Spider kid, Vampire Father

"No, no and no." He shook his head several times while at the same time looking him in the eye. "Don't even think I'll help you in this madness, Morales."

"Please, Miguel." The shorter one repeated again. His eyebrows were curved upwards, and his hands were clasped in supplication. "It's just a little lunch, that's all."

Miguel sighed irritably and stroked the bridge of his nose. "Este niño sí que es un dolor de huevos." muttered to himself as he turned to the screens behind him.

"¿Te duelen los… huevos?" Miles repeated carefully, sometimes finding it difficult to understand the older man's Spanish. Miguel spoke very fast. 

"Yes, uh-huh. Whatever you say, kid," he replied indifferently. He didn't really want to pay attention to his new tick. All week he had been after him to agree to go to lunch with his parents and pretend to be his supposed Spanish tutor. 

Him?! Spanish tutor?! Ha, what a good joke!

"So... will you accept?" he asked again.   

"Morales," he was starting to get tired of it. If Miles continued to be this insistent, Miles was going to cause a vein to burst in his neck, "If you say anything related to that subject again, I'll make you a permanent partner with Spider-Man from Earth 1986, so stop talking!" He'd had enough. Miles was giving him a lot of headaches. 

Spider-cockroach?!

Miles quickly denied and made a motion to close his mouth with a zip. He remembered Pavitr telling him about that Spider going into dark places. 

He shivered at the thought.

Just as he was about to give up and ask Margo for help, a metaphorical light bulb flashed above his frizzy hair.

"Yo… callar-me si tú ayudar… me..." Miles gave a sly smile. Miguel, listening to him again, and more so with his horrible Spanish pronunciation, a stress twitch appeared in his right eye. Right now, he wanted to hang Miles.

He wanted to punch something. Anything, Peter B.'s head, the sneering face he was imagining on Hobie's face if he were present listening to this conversation. He needed to de-stress. 

But surprisingly seeing Miles like that made him happy and for that fact he agreed. 

[...]

"Remember," Miguel and Miles stepped out of the portal and began to walk. Now they were dressed normally. Miles had on his typical army green jacket, a white shirt, Bermuda shorts and not forgetting his Air Jordan 1's. On the other hand, Miguel was wearing black loafers, dark blue khaki trousers, a long sleeved white button down shirt that was a bit too tight and rectangular glasses. His hair was slicked back, and although he had put a little gel in it to keep his hair that way, a few unruly strands fell across the Latino's forehead. "Your name is Miguel O'Hara," he was interrupted by the adult. 

"Why my real name?" He asked as he folded his right sleeve. 

"I didn't have time to think of a new name." Miles continued his story, downplaying his lack of ingenuity in coming up with a new name. "You have... wait." He stopped walking and looked at Miguel with narrowed eyes. Miguel stopped too. "How old did you say you are? 60?" 

Miguel opened his eyes wide. He gave him an indignant look that made him frown and put a hand of his own on his chest. 

"Do it again, Morales, and you'll see." He inhaled deeply and then exhaled to calm the urge to spank this kid for being disrespectful. He resumed walking, leaving Miles behind.

"But I'm serious." he hurried to catch up with him. "How old are you? As far as I know, you're not that young." He said softly.

"Look, Morales." He stopped walking again and crouched down to face him. Again he was frowning. "I'm not that old, do you understand? I'm in my golden years!" he shouted and raised his arms in the air. People passing by looked at them strangely. "I'm 43."  

"So you're having a mid-life crisis?"

He said nothing more and continued walking. 

"Hey!" Miles fell behind again. "Don't leave me talking to myself." 

"Then stop acting so immature." 

"Okay, I'll drop the subject." He held back his laughter as he imagined his boss pretending to be a teenager. 

Miguel looked at him sideways and quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"Okay, as I was saying, you're 43 years old. You travelled all the way from Mexico to Brooklyn to teach kids desperate to learn the wonderful language that is Spanish." He said proudly.

The duo continued walking and stopped at the edge of the platform, while waiting for the traffic light to turn red so they could pass, Miguel commented. 

"Is that all?" Miles nodded. "Really, you couldn't come up with something better?"

The traffic light changed and all the people crowded around them to get through. That made Miguel and Miles hang back by waiting for the teenager to tie his right shoelace. The colour changed again, Miguel sighed and stood still, Miles, on the other hand, didn't see the light turn red and moved forward into the street. The taller one didn't notice that Miles was moving towards the road because he was looking for a bakery, he had to buy something to give to Miles' parents. 

