PETER I
Queens. Half past five in the evening.
Peter is currently sitting on top of an abandoned subway cart he found. It is covered in spray paint and has most definitely seen better days. It took him an hour and a half to find this spot. He told Ben he was heading to the skate park, which was a lie. Surely they would not grow suspicious. He just needed a bit of fresh air, that was all.
He always loved his city. Not in the I-heart "NYC" shirt kind of way. In the kind of way that came from a view you could only see when you were high enough above everything else. Yes, he admits that New York is a shithole. Loud. Crack addicts everywhere. Assholes living up to every stereotype. Still, he just could not help himself.
From here on top of the subway cart, he could see rooftops leaning into one another as if they were old friends. Water towers stood among drifting smoke, and the sunset breaking across the skyline was simply majestic. He always held a deep appreciation for Queens. In fairness, it was all he had ever known.
He had never been out of the state, let alone the city. Though he had always wondered what exactly was out there. Someday.
He exhales a breath he did not realize he was holding and watches it linger in the cold air. December fifth. Winter break is soon. The Oscorp field trip is next Thursday. May already signed the permission slip. Two more weeks until he is out of school. Peter cannot wait until he is away from everyone.
Feeling like music might help his mood, his hand reaches into his right pocket and moves around until he finds his phone. It does not take long. He types in the code, 2119, his birth year. He is not the best when it comes to passcodes, but why would anyone want to go through his phone? Excluding Flash.
After unlocking it, Peter swipes right twice until he reaches Spotify and taps it open. When the homepage loads, Peter smiles and selects his current song obsession, "A-Punk" by Vampire Weekend, a band he has been into for the past year. The song begins, and he kicks his feet lightly over the edge of the subway cart while listening.
His uncle Ben had shown him his record collection. Since the war, vinyl records, cassettes, and discs were especially hard to come by, and when you found one it was incredibly expensive. Ben told Peter that many of the records had originally belonged to his father. Ben had shown him all kinds of genres over the years. Punk, jazz, classical, and reggae. Ben owned roughly fifty four records in total. His most prized possession was London Calling by The Clash, which had become something of a family heirloom. Peter smiles at the memory.
A gust of wind hits him, and he realizes he neglected to bring a jacket. Great. Just what the doctor ordered. An annoyed sigh escapes his lips as Peter falls flat onto his back on top of the subway cart, feeling the metal thump underneath him. Surprisingly, it is actually comfortable.
Suddenly, he feels a buzz on his stomach that startles him, causing him to jump up and nearly drop his phone off the cart.
He barely catches it. Breathing heavily, Peter sits back down and looks at the screen to see what caused the vibration. He sees the profile picture of an older woman, with the contact name reading "AUNT MAY." Oh. It is May.
He swipes to answer and lifts the phone to his ear.
"Hey, May. Something wrong?" he asks, attempting to sound casual.
"Yes dear, I am fine," May replies reassuringly. "How is the skate park?"
Peter quietly curses himself and flicks his forehead. Right. He told Ben he would be there.
"It is great, May. Just taking a break. Got a little tired, you know?"
He silently prays she believes him.
"That is good, dear," May says. "Listen, I was wanting to make some Mayloaf tonight for dinner. Would you mind stopping by the store to pick up some ingredients? I will send over the list, and I am sure Ben will pay you back."
Did she just make a pun?
Peter pinches the bridge of his nose while still holding the phone to his ear. Though he admits to himself that it would probably be best if he left anyway. It is getting late, and it is only going to get colder.
"You guys do not have to pay me back, you know that. And yes, May, I will stop by the store on my way home. Love you. Bye. See you soon."
With that, he ends the call and places the phone back into his pocket.
Peter squats slightly in preparation to jump down. He leaps off the cart and lands smoothly, bending his knees to absorb the impact.
Another happy landing, Peter thinks.
He glances to his right, hoists his backpack onto his shoulder, and picks up his skateboard. The ground here is too rough to ride it. He will wait until he is out of the abandoned yard.
