Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Really, there was only one thing more undignified to Kit Clancy than getting hit by a baseball bat and subsequently having his leg shattered by the criminal he was chasing.

And that was the fact that he now had to rely on Detective Motherfucking Doohickey as a crutch, as some sort of cruel punishment from the universe for daring to try and do his job and getting mutilated (reparably injured) in the process.

"Easy," Doohickey was saying, with none of the gentleness he usually reserved for his injured fellow officers. No, his was the deadpan asshole voice he reserved for Kit and nobody else. The arm looped around his shoulder was more for formality than any attempt to actually support Kit, which was just fine by him—the less contact, the better. "Easy."

"Jesus, I'm not a fucking horse," he grumbled, though the last word was partially cut off by a sharp breath sucked in through his teeth as pain lanced up his leg.

He felt more than he saw Doohickey rolling his eyes. "C'mon, you're a big boy. You can handle a bit of pain."

"I'm gonna melt your badge down and pour it down your throat. Ow."

He stumbled over a sharp rise in the wooden floorboards of the basement, and instinctively set his other foot down to balance himself. Fire immediately shot up through him and his entire abdomen clenched with the effort of not outright screaming in pain. He could practically feel the fractured bits of bone rubbing together and he swallowed hard to keep any embarrassing noises from escaping. Fuck, this wasn't even the first time he'd broken his leg—one of his older brothers decided it'd be funny to push him out of a tree when they were kids—but it almost felt like this one hurt even worse than before.

One quick glance to Doohickey told him exactly why.

He could feel every last iota of his dignity slowly dripping away the longer he stayed attached to the other man's side. Here he was, weak and injured and honestly one wrong step away from breaking into tears, and there Doohickey was, acting as the sole reason Kit wasn't literally crawling his way out the basement and to the feet of his fellow officers.

They hated each other. Plain and simple. Kit was apparently loud and obnoxious in a way Doohickey couldn't stand, and Doohickey barely knew how to have any fun outside of police work in a way that made Kit's eyes roll so far back he could see his brain. The only time they'd ever agreed on something was the twin expressions of bafflement they wore when Chief Porcher decided to put them on the same case despite knowing their grievances with one another.

Foolishly, Kit thought they could put aside their differences for just one case.

And then even more foolishly, Kit got his leg shattered like a piece of dry spaghetti.

And they still managed to keep arguing.

"Fucking lean on me," Doohickey hissed, jostling Kit's side.

Every force in the universe was telling him it would be easier to just lean over and let Doohickey support his weight, but stubbornly, his body refused to comply. It was an epic battle between flesh and brain, one wanting to remain upright and prove that he could stand on his own, the other screaming, No, you literally CANNOT stand up on your own you incorrigible fuck, put away your pride for two goddamn seconds before your stupid leg falls off.

And Kit was unfortunately one to comply to the latter.

He awkwardly managed to press most of his weight to Doohickey's side and shoulders, though not without struggle. His fingernails scrabbled at the seams of his shoulder, and Doohickey seemed to think he was ready to move way earlier than he actually was, because when he started forward again, Kit finally let out an actual shriek as he tilted forward and his injured leg came dangerously close to slamming into the floorboard for balance.

Doohickey's arm tightened around him. Kit's leg twitched, and just that was enough to send another sharp flash of pain through his bones.

He grit his teeth down so hard there was an audible click of his jaw. Doohickey cringed at the same time Kit let his head drop in defeat.

"I—can't," he forced out.

Doohickey huffed, something like sympathy. "Okay, yeah, this isn't working."

"Shit, really?" His voice was near a wheeze.

"I was gonna put you down nicely, do you want me to drop you?"

He instinctively shook his head in as big a gesture as he could. Usually he would have had more class to it, but—fuck it. If Doohickey had any respect for him at the start of this, he definitely didn't now. Who could give a shit?

Appropriately smug, Doohickey nodded. "Okay. Let's set you down, then, Grandma."

"Choke."

With no small amount of effort, Doohickey did eventually manage to get Kit back on the floor, even getting on one knee to support him on the way down. Kit was functionally left to use only his two working limbs to prop himself up, the hand on Doohickey's shoulder pressing into tensed muscle as his other hand struggled to find a good position on the floor. Once it did, Doohickey had all the confidence to set him down the rest of the way with nowhere near the same grace as before, and plopped him down on the floorboards in one quick motion before taking his own seat beside him.

"Ass," Kit sneered. Doohickey didn't meet it with a response, only diligently turning to his comm and requesting and ambulance for him because he couldn't walk. Which, okay, yeah, sounded the tiniest bit pathetic when he said it like that. So. Fuck him.

His attention drifted back to Kit's leg, eventually. And it didn't leave. The break was impossible to see past his jeans, but the slightly offset bend of his ankle past the cuff was enough indication of what had happened. And Doohickey was staring like he was trying to analyse it. Like it was police work. Like it was some indication of Detective Clancy's incompetence that he was trying to sear into his memory to laugh at later.

When his gaze remained on him, Kit scoffed. "Oh, come on. There's no way it looks that bad."

