Chapter Text
“Someone get me Parker!” J. Jonah Jameson roared at the Daily Bugle’s bullpen. Everyone—except the greener journalists who had yet to tame down the flight or flight response that Jameson triggered—had paused their work to stare out the window of their 60 story building to watch the last of Earth’s mightiest heroes get sucked up into a floating alien ship, including Queens’ own bug; Spider-Man. “We need pictures, stat. This is the kind of news we write about, people! Get those pens moving, fingers typing, and get me someone at the scene. What was that ship, why did Iron Man get sent into space and why the hell did the menace leave Queens, again!?”
Jameson returned to his desk with a perfunctory slam of his office door. He needed photographs, eyes on the scene, someone who could tell him why the hell there was a flying grey donut in the sky. Most importantly, how did Spider-Man fit into all of this.
Alien spawn had yet to be ruled out of his list: who and what is Spider-Man?
Jameson, the experienced reporter and head of a successful news source that he was, immediately took the internet to get some updates. He was not down with the kids, nor was he up to date with all their lingo, but he could damn well work the search bar.
Social media sights were already blowing up and the Bugle’s internal chatter showed his competent employees getting on the case immediately. There was not much to go off of besides eye witness accounts from anyone in New York with decent eyesight that saw the floating grey… wrinkled butthole as some netizens put it crudely.
A knock on his office door pulled Jameson out of his rapid search—he had people to do that now, he had to remind himself, they may not be as good but he didn’t have the time to make them perfect.
“What is it?” He yelled, as much of a warm invitation as one could get with a busy man such as he.
“It’s Betty, boss. Sorry I’m late, the field trip bus got delayed,” their newest and most promising intern burst through the door at his permission and immediately rounded his table to show her tablet’s screen. “We’ve got sources calling in saying Hulk, Iron Man and Spider-Man were seen fighting on the ground at 177A Bleecker Street before heading across and up to the spaceship.”
“Get on it then, people will be looking for a light, a trustworthy source to tell them what they’re seeing. Something that says we know what happened, come read and you will too. We need to be that something, Miss Brant. And we need to be the first. What are you waiting for?” Jameson huffed, tearing himself away from an underappreciated speech and a longing gaze out his window to the streets filled with onlookers.
“There was someone else. A wizard, people are calling him, fighting along the Avengers.
“So a new Avenger? They let anyone in these days, first Spider-Man now this, this,” he flailed his hands about, “this magic man?! Tell someone to get an opinion piece on this immediately. What is an Avenger? And should Spider-Man still count as one?”
“Yes, of course, sir,” Betty nodded, typing away at her screen like the competent assistant she was.
“Hm,” he grunted, which Betty had learned was ‘good’ in Jameson speak. “Get the newsroom prepped, I’ve got breaking news to share with New York. Find someone who takes half as decent photographs as Parker and get them at the scene, that flake might not get material in on time. The situation could change at any moment—the kid should know to be consistent with his submissions or my patience will be less forgiving.”
Betty winced at the threat, Peter was admittedly flaky. Incredibly flaky. As flaky as her scalp in 6th grade when her conditioner ran out and her dandruff came back. He was also as persistent as the itch that took hold of her head then, but certainly not as cruel as Flash when he accused her of having lice.
School was not fun. School during puberty was a unique kind of torture.
Either way, it was nice having a familiar face at the Bugle and someone to share the burden of Jameson when things got stressful. Betty felt bad to be an accomplice to his diminishing reputation in Jameson’s eyes and tried to soften the blow. It wouldn’t be much knowing Jameson, but Peter’s nerd charm tended to help him over the line.
“I’ll, uh, try to contact Peter. I’m sure he’s busy trying to get a closer look.”
“‘Course, Parker’s only there if Spider-Man is. Sometimes I wonder if he’s being converted to the menace’s side,” Jameson shook his head as he adjusted his tie and shirt, getting ready to go on air. He opened a desk drawer, about to complete the final step of his routine but Brant had yet to leave.
He frowned at her. When she didn’t look up from her work—dedicated, this one, she’d make it far under his tutelage—he cleared his throat and gestured with his head to the door.
“Right, I’ll let the camera crew know and I’ll come back in ten to brief you on the way.” Betty looked up, only long enough to finish her sentence before diving back into her work and walking out of the office. The door clicked shut and Jameson sighed.
