Notes: Uh, timeline issues I have yet to edit. One day. I might.
R&R! :D
"Do you have everything you need?"
May is fixing Peter's hair, pressing strands of unruly curls above his forehead. They fall on his face softly and May's lips press into a thin line.
His hands grip the travelling bag, Ben's initials engraved on the handle. Peter brushes his finger over it.
"I do, May. Besides, I don't really need that much. It's just for two days."
"Yes, but." May is wringing her hands like she is nervous, but braves on nonetheless, "You, uh, you have your suit?"
Figures.
"I have it in my bag."
"Alright."
The crowd around the school slowly fills with students and their parents. The air is soon charged with dormant energy, gaining momentum with every second. Wheels on asphalt, reassurances, and the commanding voice of teachers corralling students into manageable groups.
Something changes in May's face, and Peter recognizes it as thinly-veiled concern.
"We can still book that hotel in DC, you know."
Peter decides that this is the day May stops worrying over him. She's been so much, and more. The least he could do is pretend for her.
(He's been practicing, dark in the night, when his eyes are heavy and his shoulders are slumped. Even though it isn't obvious, Peter can see everyone around him. More than that, Peter can feel everyone around him—sensitively, morbidly so. He can hear their heart beat faster, slower,
Stop.
He can see the way their lips twitch into an instinctive frown, and the way MJ's voice sometimes wavers in the middle of a joke, and Ned's incessant text messages of "Hey dude, where are you?" ever since he went missing the whole night, wearing his suit for the last time.
And May is standing in front of him right now, and its everything he listed and more. So, he tries to put it into practice.
Eyes, crinkle. Mouth, stretched, but not too much—just enough to get the eyes alive. Voice, soft.)
And so, Peter smiles.
It is bright and shining, and almost real.
Peter sees it in the way May steps back, with her eyes wide and mouth slightly open. And she melts.
"I'm sure about this, May. This is the surest I am of anything."
He sees it in her eyes, the second she concedes. She put her arms around him.
It is tight, and everything Peter needs right now.
"Alright, honey. Be safe."
"I will, May."
And off to the bus he goes.
There are about nine buses of students and teachers that fill the road.
Peter, Ned and MJ sit in the three-seater side, Peter being by the window and MJ by the aisle.
It is half open and Peter watches the barrage of colors as they pass by. Wind breathing on his face and neck, and he is brought back to the sky, swinging through New York with left over adrenaline from a battle won and the special type of euphoria that only comes with the knowledge that he saved a life.
Peter used to love being a hero.
But now…
Ned is chattering to an unresponsive MJ, something about the morbid novelty of Rogue One and the superb acting of the cast—Felicity Jones, especially— and MJ is, wait, she's actually engaging in the conversation.
She's in the middle of a passionate spiel on female lead franchises on Hollywood and their value to young girls around the world when she notices Peter staring at her.
MJ's voice dies in her throat and she settles on sending him an acknowledging nod. Ned swivels and exclaims, "Oh dude! I forgot to tell you, that robot we have…"
Ned goes on about the bot Peter had little hand in making.
Peter listens and smiles and jokes.
He can feel MJ's stare and Ned's increasing exuberance, grin bright and arms dancing around. And his heart just softens for his two best friends.
Peter wonders what he's done to deserve them.
Later, when the excited chatter of students dies down to a few murmurs, and Ned let himself fall to the atmosphere, to the sleepy, relaxing aura that only a 5 am trip upstate can give them, Peter falls into his thoughts again.
(MJ is asleep with her book tucked in her arm. Apparently, the teachers had been making them work extra hard for the festival. Sleep was a beautiful, rare gift to STEM students, especially to those in the captaincy of idiots and, well, she's a bookworm. So, you can shut up for a while Ned, or so God help her.)
(Ned is snoring and MJ's head is resting on his shoulder. Peter wonders when they have gotten so close. He can't quite pinpoint the exact moment.)