He finally looked up—but not to meet his eyes. "You got snapped like glowstick. Yeah, it looks pretty damn bad."

Kit could have said something back, but honestly, he wasn't sure if he had the facts to back it up. He hadn't actually seen the fracture, not wanting to come face-to-face with the inevitably disgusting mottling of red where he'd been hit. Injuries were for the paramedics, thank you very much, and, in turn, those guys were wizards. Plus, it was just embarrassing. A baseball bat? Really? He could have gotten the same injury at a bad cricket game or a children's birthday party with a piñata. Fucking baseball bats. Stupid.

The silence lingered between him and Doohickey like a spiderweb between branches; a delicate, ugly thing that neither of them were really in a rush to break. Kit wasn't sure how much time had even passed since speaking, but he wasn't about to ask, instead focusing on the mould patterns on the wall or the nails sticking out the floorboards or the peeling wallpaper. Anything to avoid Doohickey's scrutiny.

He'd fucked up. Sure. He just didn't need him to tell him that.

Though, in the classic nature of always disregarding Kit's wishes, Doohickey finally spoke up, "Why'd you go rushing in like that?"

Something snapped in Kit. Clean as a bone.

"Oh, yeah, like I was just supposed to know he had a bat," he spat between his teeth.

"Well yeah, apparently, you know everything!"

Oh, this fucking guy. "Fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"I had a plan, Clancy—"

"A stupid plan that clearly didn't work." He held him hostage with his gaze, jaw set in a way that told him he was planning on winning this argument already. Because they were never just fights, they were always competitions, first and foremost—who could get the last word in before being inevitably shut up by some poor deskmate. "If I hadn't trusted my gut and gone in like I did," he said, "our guy would have gotten away, exactly how I said he would have—"

He leaned forward, and his leg jerked.

His head tipped forward in tandem with it, teeth scraping against each other to muffle another humiliating squeak of pain. Wasn't it already enough that Doohickey was seeing him like this? Did the universe also insist on giving him the most embarrassing pain noises just to rub salt in the wound? It was one thing to be sat on the dirty floor of a criminal's basement while hot flashes of pain made a home in your flesh, but another to have your asshole coworker watch you while it happens.

Doohickey didn't comment on it, concerned or otherwise, which granted him some sense of relief as the pain slowly began to ebb. After a few beats, he regained the strength to look up, then lean back, never looking straight at Doohickey as he did.

The argument didn't continue from there. Doohickey must have sensed some change, because he adjusted in strange accordance and dropped the topic as Kit did. The spiderweb silence returned, twisting and warping in the most gentle of summer breezes, until eventually Doohickey cleared his throat and nodded minutely towards Kit's broken leg. "Y'know, apparently it's supposed to heal back stronger."

His voice was—well. 'Soft' was too strong a word for it; Doohickey wasn't soft, and especially not to Kit. That tone of voice was reserved for interns and people he actually liked. The voice he used for Kit was quiet, though, like trying to calm down a feral cat without being drowned out by its hisses, and, despite himself, it eased his nerves a little.

Just a little.

"That's a myth," Kit muttered, his gaze fixed to the side. Not meeting his gaze. Never meeting it in a way that wasn't angry or annoyed or challenging. Because they didn't have the capacity for anything else, of course they didn't. "The break site'll be a little stronger than the rest of the bone for a bit, but then it," he rocked his open hand in a so-so gesture, "levels out, I guess."

"Huh." It was nearly a laugh. "Well, I guess you do know everything."

A pause. A fidget of his hands, a worry of the inside of his cheek. Then, like it was the most painful thing he'd ever done, added in a voice so quiet Kit needed to strain to hear, "You were right to trust your gut. You made a good call."

...huh?

Kit had half the mind to think he was hallucinating. Maybe that mould on the wall was getting to him. He chanced an experimental glance towards Doohickey, just to confirm, but the man's face remained neutral as ever as his eyes idly passed over the blank walls of the basement. On his second round, they briefly flickered over to Kit's, half-lidded and painfully unreadable. Though, right as Kit was about to write it off as some strange trick of the ears, Doohickey snapped, "That's all you're getting out of me. Shut the fuck up."

"I didn't—"

The argument died on his lips as quickly as it came about. He shuffled in place, flinching at the sensation of it in his leg. Instead, he chewed on the rest of his options, before eventually spitting out, "Thanks," and looking away before he could catch the other man's expression.

It was probably as close to civility as they were ever gonna get. But the idea of a change in dynamic sent all sorts of wayward feelings around Kit's brain, and he was not equipped to deal with any of them. Not right now, and not like this.

He tilted his head back and allowed the spider to continue its web between them.

Chapter Text

Someone had been in the apartment. 

It was the only horrid conclusion Jacob could have come to when he opened the door and found nothing where it was supposed to be. The coffee tabe was overturned, chairs were out of place, couch cushions had been pulled out— 

And Jimmy was nowhere to be seen. 

"Shit!" he hissed, pulling Kit inside and slamming the door shut behind him. "Shit, shit—dammnit, someone must have found out." 