He didn't know why, but he had to make a good impression on them.

Just as he was about to tell him that he had found something to give Miles' parents, Miguel saw Miles about to be hit by a speeding car. 

He didn't have time to think and on pure instinct he threw himself at Miles, pinned him to his chest and rolled with the child in his arms out of harm's way. 

Her breaths were rapid and erratic. Miguel along with Miles had fallen on their sides, the white shirt was a little scuffed and full of grime, the boy's jacket was only a little dirty as well. Miguel helped Miles up and inspected the boy's body to see if he had sustained any injuries. His look as he searched was pure anguish and concern.

Surprisingly, his glasses were still in place and intact.

Those seconds that he managed to watch Miles and that car come dangerously close to the boy before he could do anything were horrible torture. He felt an emptiness in his stomach, and for those moments he had imagined the worst. There he visualised the lifeless body of his child, beneath him a large pool of blood. But thanks to that mysterious instinct that has been present every time he is with Miles, he was able to avoid a tragedy.

"Miles, aren't you in any pain?" He asked after he didn't see any wounds. "Are you all right? Do you need me to do anything?" He lifted one of the boy's arms and looked for any wounds. Miles didn't respond, he was in shock, staring wide-eyed at Miguel. When he didn't respond, Miguel looked at him with very worried eyes. "Miles?" Miguel put his hands on both of the boy's cheeks.

 "You... saved me..." He spoke very softly and slowly. Miles couldn't believe it. Miguel O'Hara, his boss, the person with whom he has a difficult relationship, the man who would rather eat cockroaches than spend time with him, had just saved him.

"Shit, Miles, do you have a concussion?!" Miguel pressed a little harder on the opposite cheeks. 

"...no..." He spoke so softly, Miguel almost didn't hear. 

Miguel took his hands off Miles' face and turned on his watch. "You'd better call your parents and tell them lunch won't be possible. We'll do it another day." Miguel said as he texted Lyla to activate a portal to get Miles to headquarters so the doctors could take a better look at him. 

Miles was recovering from the shock and now he understood the sounds around him better. He noticed that a lot of people had started to approach to gossip. If Miguel opened a portal right there, everything would go down the drain.

Since Miguel's back was turned, he didn't notice the people and the situation they were in, so Miles put his hands on the taller man's right shoulder and said:

"Miguel, I'm all right now." He looked at the people and the mobile phones, pointing at them. "We have to go, we're too exposed here." Miles grabbed his right hand and began to guide him to the other pavement. "Let's go."

Miguel snapped out of his trance when he felt the smaller hand against his. He formed a small smile and looked up to watch Miles. 

"Wait a moment." Even though that something told him not to let go of his hand, he ignored it and walked toward the car that had almost run over his child. He took a picture of the driver with his watch and sent it to Lyla. He was going to need it later. 

Once he'd done that, he walked back to Miles and this time it was him who held his hand. Even though his brain was nagging him about why he was doing that, he told himself that he did it because he was still in shock. 

"Would it be okay if we went to buy something for your parents?" He said as they stepped onto the pavement and people moved aside. "I was thinking it would be better for me to get into character, you know," Miguel looked at Miles and saw that Miles was looking straight ahead, but was listening intently.     

Miles was about to respond by giving his opinion, but an old woman who appeared in front of them out of nowhere spoke:
"Ay, Dios mío santo." The little old lady was short, her hair was shoulder-length, she had glasses similar to the older man's, she had a flowered dress, it was green at the bottom and the flowers were yellow. She had a brown cane and orthopaedic shoes. "Cuando vi el accidente casi me infarto, los vi a los dos tirados en el piso y de inmediato agarré mi rosario y me puse a rezar por ustedes. Gracias a la virgencita que están bien." The old woman was Latina, her accent was Mexican. "Venga para acá que les voy a dar la bendición." 

"Señora no hace falta, pero much-" Miguel couldn't finish what he was saying because he was pulled down with great force.

"No diga tonterías mijo, qu’es necesario." The lady began to say her prayer to Miguel, while at the same time she made movements with her hand to make the shape of the cross. "Que Dios me lo ampare y me lo proteja siempre." She gave him another blessing. "Estoy muy contenta con usted por haber salvado de esa manera a su hijo. Qué buen padre es usted." She smiled at him and walked away to continue with Miles.

