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Months after Kingpin, after the Collider, Officer Jefferson Morales had all but resigned himself to sharing the streets with the tiniest new Spider-Man.
He had tried his best to ward him off of the whole vigilantism thing, but the kid – and who did he think he was fooling with that accent? He clearly wasn't full-grown – was stubborn, even more so than his own son.
The kid was flighty, too. Always flitting about like a bird, never staying in one place too long before swinging off to the next hint of danger.
It drove Jefferson mad, sometimes, knowing there was a kid out there running face-first into danger on purpose, risking his life just to break the law, just to try to do some good in this crazy city of theirs.
Some days he wanted to stick the kid in a holding cell for the night to teach him a lesson, though those days faded out quickly the longer he knew the kid, heard his awkward “see you later, Officer Morales!” as he swung off, and the voice cracks that betrayed just how young the kid was. Most days he just wanted him safe, to know for certain-sure that he wasn't going to get killed out there. Like Aaron had.
He couldn't imagine being the boy's father. He would go mad with worry. He hoped that the kid's parents knew he was doing this, but he doubted it. What good parent would let their kid fight crime out on the streets?
Jefferson had been trying to catch Spider-Man to make him sit still for a conversation for weeks now, with little luck. At this point, he was getting to the point where kidnapping the kid didn't seem so terrible.
“Spider-Man!” Jefferson called out, and Spider-Man paused with his arm outstretched to fwip away from the rooftop they had found themselves on after a long, arduous fight with the newest villain-of-the-week. The kid turned and looked at him with those giant eyes– er, well, eye lenses?
“What can I do for you, Officer Morales?” And there he goes again with that fake-deep accent. Jefferson had thought they were past this.
“I wanted to talk to you.” Jefferson admitted, carefully putting his hands into his pockets as a show of peace.
Spider-Man hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other nervously, but decided that he could trust him. The kid inched closer cautiously, and sat next to Jefferson when he lowered himself onto the roof edge with a quiet groan that spoke of old bones and achy joints.
“What about?” The kid asked, accent forgotten once more.
Jefferson sighed, and let the silence sit for a moment. A siren wailed in the distance, fading out of hearing as it moved further away, towards where the hospital was, where his wife was working right now. Sounds of a cat fight came from the left, in the next alley over, and Jefferson watched the kid's gaze catch on it, what a bleeding heart. It made it all the more tragic.
“Do your parents know you're out here doing this?” He said, finally. The kid stiffened, and made to get up.
“Y’know, I think I hear a mugging down that-a-ways,” the kid pointed off in a random direction, and Jefferson put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down.
He had seen Spider-Man lift and throw cars before, he knew the kid could get away if he wanted to. But something told him that the kid wasn't sure where to go right now, even if he did leave.
“Stop.” Jefferson said, firm. “I know you kids don't like talking about hard things, but this isn't a conversation you can avoid any longer. This is important.”
The kid crossed his arms, and turned his head away from Jefferson. “I don't see why,” he grumbled under his breath.
“Because this could kill you.” Jefferson was dead serious. This was not a fun topic, not cheerful or happy, but it was important. “And if your parents don't know, then that means that if, or more likely, when this kills you, they're going to find out about this through the news. They are going to see the body of their son, and they are going to wonder what they did wrong that it ended up like this.”
Spider-Man hunched his shoulders, and his whole body had become a mansion of tension, woven through his tendons and spilling from his veins. “But–”
“I have a son,” Jefferson said suddenly, cutting off what Spider-Man was going to say. “I hope you're older than him, but I don't know.”
The kid chanced a glance at him, and shot his head back away when he found him looking at him.
“I love him so much it hurts sometimes. Him and his mother both.” Jefferson sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing at the tension behind them. “If he was out here, doing the things you do, I think it would drive me mad. I worry about him, because he's my son, because this world, this city, can be cruel to people like us. To people like him. Those so full of light and goodness that it comes bursting out of their seams. I just know that this city would love to chew him up and spit him back out again, broken.”
Spider-Man stared at him, wide-eyed, and Jefferson felt bad for a moment for letting his worries weigh on someone else, for burdening a kid with all of this. But he needed to know how actions could affect things. That what he did could and did have an effect on the people around him.
“I love my son, Spider-Man. I hope your parents say the same thing. And I hope they know that you're doing this, even if I can't imagine a good parent letting their child do this. Because if my son died out there and I didn't even know?” Jefferson stopped, and sighed again.
Spiderman was quiet. Jefferson hoped he was taking his words to heart, that he had listened, but he supposed only time would tell.