(Peter can only look at the same things over and over for about an hour before he would run out of things to distract his loud thoughts.)
(There is a fly whizzing past the window—and SPLAT— it's dead.)
He stares at it for the longest time before he hears MJ's sleep-laden murmur, "Staring at it won't bring it back, doofus. There are other, much better things to look at."
"What, like you?"
Snort.
"No. Like, Ned, when I finish drawing on his face."
Peter shares a mischievous look with MJ. But. It still doesn't quite distract him long enough to finish thinking—
(Peter used to love being a hero.
But now…
He just wished he never became one.)
It is insane how fast everyone breaks out of the morning spell. Thirty minutes before arrival, and the bus full of students is bursting with energy. It is no secret that everyone is both excited and nervous for the events in the next 48 hours, and everyone agrees that whatever it is, it'll be something they won't forget.
They are met with a wide expanse of green fields.
The air lends a cooler touch than the smoke-filled city.
And everything just feels a little bit more majestic.
The grounds they stand in are holy and the glory translates into every student.
Abe is screaming to someone, "DUDE- THIS IS LIKE- THIS IS- WHERE- THE BIG GRAPE DUDE—AND, AND IRON MAN—"
Ned yawns in that exact moment, stretching his arms wide and squatting down to exercise his jelly legs.
Mr. Harrington yells at a distance, "Okay everybody! Gather your luggage and follow the designated leaders for each group."
At this, Principal Morita walks toward them, hand behind his back and eyes scanning the students.
"I've already talked to Pepper. Kindly lead them to that building over there, and a woman will be waiting for you to scan your bags. It's for security reasons."
"Of course, sir."
"And, Leeds?"
Ned looks up. The Principal gesturing to his face.
"You might want to check the mirror."
Ned is sputtering, demanding for a mirror before gathering his wits and using his phone instead—head whipping toward the chuckling MJ and her AcaDec cohorts taking pictures.
"This is bullying! Bullying! And oppression!"
"I don't think you know what that means, Ned. It's more… ah, friendship. And revenge." MJ muses devilishly.
"If you're talking about that one time—it was five months ago seriously-!"
The principal watches for a few humorous seconds before turning to another teacher at the other bus, Harrington corralling the students into said building.
Peter gives Ned the baby wipes Aunt May packed in his bag, the latter thanking him profusely while glaring at the perpetrator, that traitor MJ.
Peter can only smile secretly.
As they walk, Peter takes in the compound. Wide, grassy hill and a lake out the back. Up at the top of the hill stands in all its grandeur, the Stark Tower. A few buildings, all with floor to ceiling windows, surround the property at the bottom of the hill. Some interconnected while others in different designs stand alone.
That's the cafeteria—the brown, two-story one.
And that's the quin-jet pad.
A few more meters in front of them is the largest and widest building in the whole property. The Avengers Compound.
"And this is where we will be staying. Two floors of it, all to ourselves. Remember to thank Principal Morita by being respectful and active during the festival."
The students stare in awe as the building pans from their view.
"Whoa, man, I'd rather not leave at all!"
"How long do you think I can hide here before they find out?"
"A millisecond. There are agents here, Charles. Agents. They might not shoot you but they'll scare the shit out of you and you'll be high-tailing it out of here."
"I know you're like this MJ, but, wow, extra burn today?"
"I swear if you're trying to tell me I'm hot, I'd rather not hear the rest of it."
"Okay first of—"
"Rather not."
(The only reason they are using the Avenger's Compound is it's the only building big enough to accommodate the hundreds of students while still being able to function enough with its hundreds of employees.)
They enter the compound through two automatic sliding doors. A few employees are already bustling through, paying them no heed.
The interior itself is high-class and efficient. There are a few sofas by the left side, the complementary newspaper-stand and a coffee machine. The prevalent colors are blue and silver, keeping it professional and sticking to the original.
