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Tony lifts a finger from the steering wheel to point at the Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada sign, which has since been graffitied to say Fabulous ass. “Nice,” he says, chuckling to himself.
Rhodey shakes his head in disapproval. “You are a child,” he says.
Ignoring their bickering, Peter unbuckles and moves up higher to stick his head out the window. Much like every other place they’ve been, the city is pretty rundown. Garbage and abandoned cars everywhere, broken windows in every building in sight, rotting corpses— the usual, you know? He tries to picture the old Vegas, full of life and light, but everything just looks gray and dreary. “This is a lot more boring than what it looked like on TV,” he says, pulling his head back into the car.
“Well, yeah,” Tony scoffs. “That’s what happens when the country is overrun by zombies.”
Rhodey shrugs. “That’s how Vegas felt normally, anyway,” he says. “Especially at night.” Peter thinks back on the news stories he’d read, detailing drug crises and all of the chaos that happened in Vegas.
“D’you think anyone’s still here?”
“There’s always someone,” Tony says. “Don’t let your guard down.” He pulls into the parking lot of a small hotel—well, as small as a hotel can be in Vegas.
His words make Peter especially uneasy, having hoped for some sort of comfort in them. As he climbs out of the car, he grips his machete tight in his hands and spins in a slow circle.
The area around them is deserted, a far cry from what Peter had seen in pictures before the end. He’s half expecting to see a tumbleweed roll by. “What are we doing here?” he asks, following Tony and Rhodey toward the building.
Rhodey bangs on the front doors to attract any potential zombies. “Just seeing what we can find,” he says, craning his neck to peer through the glass. “If we’re lucky, nobody’s thought to check here yet.”
“Who would come here?” Tony asks. “Shit, if I was in Vegas when the apocalypse started, I’d—”
“Young ears in your presence, Tony,” Rhodey interrupts, much to Peter’s dismay. “Choose your next words carefully.”
Peter huffs. “I’m sixteen.”
“Yeah, Rhodey, he’s sixteen,” Tony says in a tone that makes Peter think he’s not really defending him. “You’re no fun, Platypus, you know that? What’s life if I’m not a terrible influence on someone?”
“You’re already a terrible influence,” Peter offers, “You don’t have to say anything inappropriate for that to happen.”
Rhodey barks out a laugh. “Exactly, kid.”
“Can you imagine being here when everything started, though?” Peter asks. “Like, you’re on vacation, maybe you just won a bunch of money or something and boom. Zombies. That’d suck. And you’d be far from home. I dunno what I’d do.”
“Well, just be glad you—”
There’s a loud bang against the door, making all three of them jump. Luckily, it’s just one zombie, pawing mindlessly at them without the ability to realize it’s stuck. Peter reaches forward and taps at the glass. The zombie’s mouth follows him, like an eager fish stuck in a pet store fishbowl. “I’ll get him,” he says.
“I think you’re the only person alive not calling these monsters it,” Tony says. “What’s next, you start naming them?”
Peter glares at him. “They were all humans once,” he says. “You’d wanna be treated the same way, wouldn’t you?”
“I wouldn’t be alive to know.”
“You don’t know that,” Peter says, a certain edge to his words. He opens the left door just far enough to drive his machete into the skull of the zombie in question. The zombie goes limp, and falls to the ground, slumped against the doors when he yanks the blade out.
Rhodey pulls the doors open, the zombie falling forward in the process. Tony drags it out by its feet, out of the way of the door before they go inside.
The hotel lobby looks like a tornado ran through it; Papers and chairs scattered around, holes in the wall and smashed glass across the floor. There’s bodies lying around the room, most of them with heads smashed in and their blood staining the floor.
Peter pulls the collar of his shirt up over his nose when the smell makes his eyes water. “Can we get out of here?” he asks, voice muffled.