As he begins walking away, he pauses and glances back at the subway cart. The setting sun really does make it beautiful this time of day.
His phone buzzes again. He reaches into his pocket, pulls it out, and reads the notification.
FROM AUNT MAY:"Hey dear! I just need eggs and ketchup. Thank you again, love you."
Peter smiles while reading the message, then pauses.
Eggs and ketchup? What a strange combination.
He shrugs and pockets the phone once more.
Scanning the area, he spots the exit door. He begins walking toward it, hearing gravel crunch beneath his shoes. He reaches the door, grabs the knob, and twists it open.
Hopefully I do not get jumped, Peter thinks.
The first room he enters looks exactly as he remembers from two hours ago. Destroyed. In desperate need of repair. And the smell. Jeez, did someone die here?
Peter sincerely hopes not.
He walks through the room and heads toward a flight of stairs in the right corner. As he climbs, he cracks his knuckles and hears them pop in response. He pushes open the door at the top, and the orange glow of the setting sun spills inside.
By the time he steps outside, the sounds of the city begin creeping back in. Car horns. Distant sirens. Someone yelling about people walking here. The usual.
Peter steps onto the sidewalk, sliding one hand into his pocket while holding his skateboard in the other.
He walks up the street, weaving through the occasional crowd. He glances toward a shop window and sees his reflection walking beside him.
Suddenly, without warning, Peter collides with someone and falls backward onto the pavement.
"My back. Ugh, fuck me," he groans, rubbing his forehead as a headache begins forming. He feels a knot building in his shoulder.
He hears groaning from the other person and sits up, seeing a girl roughly his age. Peter quickly scrambles to his feet and extends a hand.
"Hey, are you alright?"
She appears to be around his age, with striking blue eyes and blonde hair. She is wearing what looks like a stereotypical scientist outfit.
She responds sharply, "No. I just got hit in the head. Thanks for that, by the way."
Peter blushes, embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Yeah, uh, sorry about that. Here, let me help."
He kneels down and begins gathering her belongings scattered across the ground. Papers, a notebook, and a pen labeled Oscorp. Once he sees that she is steady on her feet, he hands everything back to her.
"Is that an Oscorp pen? That is awesome. I have one I bought online."
She shrugs slightly. "Yeah. I intern at Oscorp. Been there for about two years. Free merchandise is nice if you actually like the company. I have mixed feelings about them."
She finishes with a small frown, her thoughts clearly drifting somewhere else.
Trying to keep the conversation going, Peter says, "My name is Peter, by the way. Uh, Peter Parker."
He offers an awkward smile. The mysterious girl smiles back. Peter assumes she finds his discomfort amusing.
"Name is Gwen. Gwen Stacy. You live around here, Parker?"
Peter nods. "Yeah, pretty close. About a twenty minute walk. Fifteen if I use the skateboard." He gestures toward it beside him.
Gwen nods. "Yeah, I get that."
Peter nods back, silently hoping the conversation becomes less awkward. It does not.
"So what school do you go to? I do not think I have seen you around here before."
Gwen tilts her head slightly. "I go to Madison Academy. If I walked there right now, it would probably take about an hour and a half."
Peter freezes internally.
Madison Academy. The elite STEM school that only accepts the absolute best students. Holy shit.
His thoughts are interrupted as she continues speaking.
"By car, it is about an hour. It is outside the city, but it is a good school. Mostly. A little boring sometimes. Where do you go?"
Peter nods, relating to the boredom. Midtown High rarely challenges him, and he barely knows anyone there.
"I go to Midtown High. Not prestigious in any way. Just your average New York school, you know?"
He shrugs before continuing.
"Assholes. Arrogance festering in every corner. Overall, pretty shitty experience."
He emphasizes the 'p' in pretty to sell his point.
Gwen lets out a small laugh, a smile forming across her face.