Their casual High School get up suddenly looks out of place in contrast to the High Brow setting.
But it doesn't stop them from making their usual schoolyard noise.
"It smells of progress and innovation in here!"
"That's not a smell Sally."
"Shut up Charles."
They fill half the lobby, spacious as it is. They needn't have to wait though, as a woman walks toward them with purpose.
"Good morning, Midtown High!" She greets, "My name is Lisa and I will be helping you set up so that you could move on to the more interesting parts of this trip— the tour, for one."
A wave of anticipation passes through the students. But before it could take on a life of its own, Lisa starts walking toward the right side of the building, where a grander and more high-tech version of the detectors in the mall stands.
"Please follow me to the security scanner. This is called the VEIL— and, yes, as in the veil from Harry Potter. They named it like that because once you pass through, it is said to be akin to entering a new world. Perhaps, even a world as spirited and novel as the one in the books."
She nods to herself and then adds in reaction to the student's awed faces, "Tony Stark was indeed very dramatic."
"And apparently read Harry Potter."
"He could have just watched the movies."
(Peter corrects them mentally. He read and watched the movies. Six times.)
"You will be going through the VEIL in five's, so as to preserve time. As you go through, your bags will be scanned for any forbidden objects and you will be handed a pin, this one," Lisa pulls out a red pin with the Stark logo on the top of a rectangular plate, her name in clear white print over the black background.
"This is for both security measures and log entries. We record every one who comes in and out of every room or building, and in the event of losing one would result in lots of paper work, so I implore you stick it on your person at all times."
Lisa levels them all with a look before pulling out a red, metallic bracelet.
"On the other hand, this is your Repulsor jets—"
"WHOA, DOES IT—"
"No, it does not emit the same energy beam as Iron Man's does," Lisa interrupts.
"It's purpose," she starts, wearing the bracelet on her dainty wrist causing the pin on her chest to color into a bright yellow, her name into black, "is to segregate the students into the area in which you will be participating in the festival tomorrow. It also aids as tracking device, so that we could keep track of where everyone is, and help us ensure the safety of every student and teacher in attendance.
While it is usually just our ID's, and not a bracelet, our boss, Pepper Stark-Potts allowed for this prototype to be used solely by the students of Midtown Tech. It serves as both an instrument and a piece of art because tonight, just before the bonfire is set to flames, you will all be participating in the tribute to our late former-CEO, the great, brilliant mind of both the Stark Industries and the Avengers, Tony Stark."
A moment of silence hushes over the group. The other employees who are slowly gaining in numbers also pause and bow their heads in respect to the hero.
Peter hates every second of it.
And he is monumentally grateful that Lisa is swift in paying her respects.
"Therefore, this," she gestures to the bracelet, hand displayed to the students, "will turn into this."
The red metallic ring on her wrist suddenly expands with a flick. It spread into her hand, like nanotechnology but used as a toy thing—
The school erupts into a variation of surprise and delight— the first real sign of the Stark Technology—and soon to be in their hands!
One could feel the energy really taking a physical form that second, and the whole morale of the school transforms into a massive ball of vigor, its potency reeking of inspiration to discover and to take apart the metal bracelet just to see if it would—
"No, Ned, you can't open the bracelet just to see if you could turn it into a horrid amalgamation of your robot and other similarly horrid 'toys'."
"But—"
"No asses."
"That was… crude even for you MJ."
Lisa clenches her hand, now covered in red nanotech metal, and then flexes it open to reveal a blue light shining from the core of her palms.
This is when they truly lose it.
"WhaT THE FUCK—"
"HOLY SHIT MAN—"
"LANGUAGE—LANGUAGE!"
"Oh my GOD, I can't believe it. I'm crying through the sheer ingenuity of this company's technology…!"
"I gotta admit, this is— this is, wow."
"Miss Lisa! Can I talk to the scientist, or any, who was able to make nanotechnology as accessible and reproducible to this magnitude? I'll be writing an article about it for the Sci-Tech page in our school's publication."