He wasn't even sure exactly what they could have found out, but there was certainly no shortage of options. Being hitmen. Having killed at least a dozen people in the past week. Kidnapping a child. 

(Was it really kidnapping if one parent was dead and the other was a piece of shit? Sure, the former was their own fault, but still.) 

Kit didn't even take the time to respond, easily heading over to a nearby drawer unit and taking out the false bottom to pull out a pair of guns. He tossed one to Jacob and went rifling for the magazines, while Jacob surveyed the damage. No sign of gunfire or blood, which bode well for them. Then again, no sign of Jimmy, which was decidedly worse and could have indicated a whole number of things. 

His partner was quick to his side with a magazine, and then they were making their way through the apartment together, matching paces that came as naturally to them as breathing. It wasn't a large place by any means, but there were plenty of hiding spots in each room, especially for a four-year-old to curl up in while hiding out from intruders. Or, equally, to get shoved into while a raid took place.

Kit frowned as he passed by the bean bag chair, noticeably still usable, just turned onto its side for no apparent reason. "Now that's just petty." 

"Jimmy?" Jacob called out, cupping the sides of his mouth. He took another desperate scan of the room, praying to spot a stray brown curl or a flash of dark eyes or anything to indicate the boy was even still in the apartment. "Jimmy?" 

"If he doesn't answer the first time, that means he ain't here," Kit said mildly. 

Despite his slowly growing nerves, Jacob found it in himself to be annoyed enough to roll his eyes. "Y'know, Clancy, the typical procedure is to make sure your partner is calm while doing surveillance." He backed himself against the corner of the wall, managing to snag Kit's gaze as he did and narrowing his eyes at him. "So he doesn't do anything stupid like shooting you for being a bitch." 

Kit just returned him with an unimpressed look. Which tracked. Jacob hadn't shot him on purpose in about three years. 

Instead of answering, though, he shifted his eyes towards the bedrooms. Jacob nodded, and Kit span around the corner, firearm at the ready. When he wasn't immediately turned to bloody pulp, he beckoned for Jacob to join, and they positioned themselves at either door, ready to burst in and be met with whatever kidnappers/murderers/druglords/police/whatever lay inside. 

"There's a chance he's just hiding," Jacob muttered. The threat of anyone jumping out to attack them had dwindled with every area they cleared, but the likelihood of Jimmy being hurt or worse was only rise and starting to gnaw at his mind. Images of him beaten and bloody, his frail wrists in zipties... no, no, none of that. "Or being held hostage." Which meant he was still at least alive. 

"True," Kit said, nodding sagely. "Worst case scenario is that he's already dead and we don't have to deal with a sad little orphan boy anymore." 

He balked. "Oh my God, dude." 

"I'm kidding. I'm diffusing the situation through humour." 

"Oh, yeah. Because joking about a dead child is so fuckin' funny. You should be a comedian." 

"Don't even joke. I kill at improv." 

Jacob had been with him through enough undercover missions to know that was a goddamn lie and a half. 

Regardless, he launched himself into the bedroom, thankful to find the door was left unlocked, and took a quick sweep of the area. When nobody immediately sprang out to shoot him, he lowered his gun, hopefully concealing it for just in case Jimmy decided to pop out and would perhaps be freaked out by the sight of another weapon. "Jimmy?" 

Across from him, in the room they'd transformed from an office into Jimmy's bedroom, Kit's voice rang out, "Hey, Jimmy?" 

Jacob tried again, "Jimmy! It's safe, buddy, come out." 

"Jimmy, please don't be dead, I'll never hear the end of it." 

"Jimmy, we—" 

Thump! 

"Ow," came Jimmy's timid voice, quiet and yet all too loud at the same time. 

They shared a look. 

And then they were off towards the source of the noise. 

There weren't a whole lot of rooms in the apartment, so with the living room and both bedrooms down, that only really left the kitchen and bathroom. And the kitchen was hardly any place to be hiding, since he was pretty sure even Jimmy couldn't fit reliably into any of the cupboards. Kit let Jacob take the lead as he yanked the handle down and shouldered the door open, once again finding it unlocked and completely free of any signs of struggle. "Jimmy! Are you—" 

The first thing he saw was the blank expanse of porcelain, not a child or weapon or bloodstain in sight, and his heart sank. 

The second was the closed, fluttering, translucent shower curtain. 

And the third was the silhouette of a three-foot-something little thing behind said curtain. 

Between the cold tiles of the bathrooms, Jimmy's muffled giggles rang clear as day. He certainly didn't sound hurt or scared, but that didn't stop Jacob from staring wide-eyed and silent at his... hiding spot? What was he even doing? Whatever it was, it was endlessly amusing to the little gremlin, whose laughter was steadily rising the longer the curtain went unopened. 

Kit turned to Jacob slowly, his mouth pressed to a thin line and his brows flat. "God, why did you have to get us one of the stupid ones?" 

"Jimmy, we found you," Jacob said. When he didn't immediately emerge, he sighed, stepped forward, and made a big show of opening up the curtain with his hands clawed and teeth bared like a monster. "Grr!"

