Peter Parker Field Trips And More

Peter Parker's Field Trip (Of course it's to Stark Industries) 4/6

Peter Parker, the most responsible kid in all of Queens, got up early. He made himself a nutritional and delicious breakfast of homemade pancakes with fresh strawberries and a tall glass of orange juice before taking a quick shower, brushing his teeth, combing his hair, and putting on his nicest outfit. 

He breezed out the door and waited fifteen minutes for the bus, before arriving to school and heading directly to Mr. Harrington’s classroom where he told his teacher, politely, that he had his permission slip filled out AND that if he or the principal had any questions about the validity of his internship, they could reach out to Stark Industries and speak with their legal team. 

And then, victorious , he strolled out of the classroom and into the hall where his classmates greeted him with cheers, confetti, and an expertly choreographed dance to a school wide cover of “Dancing Queen” and no one ever made fun of him again and -

Meanwhile, in this universe? Peter Parker, the most luck challenged kid in all of Queens, fell asleep before he could set his alarm and woke up forty-five minutes late dazed, disoriented, and in MAJOR trouble. 

Dreams of a healthy breakfast become the reality of a granola bar eaten in three bites and chased down with a glass of milk that he has to chug in the bathroom while stripping out of his clothes. He refills the cup with mouthwash and then dives into the shower to hurriedly scrub off the post-patrol funk that he hadn’t bothered with last night, alternating between making mad grabs for the shampoo and pouring mouthwash into his mouth and, somehow, his eyes. 

He scrubs, gargles, shouts when he almost falls, chokes on the mouthwash, spits it out, slides in the pool of minty freshness, manages to rinse off, and jumps too high out of the shower, sticking to the ceiling with one hand that thinks it’s saving his life given all the duress that he’s currently under. 

He doesn’t have a prayer of catching the bus by the time that he actually makes it out of the house. And no amount of spider stamina is going to save him now because, as fast as he can run, time is not slowing down and he only just makes it into his seat for first period when the late bell rings. 

No victorious music.

No flash mob choreographed to ABBA. 

Just him, panting with exertion, and minty fresh stinging lingering in his mouth and in his eyes. He wheezes and blinks hard, drawing the attention of Michelle… who slowly lifts up her notebook and shows the sketched outline of him. 

He gives her a thumbs up and then promptly bonks his head down against his desk, wondering where he can get a white flag to wave at Lady Luck. Whatever her problem is with him… he’s officially surrendering. 

***

His surrender goes unnoted.