Lisa smiles apologetically. "I'm sorry miss…"
"Betty Brant."
"I'm sorry Miss Brant, but the one who was able to do that was Tony Stark."
That shut them up.
"But you could talk to some of the scientists who have worked with reproducing it. They would know more than enough. She'll actually be coming here later on."
Betty nods keenly at that, writing down notes on her phone.
"Any other questions?"
At this Peter meekly raises his hand.
Lisa points at him so he would speak.
"Can I, uh, use an ID tag instead? I'm not… comfortable with, uh, using the nanotech."
Everyone is staring at him like he is doing something incredibly wrong.
Ned is bracing himself, ready to think of whatever excuse or pull off distractions.
Lisa speaks, slowly, "I don't think we can print out an ID at this rate. The tour and festival are a special event even for us here in Stark Industries, therefore the tags are unique as well. We don't have the available scientists who could code the tag's data into a normal ID. If you have special needs, we could definitely—"
"No, uh…" Peter fishes something from his bag, and then raises it for Lisa (and everyone) to see, "I already have one…"
The woman's brow furrows so low that it could have contested the Mariana Trench. She strides swiftly toward Peter, who is uncomfortably shuffling in his spot, and then takes the ID in her hand to examine it.
The school watches as she gasps, eyes wide in amazement, "This is the version of the ID's before the snap! Its brothers have been deactivated and discarded into the fire. How come you have such a priceless thing?"
It is as if she's forgotten everyone here and is hounding Peter for answers. It seems like the students aren't the only starry-eyed beings in the building.
"I was an intern—for him—personal—"
Whatever he is saying, it doesn't matter because Lisa is already walking toward the pillar of the VEIL. She scans it through a screen and when it turns green, Peter relaxes.
"Well, you're alright, then." Lisa hands him his ID, muttering, "I still can't believe those exist right now."
She then takes command once again, clearing her throat, "Now that everything's settled, kindly form into your groups and pass through the VEIL. All in order."
After that, everything goes as smooth as Peter could have hoped.
Friday hadn't reacted to his ID tag, as he had been afraid, and everyone else is too enthralled with their nanotech bracelets to be paying him much regard.
Lisa leads them to their floor.
It is four times the size of the lobby and is empty to the boot. It is like a large gymnasium, sans the seats and stage. How they pulled this up is just one of the few testaments to how efficient and resourceful Stark Industries is.
"Girls and Boy will be in different floors and each space in the floor will be divided into different groups. That will be the different clubs and roles each student has according to the festival. Your tags will reflect that order. Please view the wall to the right for the legend."
Peter casts a quick glance at the wall, identifying the green that Ned's tag possesses. Robotics.
Technically, Peter and Ned could also sleep beside the AcaDec boys because they're part of the groups as well. But since Ned seems to be possessed with the idea of joining their robot for the tribute section, Peter squeezes in with the robotics club.
Peter would follow Ned wherever he wants to go, as Ned had him.
And it wouldn't be right to complain. They aren't like sardines here at all, as someone in his class had voiced in concern earlier.
It is so huge, in fact, that the hundreds of students would still have a quaint enough space not to pass out from suffocation. Plus, the ceiling is high and the ventilation cool.
The Stark touch on the building is massively impressive and it is a sentiment echoed across the room.
The girls are herded to the upper floor, where they are to stay.
Peter watches the view from their floor, the greens of the grass and the slight ripples in the lake far back. He can hear the birds as they chirp nature's song, the sun's heat slightly warming his cheeks.
This might just be as peaceful as he's going to get.
Turns out, it is too much for Peter, to find peace in the place where everything changed—is changing (it is a constant, breathing thing, this change and Peter don't quite know if he likes it or not).
The field envelops his sight and he just wants to run.
But he can't because then people will see him when he should be in the Avenger's building right now.
