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Oh My God, He's Jared, [Redacted]

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He could be home, Peter thinks sadly. Home where MJ is and where dinner is and where his nice warm bed and hot chocolate is. As much as he loves the spiders, and he does love them, doing a stakeout in thirty degree weather in spandex is not his idea of a nice Saturday night out. Still, this needed to be done sooner rather than later, and at least all of them are there, meaning there’s less chance of something going absurdly wrong.

Even if they are in Miles dimension, where everything just seems to go wrong anyway. 

Still, when Miles called them down, he seemed to only need backup as a precaution. Their newest spiderling seemed to have everything else down to a science, from a sketch of the man who they were scouting for to the location of his liar to the day he would be there. Even the rooftops they’re sitting on have a perfect vantage point of the building they’re scouting. Speaking of which, said building just screams ‘villian hideout’. There’s a ‘No Trespassing’ Sign plastered to the front of the gate, surrounding a near ridiculous amount of barbed wire and what is quite possibly blood. That being said, stakeouts weren’t exactly known for being fun or eventful. Much of the night so far has been spent quietly on a rooftop, bored out of their minds. 

On about hour three of their stakeout there’s finally some motion, but still not what they’re looking for. Instead of the boss, the latest goon-for-hire walks up to the building, looks at the sign, scratches his head, scratches his ass (gross), and then steps inside. 

Miles’s gasp echoes throughout the comm. 

“Oh my god; he’s Jared, twenty.”

There’s a hard sound to his left. Probably Gwen smacking him, if he remembers their placements right. Peter’s suspicions are confirmed when he hears her hiss over the mic.

“Be quiet. We’re on a case, idio -wait.” There’s a slight clatter, of what Peter hopes wasn't something important. “What do you mean twenty; he’s eighteen!”

“No, obviously it’s twenty!” 

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“How can it not make sense! It’s an age!”

Peni pipes in from her own comm.

“Actually his name’s Garret.”

There are twin exclamations from Miles and Gwen that immediately dissolve into unrestrained bickering between the three. Peter can’t really begrudge them the outburst. The monotony of the stakeout had them all on edge - spiders were not meant to stay still this long- , though he can’t help but share a long-suffering look with the other two Peters, or well, with Noir. Even from a rooftop away, Ham looks like he’s enjoying this far too much. Then again, that could just be his face. 

Even a year later, B still has problems reading cartoon. 

Either way someone needs to put a stop to this soon, if they’re going to make any progress in the case today, especially if Peter wants to be home in time to have dinner with MJ.

And he really does want to have dinner with MJ. (She’s not even cooking, which is amazing as far as Peter is concerned. Even when they were married, trying MJ’s attempts at cooking were interesting at best, ER visits for food poisoning at the worst.)

So he bites the bullet the other two are apparently avoiding and adds his voice to the mix of squabbling teenagers. 

“Enough, all of you. Let’s just get in and get out ok?” 

There's a brief reprise of silence, enough so that Peter thinks it may have even worked before...

Geeeeeeeee ,” Peni says, exaggerating the ‘G’ of Gwen’s field-name. “B’s using his Dad voice again!”

“I don’t have a dad voice!” Peter hears himself whine, just as Gwen huffs, from her own comm: 

“So? What am I supposed to do?”

“Fix it.” 

“There’s no need to fix anything! ” Peter huffs. 

“I mean there is ,” Gwen says, as they all ignore Peter’s outburst. “But why do I have to be the one to fix it!”

“Because you’ve known him the longest!” Miles chimes in. “ Aaaaand you’re the oldest. This is an oldest job.”

“Knowing him from another dimension don’t count! And Noir’s older than me!”

“Yah but B’s not Dad-ing him!” Miles says. “Plus he’s like twenty.”

“Twenty-three actually.” 

All three kids shoot a glare at their friend. Noir puts up his hands in surrender and goes back to surveilling the area. Ham snickers loudly enough to get caught on comm. 

Peter rolls his eyes.

This is why he didn’t want kids. - they’re also the reason he does want kids now, which is an all around weird thought to wrap his head around-.

Shaking himself back into gear, Peter taps him comm. They need to get this under wraps if they want to get this done before sunrise, and since Ham and Noir obviously aren’t going to put a stop to this - the traitors- , it appears it falls to him to get the kids back on track. 

Especially when he can hear Miles and Peni both needling Gwen from nearly a rooftop over.

“C’mon do your job, Gigi, Gwanda, Gwendolyn, G weeeee- .”

“Names,” Noir reminds sharply, in the way that always gets the kids to listen, and while it does get them to stop the two from breaking that rule, it only starts the bickering over again.  Peter only just resists the urge to bang his head against the linoleum, and lifts his head to provide some kind, any kind, of ultimatum to keep the night from dragging on like this forever. 

“We’ll compromise. He’s nineteen now. Everyone happy?”

“NO!” Three voices chime back at him. 

“But it’s right!” He huffs in return, only to realize his mistake just a second too late. He now has the attention of the entire team, including a tired-looking Noir and a snickering Ham whose emotions, this time, are far too easy to read. 

He ducks his head and resigns himself to the onslaught of outrage from all parts of the comm. MJ better save him some of that teriyaki ‘cus it's going to be a long night. And if its gonna be like that anyway, he might as well join in. After all, ‘do it for the bush’ just doesn’t have the same ring.