Was he a good father? Miles's father? He let out a small chuckle through his teeth at the thought. 

"Good." The lady had already left, and now they were back on their way. They were going to be a little late, but who cares. "Let's go to that bakery." 

Miles hadn't said anything and just nodded.

Did Miles hear what that lady said? Obviously he did, he has superhearing. And if he did, why didn't he say anything about it?

[...]

"Well, you know how you have to behave as if you were my tutor, not my Spider-boss." Miles laughed at his stupid joke. "Did you get it?"

"Morales, you've been repeating the same phrase to me, with that same bad, bad joke for two blocks now. I get it."  

"But I don't want there to be suspicion. Besides, they will notice that we had an accident or a fight because some of our clothes are dirty." 

"Why do you say a fight?" You mean the fight five minutes ago about wanting you to change your lace-up shoes to Velcro ones?" They went up the stairs until they reached the right floor. "Because if I remember correctly, five minutes ago you almost got run over again because you stepped on your unlaced shoes. Or two minutes ago when you stepped on them again and almost fell on your face."

"No, not that one." He looked to the side in embarrassment. His face was a little red as he remembered how he had to be saved two more times by the taller one. "We look like we had a physical fight between us, that's what." He knocked on the wooden door when they reached the house indicated. 

Miguel adjusted his white shirt and glasses as he heard a woman's "I'm coming" in the distance. Perhaps Miles' mother. 

When they opened the door, he didn't find the boy's mother - he thought she was going to open it because she was the one who reacted to the sound of the door - but his father. The man was almost his size, if a little taller, wearing his police uniform and looking at him in a... strange way. He couldn't decipher the look, which caused him to frown and Miles' father, Jefferson Davis, to look at him worse. 

"Pa!" Miles hugged his father for a few seconds and went into the house. Miles had missed his father terribly. After avoiding his death, Miles had been much closer to his father to protect him. The other hugged him back with a smile.

Seeing such an action that something wanted Miguel to bury his claws in Miles' father's chest, but he refrained and instead flashed a fake smile. 

And as he entered the house, Miguel O'Hara began to act. 

He heard the door close and the lock being put on. He wasn't going to greet the man until Miles introduced them. 

He followed Miles into the kitchen and watched as Miles' mother finished cooking something in a pot. It smelled good. 

"Ma, Pa," he looked at the two of them. "This is Miguel O'Hara, my Spanish tutor." Miles's father raised an eyebrow and looked at him questioningly. "Miguel, these are my parents, Jefferson Davis, and Rio Morales."   

"O'Hara?" Miles' dad questioned, eyeing him suspiciously. 

"It's Irish," he said, not making a big deal out of it.

"Good afternoon!" Miles' mother, Rio, turned around to say hello. She first gave Miles two kisses on the cheek and then came over to formally greet Miguel. "Nice to meet you, I'm Rio Morales, so glad you could join us today." He shook his hand and smiled. The mother of his tick was wearing a yellow shirt with red floral embroidery and black trousers. Black and white trainers went with the outfit. 

"Even though they were an hour late." Jefferson accused him with his arms folded. He could feel that look again, but ignored it and smiled back. 

"El gusto es mío." When the handshake was over, he held out the box of dessert. "Espero que no sea mucha molestia que le haya traído un pequeño regalo como gratitud por haberme invitado a su humilde morada." This he said all in Spanish. "It's a few tembleques I saw along the way," he handed them to her with a smile. "Miles told me that you make great ones and that they don't compare to the taste of yours." He smiled that charming smile of his as he brushed back the unruly strands of his hair. It was no use, those same locks went back to the same place as always.

She laughed and put the dessert in the fridge so it wouldn't get warm. 

"Miles, honey, would you please set the table?" His mother said before she went back into the kitchen and finished preparing the juices. 
Miguel and Jefferson sat on the living room couch, each on one side. The tension between the two men was palpable, but the other two didn't seem to notice. 

"So tell me." He spoke as they watched Miles set the cutlery and plates on the four places at the dining room table. "How could Miles have contacted you?" He didn't even turn to look at him. 

"Well-" He was interrupted. 

"How does Miles pay you? If he doesn't have his own money," This time he turned to look at him. "My wife and I stopped giving him his allowance when he supposedly started running off with that Wanda girl."  

"The thing is-" he interrupted him again. 

"Don't tell me you're doing it for free." he pointed at him accusingly. "Guys like you wouldn't give up your time and work, just like that. Least to teenagers." 