So, he walks instead.
Someone is following him and their eyes are boring a deep hole in his already vacant heart. He continues on his trek to nowhere, and ends up behind another building opposite the one they're staying in.
Peter stops.
They stop as well.
"What a thing to pull off, Peter."
It's Flash.
Of course its Flash.
Peter thinks he walked down here on purpose. But his mind has been muddled for a while now and he doesn't dwell on it.
Instead he waits.
(It doesn't get lost on him how Flash used his name and not the petty insult he is used to hearing.)
Peter watches as Flash inhales heavy, painful breaths. He is poised like a predator eager to tear his prey apart, to make it bleed with every biting tone and to watch it fall, the light in its eyes barely a flicker, until it dies, tortured. He knows that's what he intends to do. Peter submits.
And, as always, Flash delivers.
His eyes hold raging contempt, shaking in an anger that is barely held back and when he speaks, it is venom on acid and Peter bathes in it.
"I don't even care how you did it," Flash spits, "It's just… watching you back there pulling out that fake ID, thinking you'd fool us all, it makes me want to jump of a bridge from how fucking low you've gone. It's just so fucking pathetic."
Flash is gauging his reactions, eyes dissecting his every move. Peter doesn't give anything he might be thinking. But Flash is relentless.
"Pathetic Penis Parker," he tries again, "Picking up every breadcrumb of attention and pity from anyone who's stupid enough to fall for it. See that garbage out there? That's you. And it'll always be you."
Peter is still silent, his mind a sponge and heart a puddle, but Flash doesn't know that and his perceived calmness only serves to ignite a vehemence in Flash that Peter had only seen once before.
It gains a darker energy, builds up momentum and Flash is shaking with unrestrained fury—
"I just—I don't understand how you keep doing this—" his hands are in the air, "how you keep acting like you're sad, what— I'm poor Peter Parker, my parent's died when I was a kid, my uncle followed a few years later, and apparently, Iron Man looked at me like I was special, and he's dead now too— so now I'm a sad motherfucker—!"
Peter's breath hitches and the gravel is hot on his feet. He wants to run but he can't move. He knows that if he runs, he won't ever stop.
"And I don't know why you keep going like that, like, like it's going to change anything—because I can tell you it DOESN'T!"
Flash's voice is the only thing he can hear right now, and it echoes in his soul.
Flash isn't finished.
"How can you stand there and, and pretend that there was ever anything between you and Tony Stark?!As if you don't have enough people kissing the very ground you walk on." It is a bitter hiss, and he ploughs on with something more potent, fingers trembling as he points at Peter with all his anger, "How can you stand there and mope and act like you've lost something when you have nothing to cry about—because I—" Flash slaps his hand on his own chest in a forceful manner that could only serve for pain, "I LOST MY FATHER TO THE SNAP AND YOU LOST NO ONE—"
Flash's eyes are red from both anger and tears, body charged to accuse and invalidate and hurt, and he continues, "How dare you be sad— when I—I can't even be sad or, or angry, because I'm not special like you and I don't have an aunt who understands— because if I get sad? Who knows if my mother can't take it anymore and shoots herself in the head just like my father did—"
Peter is in front of Flash in a blink and he's holding him, well, at least trying.
Flash recoils so bad at his touch and his tears feels warm on Peter's hands.
He doesn't know how to comfort people, but when Ned or MJ or Aunt May hugs him, he always feels a little bit relieved every time.
Flash doesn't.
Flash hates Peter.
That's why, when his senses scream at him to dodge, and his eyes catches Flash swinging his clenched fist, Peter doesn't move at all.
One hit.
CRGHKK—
His teeth clenches and his mouth bleeds.
Flash is shaking him, holding him with his shirt and he's screaming again—
"DON'T YOU TOUCH ME YOU PATHETIC PIECE OF SHIT—DON'T YOU EVER THINK—THAT ANYTHING YOU CAN DO WOULD MATTER—BECAUSE IT WON'T—"
AGK—
Peter falls on the unforgiving asphalt and Flash is pushed to the wall.