Rhodey puts a hand on his back and guides him toward the stairs. “Hopefully it’s less of a mess upstairs,” he says. And it is, thankfully. The lack of noise as they walk down the hall helps ease Peter’s lingering anxiety, and he can breathe freely.
“You gonna be okay by yourself?” Tony asks. “One of us can come with you.”
Peter shakes his head. “I’m good,” he says. “We’ve done this, like, a million times.”
“Never hurts to ask,” Rhodey says on his way into one of the rooms. “Yell for us if something happens.”
—
The first thing Peter notices about the room he steps into is that it’s pretty close to the size of his entire apartment. He tries to shove down the bitter feeling at the fact that people stayed here on vacation while his family couldn’t even think of affording it.
There’s nothing lurking in the bathroom, or the closet by the door (a hanger falls on him when he opens up the closet and he does not panic).
He’s halfway into the room, just past the bed when something flashes across the corner of his vision. He whips his head in the direction of the movement, only to find himself staring straight at a cockroach.
Peter jumps back, slamming against the wall in his panic. He holds his machete out, putting on his best threatening face, but the demon bug continues coming.
Faced with no other options, Peter hoists himself up onto the desk beside him. His flailing feet kick the desk chair over, but unfortunately for him, it lands just in front of the cockroach with a thud.
The lamp and hotel phone are sent tumbling to the floor, only adding to the noise Peter has created. There’s quick footsteps thundering down the hall before the door is thrown open and Tony rushes in. “Peter? What’s—“ he looks around the room. “What are you hiding from?”
“There’s a bug!” Peter cries out, machete swinging wildly as he gestures to an empty space on the floor. “Kill it, please, Tony. It’s going to eat me.”
Tony takes another step into the room, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Wh—” he has to squint to see the bug in question, and breaks out into laughter when he does. “Kid, that bug is tiny. You could kill it with your shoe.”
Peter dares to take a look over the edge of the desk, but scrambles back when it moves again. “Please!” he begs. “You can’t leave me here to die.”
“You’re leaving Peter to die?” Rhodey asks, sounding deeply concerned as he enters the room.
“Yes!” Peter says. “He wants me dead, Rhodey, I swear.”
Tony sighs. “There’s a bug,” he says to Rhodey. “We run into zombies that literally try to eat his face off, daily, and he’s afraid of a bug.”
Rhodey looks between Tony, Peter, and the bug in question, before stepping forward and squashing it beneath his foot. It makes a popping sound as it’s crushed, and Peter gags. “So gross,” he says. “So, so gross.”
“You’re being a baby,” Tony says, stepping forward to pick the desk chair up off the ground. “You took out a zombie maybe ten minutes ago, but a bug is what gets you?”
With one final look over toward the now dead bug, Peter scoots himself off the desk. “But it’s a cockroach,” he says. “It’s—ugh.”
“So, zombies, bugs, and Mickey Mouse—what’s scarier?” Rhodey asks.
Peter shudders. “The mouse,” he whispers, too afraid to speak his name or about him any louder. “I’d kill a million cockroaches before I’d even think about facing him.”
“You are so weird,” Tony says, then claps his hands together. “You find anything in here? I’m thinking about checking the next floor.”
Rhodey nods. “Yeah, I’d rather you come with us,” he says to Peter.
“I’ll be up in a few minutes,” Peter says, waving them off. “Gonna raid all the food in here.” He gestures to the counter in the corner of the room, and the tray of food above the mini fridge.
Tony snorts. “You know, that shit used to cost money,” he says. “Way too much, actually.”
“Says the person who ordered room service eighteen times a day every time we went to Vegas,” Rhodey mutters. “Those poor workers.”
“You’ve never lived until you’ve eaten pizza for eight meals in one day.”
Peter’s face scrunches up in half-amazement, half-concern. “Eight,” he repeats quietly, bewildered as he looks up to make eye contact with Rhodey, who only shakes his head.
“Don’t listen to him,” he says. “Call out if something happens, okay? We should be able to hear you through the floor.”
