Chapter Text
“Miles! You’re artistic.”
Technically speaking, the phrase was a statement. Comprised of two words (three, counting the contraction), a noun, an adjective (a verb, counting the contraction), with a period to finish it off. No question mark. No exclamation point. A straightforward delivery of facts.
“Yeah?”
It was an answer to a question that wasn’t technically asked, and in itself it wasn’t really an answer, not if that age old proverb (was it a proverb? Or more of a saying — a turn of phrase? Grammatical rule?) of answering questions with another question was true. It was the most basic form of acknowledgement without slipping into the dangerous territory of being impolite; one step above a non-verbal grunt in recognition of the sort-of-statement-sort-of-question-thing or just putting his phone down and staring at his father. It was the most respectful way to leave off the “And? What about it?” at the end with it still having been heard.
Miles knew what was coming next.
“I need your help.”
He put his phone down and walked to where his dad was sitting across the room, stifling a sigh that could be misinterpreted as the greatly feared ‘teenage attitude’ — he was fine with helping his dad, and genuinely did want to, it’s just that there are some things parents almost intentionally take the wrong way. So his release of all the burdens that come with his old age of fourteen years upon getting up from his seat were postponed until he could let loose as Spider-Man, or maybe when he could just sit back down in his original seat.
“What’s up?”
Now came the part that Miles wouldn’t be able to guess with as much accuracy. Up until then it had been a script — a short one, sure, but one that he could have predicted right from when his dad had exclaimed his name in just that particular tone of voice. His dad turned his laptop towards him as he sat down, and although he was used to almost anything he could have needed his help with (“The banner looks great, Dad.” “You don’t think it’s in poor taste to say ‘Come back later for your sanity’?” “It’s fine, Dad.” Maternity leave banners weren’t really Miles’s field of expertise), not much could have thrown him for a loop quite as effectively as what his dad was showing him.
“I’m not sure what to put in this blank space.”
Miles wasn’t sure what to think of it at all. Why didn’t any of his spidey powers come with the ability to predict the future? He wasn’t prepared for this. Miles was pretty sure that these weekend visits to his parents were eventually going to be the death of him.
“Dad, is this…?”
“What? I thought it would be nice.”
“Is this from the department?”
“Oh. No, this is…” He cleared his throat.
“…From you?” Miles wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry or hug the life out of his dad. “I thought…”
His dad shifted in his seat as his face fell. “Look, the guy is actually…helpful sometimes, and I figured — hey, it’s Christmas, and he already gets enough of a bad rep from the press, and—”
“No, it’s great, Dad! He’ll love it!”
His dad looked at him and blinked. Miles tried to control his overjoyed grin down to a supportive smile. His dad nodded.
“Hm. Well, he’d better.”
Oh my god. Oh my god, oh my god, ohmygod.
Miles shot up from his seat. “Oh! Uh…” He picked up his phone from where he’d put it on the coffee table. “Ganke is…calling me, I have to…”
He dashed to his bedroom, hoping his dad didn’t realise his phone was quite the opposite of being blown up. It was imploding. From the lack of notifications. Well, whatever — adults don’t know all that much about technology, anyway, do they?
The door slammed behind Miles and Jefferson blinked. He looked back down to his laptop, where the unfinished Christmas card file lay open on his desktop, still having received no help from his far more artistically gifted son. The problem was, Jefferson knew something wasn’t right with the layout, but didn’t have the eye Miles had when it came to fixing it. There was also the issue of how he was going to get it to Spider-Man at all in time for the holiday…
Well, he’d figure something out.