Jimmy squealed in delight at the display, scrabbling at the slippery bathtub surface in an attempt to get away from the oh-so-terrifying beast. While Jacob might have entertained his antics for a little while more on another day, maybe allowing him to run amock around the apartment until he tired himself out and Jacob could swaddle him into a blanket to leave to rest on his bed, instead he grabbed him by his hoodie and scooped him into his arms. "C'mere, you insufferable little brat!" 

Jimmy, not quite knowing what that meant and still caught up in the thrill of being found, only squealed louder. He spiralled into giggles and babbling at him to let go as Jacob started tickling his sides, nose still wrinkled and mouth set in a snarl. 

Kit muttered something about noise complaints. 

Eventually, the kid calmed down enough to clamp his pudgy little hands over his mouth and muffle his laughter. His shoulders still shook and his knees were curled up to his stomach, but the adoration in his eyes was blinding when he looked up to Jacob and he looked ready to listen to whatever he had to say. Monster or not. 

Jacob's snarl slowly morphed into a cautious smile. "What were you doing in there, buddy?" 

The boy let out another high-pitched laugh. "Playing hide-and-seek!" 

Because of course he was trying to play hide-and-seek with nobody else in the apartment. 

Quite belatedly, the realisation was dawning upon Jacob that perhaps it was a bad idea to leave Jimmy alone in the first place. That might have explained the mess of the living room. It might have been a form of separation anxiety, or just a kid being a kid, but... maybe he should have listened to Kit about getting a babysitter who wouldn't ask questions about their job. 

Fuck. 

"Okay, well," he sighed, "don't play that unless everyone else knows you're playing. Okay? You really scared us there, kiddo. We didn't know where you were." 

Jimmy stared at him for a while. Jacob could practically see the cogs turning around his head while he processed the instruction. 

After a while, he looked like he was about to reply, but instead just turned and made grabby hands towards Kit. Jacob made ready to gently set him down instead, but, unlike any other time Jimmy reached for him, Kit actually reciprocated by holding out his arms with a neutral expression. 

Huh. 

Jacob shot him a questioning look. Kit quirked his eyebrow. "Are you handing him over or not?" 

Huh. 

Kit had never been a fan of handling Jimmy—a shame for the kid, since he liked playing his his hair and pretending he knew how to braid it. Hell, he wasn't much a fan of Jimmy at all, not even in the past month they'd had him in their care. But this time, as Jacob carefully passed him over and Jimmy made quick work of twirling the end of Kit's ponytail around his fingers, he only looked mildly disgruntled instead of the outright disdain he usually displayed. 

Which was progress he honestly hadn't expected to see. Kit adjusted his hold for Jimmy to be more comfortable, and Jacob almost found himself smiling. 

"Okay," Jimmy said eventually, still fiddling with the blonde strands. "'M sorry." 

Jacob gave him a quick pat, bringing another grin out of him. "You're okay. Next time, alright?" 

He nodded eagerly. "Okay!" He turned up to Kit with another of his too-good-for-this-world smiles. "Let's play another game! I wanna play cops and robbers. I'll be a cop, look!" 

Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a gun, and pointed it at Kit. "Bang!" 

"Motherfucker!" Jacob shouted, starting away with his arms over his face. How the fuck had Jimmy gotten his hands on a gun? All their storage units had locks or passwords or fancy doors, none of which were accessible to a four-year-old. Or at least, they weren't supposed to be. Jimmy wasn't even supposed to know there were weapons in the house! God, now he was gonna start asking questions, and their cover was gonna be blown—and how was Clancy so calm about this?! 

Kit, meanwhile, jerked Jimmy away from him, only flinching enough to screw one eye shut. "Ooh, fuck. That nearly scared the shit out of me." 

Jimmy, oblivious as ever and now dangling like a cat from Kit's hands, started poking Kit's face with the barrel and fiddling with the trigger. 

Jacob gestured wildly at the two of them, baffled by his partner's nonchalance. "What the—Kit, why?" 

"The safety's on and we don't store 'em loaded," he said casually. 

"That's not the point! Why the f—frick does he have access to a weapon?" 

Kit just shrugged. 

Jimmy pressed the gun into the hollow of Kit's cheek. "Pew!" 

"Blegh," he replied, rolling his eyes back and sticking out his tongue. Jimmy cackled delightedly. 

When he caught Jacob's gaze again, his expression was still infuriatingly calm, in spite of having both a gun pointed at his face and the knowledge that the child they were in charge of had access to said gun. Christ, what else did he have access to now the possibilities had opened themselves up to him? Knives? Grenades? Their apartment was honeycombed in secret panels and safes, how long would it be before he'd figured them all out? 

After some seething silence, Kit just shrugged. "We keep the ammo on the top shelf. He ain't that tall." 

Jacob blinked slowly. "Do you know how much money I'd get if I brought your head to one of those crime bosses we've fucked over in the past half a decade?" 

Before Kit could retort, Jimmy started squirming in his grip, kicking into the air and smacking at his arms with a force that couldn't kill a mosquito. 