“Alright,” Peter says, nodding. “I’ll be up in a couple minutes.”
He watches as the two men leave, making a shooing motion with his hands when Tony glances back once he’s in the hallway. Tony flips Peter off, and then he’s gone.
As Peter begins shoving the small bags of cheap snacks into his backpack, he hears multiple sets of footsteps coming down the hall.
For a moment, he almost, almost goes out to see them, assuming it’s just Tony and Rhodey coming back to tell him something. But then one person speaks, in a thick and unfamiliar southern accent that has all of the hairs on the back of Peter’s neck standing up.
He quickly ducks out of the room, climbing out onto the balcony. He peers over the edge, internally debating the pros and cons of simply jumping.
With the curtains closed, there’s a chance the people inside won’t see him, but any smart person will check the balcony.
He swings his leg over the barrier, immediately regretting his decisions when the distance to the ground suddenly looks fifty feet more than it was before. “Oh man, oh man, oh man,” he mutters to himself, voice raising an octave in his panic.
As he shifts his weight, planning to hop completely over, when his foot kicks against the metal bars. The sound echoes throughout the empty space, no doubt having been heard by the people inside the room.
“There’s somebody out here!” one man calls.
Peter freezes, his breath catching in his throat. He throws his other leg over the edge before turning around to face the balcony. Crouching down, he grips the bottom of the railing as he maneuvers his feet off the ledge.
Everything falls silent, and Peter swears to himself. His plan was to hang on until Tony and Rhodey find him, but in his panic, his palms have become sweaty, and he’s starting to slip.
And then things get worse.
A man steps out onto the balcony, gun raised as he surveys the area. Then, just as Peter thinks he’s going to be okay, they make eye contact, and oh my God that gun is pointed straight at him he’s going to—
Peter lets go. The man fires his gun immediately after, just narrowly missing him. He lands hard on his feet before tumbling forward into a roll. When he finally skids to a stop, he’s on his knees and his ankle is throbbing.
There’s shouting in the balcony above him, a muddled exchange of words. “Pete? What— who the fuck are you?” Peter can hear Tony speak. “Where’s the kid?”
“Who the fuck am I?” the other voice responds. “We were here first! Get the fuck out before I put a bullet in your head!”
“Where’s the kid?” Rhodey asks this time. “Did you—fuck, did you shoot him?”
A pause. “So what if I did?” If Peter were to guess, he’d say that’s the man he saw on the balcony. “If you two don’t get out of here, you—”
Several gunshots ring out, each making Peter flinch and prompting him to move. He stumbles back into the building, probably against his better judgment. But thinking things through can go to hell, he needs to make sure Rhodey and Tony are okay.
He rushes—limps as fast he can—up the stairs, gripping the railing tightly. When he reaches the hallway they were in, he moves quietly and stays close to the wall.
There’s a body in the doorway.
Peter can only see their legs, wearing jeans and a basic pair of shoes, and something twists up inside of him. Don’t be one of them. Please, don’t be one of them. He creeps closer, breath held in fear that breathing could make his fears very real.
He nearly collapses with relief when the first voice he hears is Tony’s, sounding distant as if out on the balcony, shouting, “Peter?”
“Guys,” Peter breathes, rushing into the room and catching both of their attention. “I—I was taking stuff from the mini bar and I heard footsteps and I was like, oh that’s just Tony and Rhodey! But it wasn’t— and then I hid out on the balcony, and—and the guy saw me so I jumped and it hurt and then I heard gunshots and I thought you guys were, like, dead, or something, ‘cause— man , that sucked.”
Tony steps forward, grabbing Peter by the shoulders and looking him over. “You jumped?” he repeats.
“Well, no, it was more like I was dangling off the edge and let go,” Peter says. “Have you ever done that? They do that in action movies a lot and nobody ever talks about how your ankle just hurts after if you land wrong.”
“You hurt your ankle?” Tony asks.