"And what are guys like me like?" Miguel was getting angry.     

"Guys like you take advantage of innocent kids and do all kinds of things to them. I don't believe the story that you're my son's tutor. I'll find out your true intentions." 

"Come and show me how you are going to do it." His performance was on the back stage now, this man was insulting him and accusing him of doing unimaginable things to Miles. Miguel would never do that. 

The atmosphere became very tense, the two protectors of the law were about to jump on top of each other and start the third world war, but thanks to Miles' naivety, that atmosphere dissipated. 

"Come and sit down, we're about to serve." Miles called to them from the kitchen as he helped his mother carry two pitchers of juice. 

The men broke away from the couch and sat down at the table. Miles was to Miguel's right, Rio to his left and Jefferson in front of him. 

Rio and Miles served the food and juice. The food consisted of a typical Puerto Rican dish called Asopao de pollo and the juice was piña colada.

"Piña colada?" asked Miguel with concern when he saw Miles drinking. "Doesn't the piña colada have alcohol in it?"  

"Miles' doesn't, that's why there are two pitchers of juice. We have it, but he doesn't." Said Rio. 

"And I could have some?" Miles asked with that angelic smile he wore when he wanted something. That's how he manipulated Miguel into doing this theatrics. 

"No." All three adults told him at once in stern voices. Rio and Jefferson looked at each other in surprise as Miguel also participated in the reprimand. And the two of them also wondered what kind of relationship Miles and his 'tutor' had?

Lunch began in silence, only cutlery clattering against plates. No one said anything. For Miles' parents it was awkward, but for the spidery duo it wasn't uncomfortable because when they ate together they always enjoyed the silence to appreciate the company. 

Rio prompted his husband to start talking. Without saying anything, Jefferson grimaced at her, asking her what he should say. She shook her head and lifted her shoulders in a sign that he could say anything. 

He cleared his throat to get the attention of the others at the table. "Well..." He looked once more to his wife for help in saying something. Nothing. "Miles..." He raised his head slightly to indicate that he was listening. "And how are the classes with your tutor, mhm?"  

"Oh, well, he's very..." Miles was interrupted by his father. 

What a shitty habit that man had of interrupting people. Miguel thought.

"Have you ever felt uncomfortable when you're with him, mhm?" He asked accusingly while giving Miguel a mean look.

"What? No, pa." he denied as he recalled the times Miguel has helped him with his Spanish homework. "He is very good at explaining and is always there for me when I need him."

And that was true. Miguel remembered that Miles would sometimes stay late in the cafeteria because he didn't understand some Spanish assignment. At first he always ignored it, but one day, when he was analysing some anomalies in his holograms, he heard footsteps repeating over and over again, but what surprised him was that the sound was coming from upstairs, up on the roof. Someone was walking on his ceiling. And he hated that, he hated having footsteps left on his ceiling. He closed everything and left his office fuming and ready to blow the fuck out of that insolent. But as he approached, Miguel heard the same person muttering something. When he got closer he discovered that it was Morales, his personal tick. He was pacing back and forth while muttering... Spanish words?

"Morales, what the fuck are you doing on my ceiling?" asked Miguel with his arms crossed.  

Miles was so focused on learning his lesson for his exam the next day that he didn't notice his leader's presence. 

"I-I..." Miles looked tired. "I was learning something." 

At the boy's anguished expression, all anger faded and was replaced by a hint of concern.

Miguel didn't let Miles say anything else and grabbed the book that was taped to the ceiling with a spider web, sat down with his feet crossed and began to read what the boy had to learn. 

"Miguel," Miles didn't understand what his boss was doing. "What are you supposed to be doing?"

Miguel sighed. "It's not obvious?, I'm going to help you." Miles was about to speak, but Miguel interrupted him again. "Don't say anything else, or I'm about to regret it." He looked at him seriously and then returned his gaze to the Spanish book. "Bien, ahora dime cuáles son las figuras literarias."

And from then on, Miles always went to Miguel when he needed help with Spanish. And because of that, the relationship between the two became a little stronger and Miles' Spanish improved as well. 

Miguel smiled to himself when he remembered that.

"Are you sure, Miles?" He insisted again. "You know you can tell me anything." 

"What are you trying to say, Pa?" Miles frowned, not understanding his father. 

"Miles, if he's done anything to you that you didn't want him to do, like hit you, abuse you." And the table exploded. 