"Down," he commanded. Kit sighed and set him down onto the tiles, where, now with newfound autonomy, Jimmy immediately began bouncing in place and looking up to both of them all innocently like he wasn't still holding a gun. 

"I'm it!" he announced. Jacob frowned and went to scoop him up again, but the kid was shockingly fast on his feet and ran a figure-eight around their legs to avoid him. 

"Jimmy," Jacob said, the beginning of something stern (and borderline paternal) in his voice. 

Jimmy grinned at them, all sweet and gap-toothed and horribly disarming for a boy with next to no impulse control and a gun in his hand. He tapped Kit's knee. "You run, I count. Bye bye!" 

And he was off. 

Jacob took an embarrassingly long amount of time to process exactly what was going on, but once he did, he shook himself out of his stupor and bolted out the bathroom. 

"HEY!" he shouted, his voice ringing out through the apartment loud enough to make Kit flinch. "Do not run around my apartment with a gun, young man! Jimmy!" 

Jimmy giggled, shrill and bright. "Can't catch me!" 

"JIMMY!"

Chapter Text

As it turned out, Spiderman wasn't a difficult guy to find. In part because it was kinda hard to miss someone in bright blue swinging across the city like a monkey, but mostly because he'd just faceplanted the concrete in front of Andrew.

He knew he'd be in for some loons when he moved to New York, though he'd been more expecting drunk cosplayers causing a scene at Times Square—no he wasn't in Manhattan, and no he didn't care, Uncle Sam—rather than a whole human body falling at however many metres per second in front of him. Didn't help how in his own head he was, either. For a second it just looked like a strangely dressed corpse had landed at his feet and interrupted him from his zoned-out daze.

"Stupid Uncle Sam," he'd been muttering moments before their fated first meeting. He'd just snuck away from his uncle's sight for perhaps the first time since joining the NYPD and all his inner mumblings and grumblings had been quick to bubble up to the surface. "Who does he think I am? 'M not a fucking kid, Jesus."

He kicked a pebble off the curb—sidewalk. The roar of cars streamed on.

"Thinks I can't even do a bloody patrol beat on my own," he said. "I get kidnapped once and suddenly I can't even walk unsupervised, Christ. I'll bloody show him."

It occurred to him a little late that one couldn't actually patrol very well if one was sulking to themself instead of paying attention, so he cleared his throat like he had a show to put on, rolled his shoulders, and marched onwards. He was gonna do a fantastic goddamn job at this, simple as it was. If he could excel at something this easy then surely his colleagues would be able to see he was ready to be back in the field proper! It was just like Zootopia. Except for the implied misogyny and conflicting racial implications. But. Still.

He didn't make it two steps into what would be the greatest patrol of all time before he heard a frantic, "Watch out!" from above, stopped in place, and looked up just in time to watch Spiderman careen into the pavement at his feet.

"Jesus Christ!"

The impact was brutal. The guy skidded on his face until his head hit a nearby wall. His arms were a tangle underneath him and his legs akimbo like a knot of lanky limbs. Miraculously, his skull hadn't immediately splattered and his head was perfectly intact to groan as his body settled, then his legs collapsed to the floor, then a bundle of what looked like silly string spiralled around him.

A woman with a pram, distracted by a phone call, accidentally nudged one of his ankles. She blinked slowly, then moved around him and continued her conversation without breaking a sweat.

"Fucking Christ, are you alright?" Andrew said, stumbling back a bit, nearly falling straight into a mildly annoyed looking businessman as he stepped of the curb to go around them. God, these fucking New Yorkers. Barely any of them looked at Spiderman like this was out of the blue for them.

Spiderman just groaned lightly. Andrew coughed again. "I, uh. Do you—do you need any help, um. Sir?"

He shook his head, wincing at the feeling of the concrete scraping on his face.

Watching Spiderman pick himself up was like watching an octopus unfold its tentacles. Once he got his hands firmly on the ground, he scrambled to return to his full height—and Jesus, what a height it was. He was like a skyscraper with spider legs and glitter on his face. His limbs uncurled to hang tiredly at his sides, knees slightly buckled, the last of the silly string that Andrew was belatedly realising was spiderwebs floating to the ground.

With that realisation came the memory that Andrew was supposed to arrest Spiderman on sight. Acts of vigilantism and destruction of public property and whatnot. But looking at the state of him now, it felt like rubbing salt in a wound.

Spiderman shot a distasteful(?) look to the pavement like it was at fault. "Ow." He shook his head and smoothed his hair back—why was his hair exposed? Rumours and DNA tests should have been flooding in by now—then sighed grey to the heavens, rubbing his arms. "Tarantado—" he hissed through his teeth, "—ow."

Andrew didn't move, because what the fuck was he supposed to do in this situation?

"Sorry, sir!" Spiderman said, brushing a considerable amount of dirt, grass, and pigeon feathers off himself. He looked up and gave Andrew what might have been a smile. "Buildings just seem to grow shorter whenever I look away. Heh."

He nodded slowly. "Yeah. Sure." He pat the side of his leg awkwardly. "Uh—y'alright, man?"

Spiderman didn't respond immediately, but Andrew didn't miss his little whisper of, "Alroight," under his breath."