"I get that. Well, see you around, Parker. I have to get back to work. I am technically supposed to be on the clock right now."
She begins walking away, leaving Peter momentarily speechless. He definitely is not watching her walk away. Absolutely not.
Suddenly, his brain resets, and he remembers why he came out here in the first place.
Right. The grocery store.
Uh... where was that again?
TONY I
Tony swivels the wine glass in his hand, watching the liquid inside swirl without spilling. He is careful enough to keep it contained. He absolutely refuses to ruin another suit today.
He takes a sip.
Disgust hits him instantly.
Why did I buy this flavor? Please do not tell me.
He grabs the green wine bottle sitting on his desk and turns the label toward himself.
You have got to be fucking kidding me. Brettanomyces?
This shit tastes like a bandaid and a wet horse had a baby. Jesus, how drunk was I last night?
He groans and leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling in pure disappointment at what he just willingly consumed.
Rubbing his forehead, he finally gives in and asks the question sitting in the back of his mind.
"Jarvis, buddy, oh pal. How much did I drink last night to make such an awful decision as buying Brettanomyces? And why would you let me buy something like that?"
He dramatically flips his hand and presses it against his forehead, fully committing to his suffering.
His ever faithful companion responds almost instantly.
"You ordered me to purchase it, sir. You said, and I quote, 'let us be a bit adventurous tonight.' You were also wearing only your underwear, if I may add. I believed purchasing it might encourage you to take a day off from drinking, sir."
Tony narrows his eyes.
Bastard. Is that snark? Sarcasm? When did I program that into him?
Tony raises his wine glass sarcastically.
"Thank you so much for caring about my health. Now point me toward the nearest wine that does not taste like ass."
He stands up, immediately stumbling forward from the alcohol still swimming through his system. The glass slips from his hand and crashes onto the floor, but he manages to stay upright.
Some dignity remains. Barely.
"Clean up on aisle four!" he shouts drunkenly.
He stumbles toward the wooden cabinet, walking as carefully as he possibly can in his current state. He twists the knob open and pulls out his favorite bottle.
Sauvignon Blanc.
White wine will treat him far better right now.
Clutching the bottle, he stumbles back toward his desk chair, maneuvering past furniture with what he considers graceful precision before collapsing into the seat. He pulls open the first drawer of his desk and grabs the wine opener resting inside.
Wait.
Do I have that meeting with Pepper tomorrow?
A hopeful smile creeps across his face.
"Jarvis, buddy. What time is my meeting with Pepper tomorrow?"
There is a brief pause before Jarvis responds.
"Sorry, sir. You do not have a scheduled meeting with Ms. Potts. The only engagement I found for tomorrow at twelve is a lunch meeting at Square Dinner with President Fisk regarding current contract agreements, if I recall correctly."
Tony groans loudly.
"Ugh. That guy? Really, Jarvis?"
"Yes, sir. 'That guy,' as you so eloquently described him, is the 119th President of the United States, elected shortly after the Ultimatum."
Tony rolls his eyes and begins mockingly moving his right hand open and closed as if he is puppeteering Jarvis while he speaks.
"Yeah, yeah, buddy. I know all about our president. You do not have to give me the full Wikipedia mambo jumbo. Sigh. Why are you such a buzzkill?"
Jarvis pauses briefly before replying.
"Learned from the best, sir."
Tony laughs out loud, his eyes glazing slightly from the combined effects of alcohol and amusement.
"That comment might get you a software downgrade. How would you feel relying on Microsoft Edge instead of Google? How would you feel about that?"
Jarvis responds immediately.
"I would be lost, sir. I would be unable to provide you with the latest news and would instead repeatedly inform you that the Third World War has just begun. As we know, sir, Microsoft Edge is roughly twenty years behind. Also, sir, I appreciate the artistic contributions you have made to the carpet. Your work will surely be celebrated."
Tony slowly looks down at the shattered glass and spreading stain beneath him.
"...I hate you."