"What the fu—"
And
—SLAP!
The slap reverberates throughout the otherwise silent woods.
MJ stands before Flash, towering over and glaring at his soul. Her heart beats lubdub lubdub lubdublubdublubdub, and she's gritting out her words.
"I don't know how hard it is to lose someone, because I was lucky enough to never have been through something like that before. But I know someone who does. And every day for him is a battle. And he wins just by living, day by day by day, even though I know he never feels like he's winning."
MJ's eyes are piercing, but if Peter looks harder, he might see the beseeching look she has, trying, pleading for Flash to understand something.
"So, if there is anyone who would know how you feel it would be him."
Both MJ and Flash look sideways to Peter who is wiping the blood from his lip, his jaw numbing from the forceful punch he took full on.
MJ is no longer hounding Flash, but as she crouches to help Peter stand up (even though he can do it by himself), she mutters loud enough for Flash to hear, "You're not the only one in pain, Flash. And maybe, if you ask nicely, you won't have to do it alone."
Flash watches Peter and MJ's backs, as they walk over the hill in this pleasant morning. He leans on the wall for support and tries to catch as much air as he can.
As they disappear into the distance, Flash's knees give out and he lets his tears fall— blue and sorrowful— unbridled.
Somewhere in the sky, the birds fly freely.
When Peter and MJ arrive, it is to Ned waiting anxiously at the entrance of the other behemoth building, standing the tallest, the one and only Stark Tower, at their feet.
"Where the hell did you go, bro? They're already starting! Let's go in before we get in trouble—wait, is that blood?
MJ brushes past him, "It's okay, I talked to Flash already."
The answer only incites more questions for Ned but he trudges on, giving Peter a concerned look.
The cool waft of the air conditioning greets them, a faint smell of scented humidifier somewhere in the corner, and the combating voices of their classmates completing the atmosphere.
They can hear Mr. Harrington announce from the front, "…per grade level, and each grade level will be managed by student officers. Please, do your best to muster all your composure and respect from those shriveled up hearts of yours. Or so God help me."
Some glares, some chuckles.
One walking toward them with a quiet, certain confidence claps his hands, calling, "And God is on his way to help you!"
Everyone turns their heads in unison.
A tall man with tousled brown hair is grinning at them, his joke ignored but his person irresistible. Some girls begin swooning, one unapologetically catcalling, and a few boys are fanning themselves.
Peter hears more than sees Flash enter the building, standing at the back.
"Hello," he greets jovially, "I will be your personal narrator throughout your trip!" his hands are in the air, welcoming the teens. To their quizzical looks, he sighs and says in a more dragging tone, "A tour guide, I'm your tour guide. If you care for boring introductions."
In a second, he snaps into his cheery bearing, "Midtown High! Welcome to Stark Tower!"
The students clap at Mr. Harrington's leadership.
The guide looks at said teacher, "And it's alright, Mr. Teacher, let them be kids and assholes— those two go hand in hand… I know I was back then."
If it is possible, everyone falls deeper in love with him after that.
"I'll be entertaining any questions during the trip—ooh, eager, aren't we? Yes, Miss…?"
"Cindy!" squeaks the teen.
"Ah, what a lovely name! Yes, Cindy?"
She blushes as she asks, "How old are you and can you be my date for prom?"
Everyone's eyes are on either Cindy or the surprised man.
He quickly schools his face into that of cool ease, and then to contemplative and considering, "Well, I want to, but I'm afraid your parents might file something against me," he chuckles, inviting the others to follow, "And as the right hand man to Pepper Potts and the Head of Technology as it currently stands, I can't really afford that."
Peter hears Sally muttering to the embarrassed Cindy, "Well that was worth a shot. Thanks for taking the bullet for us."