"Oi. My accent doesn't even sound like that. Fuck off."

He stifled a laugh. "Sorry. Hey, I'm not under arrest, am I?"

Right. He was in uniform and Spiderman was a criminal. Andrew made to tell him that he was in fact to be taken away in cuffs, when he was interrupted, "Because technically I haven't actually done anything illegal. Today. I mean, I accidentally webbed a bird earlier and her friends got real angry with me, but I don't think becoming an enemy of the birds is a crime. And this," he gestured between them and the ground, "was an accident. So. Uh. I'm off the hook, right?"

Andrew narrowed his eyes at him. More curious than angry but still enough to make Spiderman recoil back a bit.

"Uh oh. You look mad. That's not good."

His hand moved to his holster. Spiderman would make a pretty damn good first arrest. Surely that would prove he was more than just a beat cop. "Spiderman, you're under—"

A web shot out faster than he could blink.

Suddenly, his hand was stuck to his belt.

"Sorry," Spiderman said, admittedly sounding quite sheepish as he backed away. Andrew gaze snapped from his webbed hand back to him, fury ablaze.

"What the—"

"Sorry! Had to be done, uh. Sorry. Again." He waved. "Bye, Officer. Please don't arrest me."

Spiderman shot him finger guns, webbed a nearby building, and flew off, leaving Andrew to stare after him in bewilderment.

After a moment or two, he growled in defeat and slumped his shoulders. So much for his first arrest. He looked to the unbothered pedestrians who didn't seem at all put off by Spiderman falling from and returning to the sky, nor the police officer with his hand superglued to his gun. "Any of yous got scissors?"

They ignored him. As usual.

Chapter Text

The newest intern at the precinct was a mess. Less than ten seconds and Kit could already tell.

Everyone was a little clumsy when they started a new job, especially at a place as high-risk as a police precinct, but come on. They weren't even paying this bundle of limbs and sweaty curls and he was stumbling in like his paycheck was on the line if he didn't behave.

More notably, he was also carrying a box of donuts. Like a zookeeper figuring out how to appease the lion's den.

He shuffled in through the elevator and just narrowly avoided getting his frayed grey hoodie stuck in the door. His eyes were as wide in wonder as they were fear and confusion, drinking in the place like it was a crystal palace instead of the run-down shack of a precinct it actually was. Fuck the government and their insistence on funding guns or whatever, Kit would quite prefer flooring that didn't trip him up every time he needed the restroom. He'd gladly sign that petition. Full name and everything, Christopher Clancy in neat scrawl and underlined three times.

His head stayed perfectly still as he watched the kid continue towards the bullpen, having to be helped at the gate by Hayes, who he thanked profusely and offered a donut to. As subtly as he could, he nudged Doohickey under the table with his knee, expression forcibly neutral. They'd been arguing about some shitty new movie that apparently wasn't as bad as the trailers made it look but his priorities quickly shifted onto this poor pound of fresh meat.

"On your five," Kit muttered. "Don't make it obvious."

Doohickey paused. Then he leaned back and made a big show of yawning as obnoxiously as possible, tipping his head to the top of his chair to get a better view.

The kid was clearly startled by the noise, but didn't turn to look. He just adjusted his grip on the donut box and, now that Kit could see better, a collection of papers on top. Files about him, probably. He vaguely remembered those from his own internship.

Doohickey curled back in and shuffled back to be opposite Clancy—when in their conversation had they gotten so close? "Aww," he remarked, a small smile on his face; the same type he had when he saw a particularly cute K-9 or pigeon in the window. "He's precious. Poor kid."

"He's a wreck," Clancy remarked. "Not even a minute in and he looks like he'll explode."

The kid suddenly perked up. He awkwardly shuffled his box and papers under one arm and took off his hoodie to wrap around his waist, revealing the tucked-in, short-sleeved blue button up that reminded Kit of police uniforms.

"He looks like a baby giraffe," Doohickey cooed.

"He looks like Young Sheldon."

"That ain't a character. That's the title of the show."

"Shut up. And shut up. Don't tell me you were that nervous when you first joined the precinct. Or even the academy."

"Well, no," he said. "But give it twenty-four hours at least. Nobody makes a good first impression in a police precinct, this place has insane energy for newcomers."

"No kiddin'." Kit took a very loud and deliberate sip of his coffee. Doohickey glared. Both of them remembered the caramel macchiato incident.

There was a soft clattering, and he turned to find the intern on his knees with a littering of papers at his feet, frantically scooping them into his arms. Officers stepped awkwardly to avoid him. Some turned back to their desks with amused head shakes. Some real dickheads just looked unimpressed. The intern's face was going red and his hands were beginning to tremble in a way that was near cartoonish as he struggled to peel a sheet from the linoleum.

"Oh, Jesus fuck," Doohickey said in a voice so pitiful it was practically a whine.

Kit sighed. Ah, he knew what that voice meant.

He took one last slurp of his coffee before setting it down. "I got it," he said, pushing his hands to his knees to rise from his seat. "Might get a donut out of it. You want me to get you one?"