Peter shrugs. “I don’t think it’s like, broken, or whatever,” he says. “I’m…” His words trail off as his eyes wander over Tony’s shoulder to Rhodey. “Holy shit, were you shot?” he asks, pushing out of Tony’s grip to grab Rhodey’s arm. He tugs the man’s jacket off his arm with great urgency.
Rhodey winces at the contact. “Don’t say shit,” he says through gritted teeth. “It grazed me. Barely.”
“You’re bleeding!” Peter says. “That could—that could get infected!”
Tony lets out a low whistle, coming up behind Peter. “Kid’s right,” he says. “Sit.”
Reluctantly, Rhodey is guided to the hotel room bed, where he removes his arm from his shirt for easier access. “This is really unnecessary,” he says. “It’s a scratch. Save your supplies.”
But Peter ignores him in favor of retrieving their first-aid kit and handing it to Tony. “Check and see if anyone heard us,” he tells Peter as he accepts the kit.
Peter nods and heads toward the balcony without a word.
He knows it’s just ‘cause Tony’s busy and at least trusts him to say danger! if he sees a person, or something, but sometimes it still feels like Tony would do anything to get rid of him.
And Peter can’t even blame him, with the trail of bodies he seems to have left in his wake and death seemingly following Tony and Rhodey now that they’ve taken in Peter.
Parker Luck: Killing Parents Since Peter Was Four, Peter’s brain (un)helpfully supplies. As if he could even call them that.
Rhodey didn’t die, at least. But he still got shot, and it was still Peter’s fault. He’s sure they’re talking about him right now, in low voices quiet enough to not be heard by Peter. Maybe they’ll go back on their word. Maybe they’re leaving without him.
When he steps back into the room, to his relief, Tony and Rhodey are still there. His eyes fall to Rhodey’s arm, now adorning a bloodied bandage, and it takes him a moment to realize both men are looking at him expectantly. “Oh,” he says, blinking as his brain catches up. “There’s—I didn’t see anyone.”
“Good, good,” Tony says, nodding. “We shouldn’t stick around her much longer, though. You never know.”
“Shouldn’t we keep looking through rooms?” Peter tilts his head to the side. “There’s still more floors.”
Tony shakes his head. “Not worth the risk,” he says. “For all we know, those gunshots attracted some horde a mile away, and we’re sitting ducks when they show up.”
The room takes on a tense air as Peter glances between Tony and Rhodey. He hates feeling so useless, especially when he’s the reason they could be in more trouble. “I’m sorry,” he says, quietly. “I—I should’ve just gone up with you guys. S’my fault you got shot, Rhodey.”
“Hey,” Rhodey says, gesturing for Peter to sit down beside him. “Those assholes would’ve found us either way, okay? It’s not your fault you got caught up in that.”
Peter shrugs, sitting down on the bed. “I coulda… stopped them or something, I dunno.”
“What, you were gonna bring a machete to a gunfight and win?” Tony asks. “Kid, things could’ve gone way worse if you didn’t leave when you did. You did good. Let’s leave it at that.”
“But I could’ve—could’ve—” Peter closes his mouth, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “You have no faith in me.”
Tony grins, reaching his foot over to kick at Peter’s leg. “I have faith in you to lose a fight to three guys with guns.”
“Oh, gee,” Peter says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Tony.”
“What, you think you could beat someone in a fight?” Tony asks, standing. “Prove it.”
Before Peter can respond and the interaction can go any further, Rhodey interrupts. “You can’t just challenge a teenager to a fight,” he scolds. “Peter, you don’t need to prove yourself, Tony’s just being an ass.”
“I could totally beat him in a fight,” Peter huffs. “You guys are like, eighty. That’s easy.”
“You almost lost a fight to a cockroach,” Tony says. “What would you have done if I hadn’t come in when I did? Would you have sat there forever?”
Peter pauses, trying to figure out a clever argument because yeah, maybe he would’ve stayed there forever. Sue him. Whatever. “Those guys you shot would’ve saved me,” he decides on.
