yeah, dimensional openings, I know. Anyway. And then there's this window where you see a bunch of new Spider-People, except they disappear soon after, and suddenly New York has a new, smaller Spider-Man in a black suit. And it's not a bad thing, because he's clearly helping, but it's definitely something new. And I just think..."
Miles suddenly found math homework very hard.
"I don't know, dude. I think people need to adjust."
Miles put his pencil against his chin. "Sucks."
Ganke let out a laugh. "Yeah." A beat. "But you'll get there."
Miles stared down at his paper for a moment. When he looked back at his roommate, he saw him playing Pong on the computer, slurping on his soda like it was the most important thing in the world.
"Ay, dios mío," Miles muttered without thinking, mimicking the many times he'd heard his mother. "Alright, Morales, homework."
"That's the spirit!" Ganke cheered as he won another round of his game. Miles wasn't quite sure if his roommate meant him or the game, but either way, he appreciated the effort.
@elijahfurrydude i remember u talkin abt how young new spidey sounds and i just heard him today for the first time and ??jfc take away the fake ass accent and he's clearly a kid 12:06 PM - Oct 2, 2018 26 43
@PDNY so uhhh... y'all gonna let us know when you get the fuckin KID out of danger? idk just sayin... wouldn't want a repeat of last time lol 4:39 PM - Oct 2, 2018 104 198