In all of New York’s history, spaceships and disappearing heroes have never been a sign of good things to come.
Jonah Jameson released his grip on the moustache comb sat in his open drawer, delaying the last step in favour of pulling out his personal phone and calling the most recent number. It rang for only a few seconds before a young voice answered on the other end.
“Hey Dad, did you see the news,” John Jameson paused, laughing, “sorry, sorry, not supporting the competitors or anything. But you do see the ship in the sky right? Surely old age didn’t take away your ability to see the flying—”
“Yes, yes, I saw what they’ve been calling it,” Jameson sighed. “I’m going live soon to give the people what they need to hear.”
“What’s that, Pops?”
“Assurance. The heroes have got it, whatever ‘it’ is. We’ll stand strong together here on Earth while they fight off whatever else space has in store for us. FEAST and its partners have already been prepping their shelters and sharing instructions for emergency situations. We survived an alien invasion, whatever this is can’t be worse.”
“As an astronaut and explorer of the unknown regions above us, I feel obligated to tell you that space isn’t all bad. There’s just been some select cases where things have gone sideways.” John’s cheerful tone persevered despite the subject and reminder of 2012’s Chitauri Invasion.
“When you aren’t up there, I can confidently say it is all bad,” Jameson deadpanned, earning him an easy laugh from his son.
“I thought reporters were meant to be unbiased? Is this nepotism?”
“It’s a matter of fact, and only fact.”
Another round of laughter and Jameson couldn’t help but smile, his forgotten crows feet folding into a shape rarely used. Another knock at the door interrupted the brief moment of peace and Jameson covered his phone before yelling for Betty to come in.
“I know you’ve got work to do,” his son cut to the chase, clearly John still had his reporter’s toolkit on his belt beside his astronaut one, neither one going rusty. In a line of work full of fanciful words meant to influence the populace, cutting the crap was the most useful tool set for a true reporter.
“I love you son,” Jameson said, careful to keep his tear ducts in check as Brant stood in the corner of his room waiting for him.
“I love you too, Dad. I’ll catch you soon, in about 5 minutes if I have the right channel,” joked John, movement filtered through the speakers as he assumedly moved to the sofa.
Jameson gave a weary smile. “Give me your opinion on the new moustache. Your mother said it was classy, frankly I thought it looked quite goofy.”
Betty cleared her throat as politely as she could. He glanced at the clock and got her message.
“Stay safe, John.” He finished his goodbyes before hanging up. Standing up, Jameson corrected his posture and gave a big sniff of his nose. Just as he put on his jacket, Betty gasped.
“Sitrep,” ordered Jameson as he led them out and towards the set.
“The ship’s gone. It took off into orbit then straight out of our satellites’ range. It’s lost. In uncharted space. With the rest of our active Avengers.” She slowed her rapid fire report, realising the weight of the news she just read out and looked up at Jameson with wide eyes.
“We will survive without them as we have before. Avengers or not New York will remain standing.
“Queens hasn’t been this vulnerable before, Spider-Man’s always been there for us,” Betty said quietly, more to herself considering the company she walked with.
Jameson ignored her comment though in favour of watching the commotion sparking in the bullpen.
“What’s happening?” Someone whispered, terrified.
“Rob, oh god, you’re just. What the hell, is that ash?” Another shrieked as they tried to keep their colleague in one piece.
As if the Chitauri had invaded once again, the streets rose to a cacophony of metal crumpling, sirens blaring, confused and terrified screams of pedestrians that ran because there was nothing else to do but run.
Watching the Bugle’s hardworking employees crumble to dust, Jameson knew the Avengers had failed them. Spider-Man had failed them—their neighbourhood, the one he had sworn to protect. The menace had his downsides—a lot in fact, and Jameson could give you the current alphabetised list he has stored in his file drawer—but Spider-Man had never failed as spectacularly and as extensively as today.
“Boss?” Betty’s voice pierced through the panicked raucous around them. “What’s going on? Boss? Why, why me? What did—”
“Brant, keep your eyes on me, got it?” Jameson frantically ordered, tears welling in his wisened eyes as his intern grasped onto his sleeves as if holding onto life. “Everything’s going to be alright kid. You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.”
Journalism 101: never lie. Jameson hated liars.