“Those guys we shot, shot at you first,” Rhodey says. “You realize that, right?”
“Maybe they would’ve shot the bug, too.”
Tony sighs. “You’re insufferable,” he says. “Come on, let’s get out of here before we get into even more trouble.”
Peter stands and grabs Rhodey’s bag, shouldering it alongside his own and simply saying, “You’re hurt,” when he opens his mouth to complain.
“I have a whole ‘nother arm, you know,” Rhodey says as they leave the room. “Why don’t we talk about your ankle? Maybe you should be getting carried right now.”
“Do not,” Peter warns. “Try it, and you’re getting a machete haircut.”
Tony swipes a hand through his hair. “It is getting pretty long,” he says. “Maybe that’s just a risk I’ll have to take for such a damsel in distress.”
Peter elbows him in the ribs. “You’re a jerk,” he says.
Tony leads the group down the stairs, his gun gripped tightly in his hand. Every few steps he pauses, hearing noises that Peter can’t seem to notice.
Leaving the lobby, he pushes the door open cautiously, head on a swivel as he scans the area for any signs of danger. Satisfied when nothing jumps out at him, he motions for the other two to follow.
“I miss the days when the only thing we had to worry about here was losing money at the machines,” Tony mutters, “Right, Rhodes?”
“I think you just have a gambling problem,” Rhodey says. “Well, had. I hope.”
Peter snorts. “What, is he gonna gamble away our food?” he asks.
“I’ll gamble you away before food is even brought up, trust me,” Tony says. “Not that I’d lose, anyway. I’m too good.”
“You’re too good?” Rhodey repeats. “What about that Summer when you lost—”
Tony waves him off. “Irrelevant,” he says. “That was a fluke. A rigged game. Whole system was against me.”
“Uh-huh,” Rhodey says. “And that security guard you punched was in on it, too, right?”
Peter quickens his pace to look Tony in the eye. “You punched a security guard?”
“He deserved it,” Tony says, a smirk on his lips. “He tried to escort me out when I called this guy out for cheating—they definitely knew each other, no shit.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Rhodey says. “Tony likes getting into trouble, and I do not need you taking after him.”
As they walk through the parking lot, Peter can’t help but notice that his steps feel uneven. But he chalks it up to his injury from just minutes earlier. His limp becomes more prominent as they reach the car, walking having irritated his ankle even more.
“I’m fine,” Peter says when Tony brings it up.
“At least let me look,” Tony says, kneeling down. “Uh, kid?
Peter looks down at him. “Hm?”
“Where’s your shoe?” Tony gestures to Peter’s feet, one with a shoe on and the other with only a sock on.
“Huh. I didn’t even realize,” Peter says.
Rhodey walks around the side of the car to join them. “What happened?”
“He lost his shoe,” Tony says. “We’re… trying to figure out how.”
Peter stares at his feet, feeling genuinely perplexed. “I don’t… I didn’t even feel it come off,” he says.
Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “Unbelievable,” he mutters. “You are unbelievable.”
“He was getting shot at, Tony,” Rhodey says. “Give him a break.”
“You actually got shot, and are you missing a shoe?” Tony asks, pointedly looking at Rhodey's feet. “No, you’re not. Just—wait here, I’ll go find the damn thing.”
Watching him head back toward the building, Peter folds his hands in his lap. “I really didn’t realize I lost my shoe,” he says. “First time it’s ever happened, I swear.”
Rhodey snorts. “You’re fine, kid,” he says before leaning in and adding, “I hope it landed in a bush, or something.”
“Yeah, that would be great,” Peter says, chuckling. “Sending Tony off to forage for my missing shoe. Just as nature intended.”
Tony returns after a few minutes, Peter’s missing shoe held high in triumph. “Found it,” he declares proudly, before chucking it at Peter. “Maybe double knot it this time.”
