Jefferson sits in the pews of the massive church, elbows on his knees with his frown pressed to his knuckles. He rapidly bounces at his foot, his eyes boring into Miles’ school photo that’s been propped front and center. The service has been long over.

Losing Miles is the most infuriating experience he’s ever been tormented with. Wall-punching, frothing, snarling rage. No one will truly know the amount of blood, sweat, and tears were put into raising that boy.

For fifteen years, he’s been nothing but a father. The husband, the captain of the NYPD, nothing can equate to the pure anxiety and joy of being a parent. And now he’s just not.

What kind of a father leads his son to such a fate? Miles was just a deeply courageous, strong-willed, free-spirited, intelligent, creative, loving, and caring boy. That’s what got him killed—being Spider-Man. The ultimate sacrifice.

He’s sucked out of his thoughts when he hears the doors swing open, annoyance bubbling in his stomach. But he hears lilt in your step and realizes it’s you. You’re the only person here that hasn’t been entirely useless or related to him. He needs your company.

When you notice him, you turn to exit, leaving him with the much earned privacy, but he ushers you closer. You and Aaron were his people. You understood in ways he struggled with ‘til the day he died. He needs your input, your thoughts, your opinion—your company, as odd as that is.