"Uh—actually yeah, could you—"

"Too bad," he said, tossing his hair over his shoulder and sauntering away. Doohickey blew a raspberry at his back.

The kid was still a frantic little ball of nerves even when Clancy approached and handed him the last of his papers. He tried giving as friendly of a smile as he could. He wasn't sure if it helped.

"Hey, bud," he said nonchalantly as he set the papers down. The kid looked blankly back at him as they rose to their feet—goddamn, this kid was way taller than him, fuck. He could hear Doohickey's laughter back at his desk. "First day?"

He knew the answer, and the intern knew he knew the answer. He nodded anyway. "Mhm! Sorry, I'm—this is my first job. I'm kinda nervous."

Ain't a job if you don't get paid, he bit back the urge to say.

"That's fine," he said. "I was nervous on my first day. But here I am, seven years later." He winked. "You'll get the hang of it. I promise."

He blinked slowly, like he couldn't believe someone had just said that to him. Then he broke out into a grin, hopping a little on his toes, and held out a hand to shake. "James Alvarez. Call me Jimmy!"

He shook. "Detective Kit Clancy. Call me Clancy."

"Okay, Clancy! ...do you want a donut?"

"Oh fuck yeah."

Chapter Text

Andy 🚨👓💚: [@Jimmy 🕸✏💙] ok so question for when you wake up
Andy 🚨👓💚: Do you stick to non-stick pans?

Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: the council are speaking and they want to know the truth

Andy 🚨👓💚: Tangentially how do other sticky things affect you?
Andy 🚨👓💚: Like ik you can control your webs and all but like idk if you were holding sticky slime or whatever would that trigger something in your powers and make it stickier?
Andy 🚨👓💚: Or would it do the opposite and make it more slippery cos they cancel out?
Andy 🚨👓💚: Also can you stick to bathtubs or do you slip like actual spiders?
Andy 🚨👓💚: Also also do you know the tensile strength of your webs compared to that of an actual spider?
Andy 🚨👓💚: [@Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿] ok i asked your stupid questions now go the fuck to sleep child

Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: RUDE
Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: i'm conducting PRELIMINARY RESEARCH on magical radiation you twat

Andy 🚨👓💚: I'm surprised you even know what that means

Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: ALSO I'M LIKE HALF A MILLENNIUM OLDER THAN YOU

Andy 🚨👓💚: YEAH AND yet you're having a tantrum because i called you a child lmfao

Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: i'm putting a curse on your bloodline cheeky shit

Andy 🚨👓💚: Oh nooo my secret wife jemima and our beautiful children, what am i to do???

Jimmy 🕸✏💙: [replying to Andy 🚨👓💚] uhhh idk about the pan thing, sometimes particularly unpleasant textures will trigger my powers so it depends, yes i slip, and clancy actually wanted to do an experiment to test that but we didnt have anything we would use as a pully and doohickey wouldnt let us get one so idk about that one either :33

Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: LMAOOO

Andy 🚨👓💚: JIMMY
Andy 🚨👓💚: HI
Andy 🚨👓💚: IT'S 2AM WHY ARE YOU AWAKE

Jimmy 🕸✏💙: ..................im spiderman??

Andy 🚨👓💚: Oh yeah good point

Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: [replying to Jimmy🕸✏💙] dyou reckon u could do the tensile strength one if i magic yous up a pulley

Jimmy 🕸✏💙: maybe!!!
Jimmy 🕸✏💙: but also why are you two awake? ,':/

Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: drugs

Andy 🚨👓💚: He's just making potions dw

Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: rude speccy
Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: i'm refining skills lost to the throes of time

Andy 🚨👓💚: You sent me a fucking picture of you baking magical banana bread

Jimmy 🕸✏💙: :OOO YIPPEE im happy to see you two are finally getting along :33

Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: nahh m8 we're still mortal enemies trust
Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: i don't trust the english

Andy 🚨👓💚: 😒

Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: god save the king or whatever lmao

Jimmy 🕸✏💙: Andy you haven't answered my question though why are you awake
Jimmy 🕸✏💙: ?

Andy 🚨👓💚: .....reasons

Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: oh nah u can't be making drugs too
Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: enroaching on my business smh
Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: stealing people's shit classic englishman

Andy 🚨👓💚: Omfg
Andy 🚨👓💚: FINE i procrastinated a bit too much on some paperwork so i'm just getting it done at home
Andy 🚨👓💚: I don't have work tomorrow anyway nbd

Jimmy 🕸✏💙: Is that allowed?
Jimmy 🕸✏💙: Can you take files outside the precinct I thought it was classified information

Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: [replying to Jimmy🕸✏💙] it is if you have a certain all-seeing witch boy making sure you don't get caught 😈

Andy 🚨👓💚: Lol

Jimmy 🕸✏💙: >:((( okay that is so very illegal and i am not 100% happy with you two >:((((

Andy 🚨👓💚: But you'll give me a pass because i'm your friend and you love meeeee? 🙏
Andy 🚨👓💚: Also sorry off-topic jimjams but what's with the quirky typing all of a sudden?
Andy 🚨👓💚: Jimmy?

Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: lord he fucking died

Andy 🚨👓💚: Aww dammit 😭
Andy 🚨👓💚: Anyway since he's not here to answer your questions, go to sleep jasper

Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: ooooo you wanna be my dad so bad

Andy 🚨👓💚: INCORRECT

Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: mum's life i would have told you if jimmy died in the middle of a text convo lmfaooo
Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: should be back any minute now
Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: [@Jimmy🕸✏💙] will you come back if i offer you banana bread
Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: it's dry as a fucking bone but wcyd

Jimmy 🕸✏💙: oooo i do like banana bread :333
Jimmy 🕸✏💙: [replying to Andy 🚨👓💚] Yes sorry about the typing stuff I'm going between text to speech wait no the other one talk to text and actually just texting
Jimmy 🕸✏💙: Sorry there's a guy trying to stab me at the moment but he's real bad at swinging

Andy 🚨👓💚: Oh calm lmao
Andy 🚨👓💚: Do you need me to file a report on that?

Jimmy 🕸✏💙: that would be nice yes ^w^ i can give the details once i get home
Jimmy 🕸✏💙: also he's webbed on the floor now

Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: BANANA BREAD WIN
Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: i gotchu fam i'll hook u up w some in the morning

Andy 🚨👓💚: [Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿] send us some bruv i want banana bread

Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: stop being such a speccy bellend and we'll see lmao

Andy 🚨👓💚: ??? IS THAT EVEN SCOTTISH

Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: LMAO

----- NEW MESSAGE [3:12am] -----

Jimmy 🕸✏💙: [Image attached: a hand holding up a frying pan with only the fingers attached to the surface, the handle in plain view.]
Jimmy 🕸✏💙: i can stick to non-stick pans :3 \O/

Jasper 🧙‍♀️🔮🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿: FUCK YEAH

Andy 🚨👓💚: BOTH OF YOU GO TO SLEEP

Chapter Text

It took Jacob a second or two to process what he was hearing before it clicked.

He was never one to be distracted by the noise of the precinct, so most of the idle chatter that swarmed the opposite side of his table washed over him in muffled waves of weekend plans and mildly funny anecdotes. But this was something entirely new, foreign, borderline impossible to believe until he looked up and verified for himself.

Officer Kit Clancy was laughing.

Not just one of the subtly amused huffs or proud cackles he often threw in Jacob's direction—that much he was used to. His little snickers when he successfully got Jacob into trouble and piercing squawks were well ingrained into his brain. No, this was different, bright and airy and, dare he say it, actually happy.

Jacob's hand stilled where it was, hovering over some half-done notes, pen still firmly in his grip. The sight was innocuous enough, all things considered; just a huddle of his coworkers gathered at one end of the table as they awaited roll call, listening to some story Oliveira was telling about the time he got called to check out a suspected domestic abuse case only to find it was just a guy with an impressively high-pitched scream and his housemate trying to get rid of a spider. And in the middle of it all was Clancy keeled forward, one hand on his knee and the other on the table, grinning unabashedly, his laughter ringing out like a bell through the entire room.

The sunlight caught his hair in a way that spun it into gold thread. His eyes glossed over with unshed tears and gleamed under the gaudy lamps of the briefing room.

He'd never seen Clancy look so... sincere. It was near unnerving to see it now, unguarded and smiling until it creased his eyes, breaking into another bought of laughter when Oliveira continued with how the guy's cat suddenly jumped out the pantry with the dead spider in her mouth and promptly revealed that everyone on the scene had arachnophobia. Jacob had been half convinced Clancy was just one of those guys. Hell, Jacob had gotten mad at him for spilling hot coffee down his uniform and the man still acted pissy about it as if it was his fault. The fact that he could express joy seemed like a bit of a revelation.

The laughter eventually died down and Clancy straightened his back, wiping his eyes and heaving as he struggled to return his breathing to normal. Jacob took his cue to shake away whatever the hell that was and stop staring—oh God, he'd been staring—as he returned to his notes. Something about beat assignments or whatever. Officer Hayes was about to start on a tangent while Officer Warren begged him to pause while they caught their breath. He could still hear Clancy's laughter petering off and it ran around his head in the most frustrating way.

He risked another glance up. Not for any particular reason.

Unfortunately for him, Clancy managed to catch his eye at just the wrong moment and he paused through a half-laugh, one hand on his cheek, his smile faltering a little. After a pause, he folded it away entirely for something much less amused, something sharper and snarkier and achingly familiar as Jacob felt the familiar veneer of distaste slip over his own features. It was easier than breathing by this point.

"Fuck you looking at?" Clancy said, an eyebrow raised challengingly.

Coolly, Jacob just shrugged and replied, "Nothing. I just didn't realise you were capable of happiness."

There it was. Some sense of normalcy shifting into place.

Clancy's nose wrinkled. "Shithead, I didn't realise you were capable of not being a douchebag."

"Fuck did I do?"

"Killed the fuckin' energy is what you did. Take that stick out your ass, man."

"Only if I can hit you with it."

"Please, I'd like to see you try—"

They only shut up when Officer Warren stabbed a pencil into Clancy's leg.