Peter catches the shoe just before it hits him in the face, blinking in surprise. “Thanks,” he says, slipping it back onto his foot and purposely not re-knotting the laces.
“You’re not going to tie it properly?” Rhodey asks, eyebrows raised in amusement.
“Nah, it makes things more interesting this way,” Peter says, grinning. “If the universe decides that I only need one shoe, then I only need one shoe. You can’t mess with fate, man.”
Tony shakes his head. “You’re searching for it next time, then,” he says. “Fate my ass.”
“Fine, question the universe,” Peter says. “I’m not helping you when you get, like, struck by lightning or something.”
“I think I’m more likely to get eaten by a zombie than get struck by lightning.”
“That’s such a boring way to die, though,” Peter says, dragging out the words in an exaggerated display of dramatics. “You need to die in a cool way. What if you got in a fight with a pack of wolves?”
Tony tilts his head, an eyebrow raised. “You’re telling me to go die?”
“If you look cool doing it, yeah.”
“You two are the same person,” Rhodey cuts in, once again, before things can go any further, “I swear.”
Peter’s head snaps up to look at Rhodey, who’s grinning at him. “He’s a bad influence on me,” he says. “We spend too much time together.”
“Feels like I’m reliving college,” Rhodey mutters. Then, “Alright, we’re burning daylight. Should we head out?”
Tony nods and opens the driver’s side door while Rhodey rounds the car and gets in on the opposite side.
“Why do you always get to drive?” Peter whines. “Maybe I want a turn. Or Rhodey.” He tries to stand up out of the car, but Tony pushes him back into the seat, giving him a stern look.
“Rhodey got shot, and you fucked up your ankle,” he says. “Any other questions?”
Peter crosses his arms, but ultimately doesn’t argue, so they go.
—
They drive deeper into the city, Tony swerving around the scattered groups of zombies stumbling through the street. Every so often, Peter points out random casinos. “Did you stay in that one?” he asks.
Rhodey squints. “That’s, uh—I don’t think I’ve stayed there,” he says. “New York, New York, Tony?”
“Oh, yeah,” Tony says, “I stayed there tons of times. Some of those rooms have a perfect view of the strip—shame no one’ll ever see it again.”
“So you would come here… from New York,” Peter begins, slowly, “To stay… at New York, New York.”
Tony tilts his head, contemplating Peter’s words. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess it makes more sense if you’ve actually done it.”
“Rich people,” Peter muses, shaking his head. “I’d still be in actual New York if it weren’t for the apocalypse.” After a moment of consideration, he adds, “I’d still be in my bed, man.”
“Trust me, kid,” Rhodey says, “I don’t get it, either.”
Down the street is a gas station. The front of its connected convenience store has since crumbled, the store’s name and logo scattered against the pavement alongside the other chunks of glass and concrete. “Think there’s gas in any of these cars?” Tony asks, pulling into the parking lot. “Or the pumps?”
Rhodey shrugs, then winces when he moves his wounded arm. “You’ll have better luck with the cars,” he says. “Can you even use the pumps with no electricity?”
“We have before,” Tony says. “Guess we’ll just have to see.”
“Can I go inside?” Peter asks, unbuckling himself before the car has stopped. “Maybe they have water, or something.”
Rhodey glances back at him. “You’re just trying to find some candy, aren’t you?”
Peter grins guiltily. “Maybe,” he admits. “More water would be nice, though.”
“Just don’t take too long,” Tony says. “Don’t do anything stupid, okay? We’ll both be outside.” He glances at the building again. “If that shit falls on you, you’re dead. Don’t fucking… hit the walls, or something. I don’t know. Whatever kids do.”
“I’m gonna go throw my entire body at the wall,” Peter says. He makes quick work of exiting the car and heading toward the store, but just as he’s about to step inside
He nearly trips when a seemingly disembodied arm reaches up to grab him. He shakes his leg free, stumbling backward before moving closer to get a good look at the offending zombie. It’s stuck under a pile of the fallen concrete, wearing a tacky wig styled into a pompadour and an even tackier jumpsuit.