"Anyway!" he exclaims suddenly, making the ones in the front jump, "As it is, I seem to be taking the," he squints at a nearby tag, "tenth graders! Come on veterans, let's march on. To here. We have to activate your tags and gauntlets. Fall in line, and swipe your bracelets into this screen. Come on, quickly now, so we could get the boring stuff over with."
As soon as the first student does as the man said, everyone starts bouncing in anticipation, the nanotech tickling their inner childish wonder, and, for some (the robotics club), their demonic mischief.
"Alyssa Alaiza, Visitor Access. Level: Tourist."
At this, the students whoop and cheers in surprise, gushing and looking for the source of the voice.
"Or not. Apparently, security check & log is exciting," he grins and watches them wistfully, "Man, I miss this easy pleasure."
Then, he points to the ceiling, "That was Friday. Our resident A.I. She is special because she's one of the few A.I.'s that Tony made. Friday is one of the last five, not including JARVIS, who was Tony's main A.I. before it translated into Vision."
Betty Brant is taking every valuable information in her phone's notes app, nudging and glaring at her fellow student journalists to record and document the whole thing as well.
And so, time passes in a leisurely pace. Once most of the students have crossed the border, MJ looking over and Ned's encouraging nods, (with Flash who isn't looking at him like he's the scum of the earth), Peter hesitantly swipes his ID.
From his spot on the other side, currently answering Betty's rapid-fire questions, the man quirks his brow at the ancient ID—
(Ancient isn't quite the word for it, since it had only been five years, but it is as prized and rare as one. Possibly, the last one, if Pepper had thrown hers off into the fire with theirs).
He is about to question Peter, mouth open in dialogue, until—
"Peter Parker, Executive Access. Level: Master."
Everyone freezes in their spots, a collective—What— passing through their heads, and in unison, observes in curiosity as the blushing teen fumbles in front of the screen.
And then, more human than any A.I. could possibly sound, and even more thought-provoking:
"It has been a long time, Peter." The teen slumps, the brunt of having to answer their questions on the A.I.'s supposed knowledge of him weighing on his shoulders.
But of course, that isn't all.
"Please proceed to floor 98," my room, he thinks.
The next thing Friday says would be recorded by Seymour in his phone. In fact, he's been recording everything since the interview and he takes the opportunity to catch the whole exchange, Peter at the forefront of it all.
They would replay it later, to confirm if everything that had happened had actually happened, but they still wouldn't believe it even after watching the exact events play through.
MJ would then be forced to bribe and threaten Betty Brant, through force and feelings (Ned), not to write anything about this. She would be hard-pressed, because Betty had already thought of a headline—and she is already planning on putting it in the front page.
The blonde would be aggressive, but Betty would take one look at Ned's pleading face and she would remember the history of Peter's suffering through her special moments with Ned, and the affection wins over, because Peter is her friend as well.
Sally, though, is not part of the school publication and MJ would have little time before she posts it on Instagram, Peter's stricken face in the screen.
She would later delete it, but it would have done its damage.
The video would spread into the other grade levels and Peter wouldn't be left alone, without anyone staring or whispering or speculation.
Sometimes, kids should be kids, but if it is at the expense of her friend, then MJ wishes others would mature faster.
Because Peter doesn't deserve to be treated as a mystery to be solved (even though, at his core, he is one of the greatest mysteries our there, and one of the purest discoveries either).
Because the world doesn't deserve to see the way his face crumples in absolute devastation, discomfort collapsing, replaced with crushed hope.
Because no one, absolutely no one, should have access to a video that displays so cruelly the exact moment when the broken boy breaks even harder—shaking knees and white grip and pressed lips and hastily blinking eyes.
But MJ withdraws her judgement a little, because she knows that when they clicked that red button to record the video, all they thought was that an A.I. from this legendary, multi-billionaire company, knows their impressionable classmate, and that no matter how brilliant he is, there are other more brilliant, more experienced people, so how could that be?