"Jefferson!"

"Dad!"        

The other two Morales shouted in exultation at the same time at such an accusation. 

"What?" said the policeman in almost the same tone of voice.    

"How can you say such an outrageous thing!" Rio looked at him with a look that was somewhere between angry and indignant. "How did it even cross your mind to say such a thing?!"

"You told me to say something!" Now he began to shout. "I listened to you! Besides," he added, "Haven't you seen the state of his clothes! It looks as if Miguel had beaten our son!"

"I told you they were going to notice!" Miles raised his voice for Miguel to hear. 

"Did he hurt you?!" Both of Miles' parents shouted at the same time.

"NO!" both Spider-Men shouted.

Rio was relieved by the affirmation and turned to look at her husband.

"Yes, but not that sort of thing, por amor a Dios, Jeff." Rio turned to Miguel and looked at him in shame. "Qué pena inmensa, Miguel. No sé qué se le pasó por la mente a mi esposo al decir tales barbaridades."

Miguel gave the man in front of him a dirty look and resuming his performance, smiled and said, "No se preocupe, señora Morales, es comprensible que un padre se preocupe así por su hijo. If I were his father, I wouldn't even give him reason to run away from home and hide things from me because Miles would trust me. And he does." OK, that wasn't part of the plan. Why did he say that? He didn't know yet, but it felt good to say it. He flashed a lopsided smile showing superiority. 

"Are you saying I'm a bad father?!" Jefferson stood up from the table with a thump. "You don't have the right to come into my house and insult me in front of my family, you lousy teacher." 

Miguel flared his nostrils and began the exercises Lyla had taught him to calm down. 

"I've never insulted you, have I, Jeff?" And the whole performance went to shit. The usual Miguel O'Hara was back and he was going to have some fun with this. "You're the one who started all this. So it's your fault."

"Miles! Why the fuck would you bring this asshole into the house, huh?!" Now the cop was yelling at his son. "Miles, you really don't think things through, do you? You always ruin things! It wasn't enough for you to be the cause of my brother's death for you to come here and ruin this meal for me?!" 

Miguel had never regretted so much that he had left someone alive.

"Jefferson Davis, what is happening to you today?! How can..." Miguel stopped listening to the conversation and concentrated on the state of his boy.

Without saying anything, he took him by the shoulders and took him out of the house so that Miles would no longer listen to his parents' discussion. 

On the roof of the building, Miguel and Miles sat on the edge of the roof to watch the sunset.

The atmosphere was a little tense for Miguel, even from up here he could make out the shouting and he swore Miles was listening. So to distract Miles from that, he tried to start a conversation. 

"Miles, I..." He let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, I didn't..."

Miles hugged him quickly, making Miguel look surprised. 

"Thank you."   
 
Thank you? Why was Miles saying thank you? If it wasn't for his big mouth, all this trouble could have been avoided.

"Why are you thanking me, kid?"

Miles shrugged, still not breaking the hug. "Just thank you."

With his free arm, he put his hand in the boy's hair and left it there as a small smile formed on his face. 

"Anytime, kid."

[...]  

"Well, why did you want to bring this civilian to the headquarters?" Lyla spoke from Miguel's watch. 

Miguel was entering a dark room. Only red lights illuminated the four walls. 

Miguel was wearing his Spider-Man costume, had his mask on and was in a very bad mood. 

"Does it have something to do with the multiverse?" Lyla's hologram appeared next to the masked man. 

"No, it's something more personal." He said seriously as he watched his victim begin to wake up. 

"Do I remind you what happened the last time you did something personal, Miguel?" Lyla raised her eyebrow, knowing where this "personal" thing was going. 

"Just delete all these recordings from all the files." He said and cut off the conversation with Lyla. She disappeared. 

When the tied man woke up, Miguel smiled a terrifying smile inside the mask. Now he was going to find out what this new side of him was capable of. 

The man, about 30 years old, was wearing a black shirt, blue pajama trousers and duck slippers.     

"S-spider-Man?" The man looked at him with eyes full of immense dread. Miguel could have sworn he was about to pee himself.   

"No, but close." He began to circle around the man. 

"What-what am I doing here?"

"Well," Miguel said with faux excitement. "Today you're going to learn how to drive well." He grabbed the bound man's face with much outward force, and he let out a cry of pain. "First lesson," he brought his face close to the other. "Always keep your eyes wide open."

He smiled again and buried his claws in the man's green eyes.