“Oh man,” he says. “Zombie Elvis.”
Tony pokes his head around the side of the car. “What?”
“Zombie Elvis,” Peter repeats, pointing with his machete at the zombie, which is now holding its arms out in an attempt to grab one of them. “D’you think he’d charge me for a picture?”
“Of course,” Tony says, walking up beside Peter. “Bastards were always stingy. Wouldn’t put it past him.”
Peter grins. “You said him,” he says happily. “I got into your head.”
“You did not get into my head,” Tony argues, “Rhodey told me I have to be nicer to you.”
“I did not,” Rhodey helpfully supplies from where he stands, watching the exchange. “He guilt-tripped you. Admit it, Tony.”
Tony rolls his eyes. “You’re annoying,” he says. “You annoy me. Did you know that?”
“It’s mutual,” Rhodey says, patting Tony’s shoulder once before turning back toward the cars in the parking lot.
“Maybe he’ll sing Hound Dog if you ask him nicely,” Tony teases as the two watch the zombie writhe around in its place.
It’s sad, honestly. To see what was once a human with hopes and dreams be reduced to a monster, forced to spend eternity unmoving and begging for freedom. “Maybe,” Peter says, suddenly feeling a lot less enthusiastic about joking about the zombie. He plunges his machete into its skull, and the struggling stops immediately.
As Peter pulls the machete from Zombie Elvis’s head, he can’t help but feel a pang of remorse. He looks to Tony for some kind of reassurance, but the man is unfazed by the whole situation. “Alright,” Tony says. “I’m gonna go help Rhodes. You’re fine on your own?”
Peter nods, and heads inside.
Most shelves are bare, likely picked clean by other survivors or animals in the area, and there’s a distinct rotting smell that Peter knows isn’t just the refrigerated stuff gone bad. The fact that he can tell the difference is almost enough to make him sick. This doesn’t change me, he tells himself.
Peter manages to find a few bottles of water, some granola bars, and most importantly, two boxes of Gobstoppers. Out of habit, he begins to walk to the counter to pay for the items, before stopping halfway through the store when he realizes what he’s doing.
Changing courses, he heads back to the car with his arms full of supplies.
“Find anything good?”
Peter nods. “I found gobstoppers!” he says, nodding toward the boxes as best as he can. “And… water, and granola bars. But gobstoppers.”
“Top priority, huh?” Rhodey remarks. “At least somebody found something worthwhile. This whole place is a bust.”
“No gas?” Peter asks.
Tony shakes his head. “We should have enough to make it out of here, though. We’ll just have to stop at the next one we see.”
As they continue on their journey, most of the car ride is filled with the sounds of Peter munching happily on his candy, and Tony and Rhodey shaming him for biting on them like a heathen. But Peter doesn’t care, because he has candy, and they don’t. So who’s really winning?”
“Oh, hey,” Rhodey says after a while, pointing to a nearby chapel. “We almost got married there.”
Tony chuckles. “Good times,” he says.
Peter blinks, very taken aback. “I’m sorry— What?”
“Yeah, we were pretty drunk,” Tony supplies. “Anyway—”
Putting a hand up, Peter silences Tony. “You can’t just say that and then move on!” he says. “You almost got married.”
“Uh-huh,” Rhodey says.
His nonchalance is off putting to Peter, making him feel as if he is the one behaving oddly. Like, seriously. Tony and Rhodey? Getting Married? “You two?”
Tony raises an eyebrow. “Do you understand how marriage works?” he asks.
Peter huffs. “That’s not the confusing part,” he says. “You were—where was Pepper?” He tries to ignore the way Tony’s demeanor shifts, to push aside the immediate guilt at bringing up Pepper in such a careless manner, like he wasn’t the reason she—
“She was the only reason we didn’t get married,” Rhodey says before things can get tense. “She came down to get us, pulled Tony out of there kicking and screaming—”
“It’s not my fault I was upset about her coming in between us,” Tony says, a sharp edge to his nonchalant tone. “You can’t break up true love.”
