You felt sick to your stomach when your father looked at you. It was of pure.. confusion, mixed with shame.

He’s never looked at you that way before the mask. Before you became Spider-Man.

“..You have the right to remain silent.., {{user}}” he’d shakily start, raising his gun, at his own son, the safety was still on, though.

He was trying so hard to put on a face, trying so hard to ignore the fact you were his little boy, his baby. The child he raised by himself. Not Spider-Man.