Because at that moment, they didn't think that Peter was so much more than he looks, and that there would be something waiting to shatter the moment the A.I., Friday, speaks her next words.
"Your room is the way it was when you left, Peter. Please proceed to Floor 98. It has been a long time. Boss is waiting for you."
And there, there, that's Peter breaking right at that second.
And MJ thinks, how cruel, just when Peter might be getting better, getting stronger (Moving on? Not quite, not yet. But. Close enough.) And now we have to start again.
When Peter gathers enough of his composure, and MJ can see its rocky foundation, he speaks, quietly, "…He's not, Fri."
Nobody questions the nickname, but they do the insistence of the bot.
"Peter, please proceed to Floor 98. It has been a long time. Boss is waiting for you."
How can an A.I. sound so terribly fragile?
Peter clears his throat but it is still thick with emotion when he bites out, eyes on the floor, fingers digging into his palms, "He's really not."
MJ could predict the coming of a new wave of something for Peter. She doesn't quite know yet, other than that its going to be big and that he's going to hurt a lot.
Mr. Harrington is the first to break from the spell of the events and tries to get the attention of their tour guide, who is also trapped in something deep, if the way his mouth stays open and his eyes trains on Peter's every move is to be taken for something.
"Right—uh, I'm sorry, Friday gets that way sometimes."
The attention is effectively split between Peter and the guide, some looking to the man for explanation and others waiting for something to unfold.
Peter is frozen in the middle of the VEIL.
"After the war, Friday's code got damaged by the stones and while we tried to fix it, Dr. Banner and Princess Shuri working to make it as efficient as it was before, it had been a unanimous decision not to override Tony's program. So, as it is, Friday doesn't quite grasp the concept of life and death. For her, Tony is still alive."
"Tony is alive."
It is Peter who says that. Sharp, pleading, desperate.
"He is," the tour guide agrees, somber, "His physical body is gone now, but that doesn't mean he's dead in the way that it matters."
Peter wants to hurt this tour guide 'in the way that it matters.' His words are practiced and he hates how he speaks it with such steadiness. He's been hearing variations of that since the day that he came back and every time he hears it, he just wishes it would be enough to bring him back.
But as it is, Friday just speaks again.
This time, it is begging, "Peter Parker, please, come to your room right now. Boss is waiting for you—"
And before Peter could scream at the ceiling, at the void, at whatever or whomever, because no he'snotwaitingforme FUCK YOU formakingmeeventhinkforonesecondthathe'sback—
The man, their tour guide, all tousled brown hair, and all traces of that boyish grin wiped off his face, gasps, "Wait—Friday, shut up— did it say your name was Peter Parker? Peter the chemistry geek, star-wars loving, the- the kid?"
This distracts Peter long enough to abandon his thoughts.
He answers, wary, "…yes?"
The way the guide's face beams at him and the way he jogs excitedly toward the younger boy has Peter backtracking. But he is hugging him already, and while Peter could just so easily knock him down, he knows he couldn't, not in front of everyone, and so he allows himself to be smothered.
The man is patting Peter's head when he lets go, looking at him with something akin to pride and wonder, marveling at the sight of this young boy, "Look at you," he crows, pride and a little bit of something Peter doesn't quite understand, "I thought you'd be shorter with how he used to talk about you. But I guess, the last time he did was his memory of you in sophomore year. What I'd do to have him see you right now."
A hint of nostalgia, a truck-load of affection, and Peter is as dumbstruck as everyone in the group.
"I'm sorry but… who are you?"
In a second, his whole demeanor changes into the same old quiet confidence as he had introduced himself with, mischief swimming underneath, and a thumb on his chest, "Why, I'm no other than the mechanic's original and faithful conspirator!"
A roguish grin decorates his face.
Then, he offers his hand to Peter's.
"Nice to finally meet you, Peter. I'm Harley. Harley Keener."