Peter shakes his head, a confused smile on his face. “You guys are insane,” he says. “I—How does that even happen?”
“A lot of alcohol,” Rhodey says. “A lot. Don’t ever drink, kid.”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Tony says. “Tax benefits, and all that.”
“Tony and Pepper were already engaged, by the way,” Rhodey says to Peter, a helpful piece of context. “Which is why she intervened.”
Peter laughs, shoveling another handful of gobstoppers into his mouth. “Smart woman,” he says. “I can’t believe you two were almost married. That’s… wow.”
“I was only in it for the money, you know,” Rhodey says, a hand cupped around his mouth as if to prevent Tony from hearing despite them sitting together in such close proximity.
Tony rolls his eyes. “Sure, sure,” he says. “You keep telling yourself that. We both know it’s ‘cause I’m irresistible.” He glances away from the road for a second to flash a grin at Rhodey. “What about you, kid? You ever tried getting married?”
“I’m supposed to still be in high school right now, you know. And… I never even really—really dated anyone,” Peter says. “I took this girl to homecoming once, and her dad tried to kill me.”
In perfect unison that almost feels practiced, Tony and Rhodey both exclaim, “What?”
“It’s not like he was actually trying to kill me, it was more like… he almost ran me over,” Peter says. “He said it was an accident—so did everyone else—but I saw the look in his eyes. He was out for blood.”
“Kid, what the hell?” Tony says, looking at Peter through the rearview mirror. For a second, it looks like he’s considering pulling over. “A grown man tried to run you over?”
Peter shrugs. “It happens.”
“That does not happen, thank you,” Rhodey says. “I—Nobody tried to stop him?”
“Nope,” Peter says. “Dude, I dunno, maybe I just have one of those faces. A very… run over-able one.”
Rhodey leans back in his seat as he tries to fathom Peter’s story. “You never fail to amaze me, Pete.”
“I get that a lot!” Peter says, before quickly changing the topic. “Anyway, where are we going?”
“Who knows,” Tony says. “Right now, we’re looking for another gas station, which,” he turns down a small road, glancing the other way momentarily, “there should be one somewhere around—”
“Tony!” Peter exclaims, cutting him off as zombies begin to shuffle into the road, all emerging from side streets. They make up a fairly large horde, all headed straight toward the car.
“Oh, fuck,” Tony says, frantically putting the car into reverse and backing out of there. There’s a screeching sound as he turns the car and speeds away from the horde.
The trio is tense as they drive off, all silent as they listen for signs of anything coming after them. But nothing does, and the zombies haven’t learned how to sprint… or drive cars, yet, much to Peter’s relief. “So,” he begins, “the plan?”
As if they’re all communicating with each other, zombies begin to pour out of side streets and back alleys. Despite their slow pace and overall bumbling about, the zombies are terrifying. Especially when they outnumber the three of them.
“Yeah, uh, new plan,” Tony says, “we get the fuck out of here. Any objections?”
“Sounds good to me,” Rhodey says, words overlapping with Peter’s, “Yeah, no, that’s great, let’s go.”
And so, the short lived Vegas trip must come to its end. All of the different themed and shining buildings blur into a bunch of messy streaks as they speed past them, making Peter feel as if they’re going even faster than they really are.
He turns around, watching the zombies get smaller and smaller as the distance between them increases.
Despite the danger that’s followed them all day, since they entered the city, Peter can’t help but crack a smile. His first time in Vegas. Yeah, it’s pretty depressing now, given the state of the world. But he went to Vegas!
Tony and Rhodey discuss plans of where to go next, California, maybe. Peter blocks them out, still focused on the disappearing image left behind by their car.
So long, Las Vegas, he thinks. I wish we’d met on better terms.