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Peter and Ned are best buds. Always have been; always will be. They partner up for every assignment, have sleepovers every second week, sit at the same table and eat lunch together every day.
Well. Every day but today, apparently.
Peter is sitting all alone on their table. It’s quite a pathetic sight, actually.
“It’s not pathetic!” he interrupts, indignantly. “And I’m not alone. I’ve got Agnes.”
“Agnes doesn’t count. Agnes is not a sentient, living being,” Cindy says. They’re talking about the egg. The egg that he’s meant to be parenting for Sex Ed. The egg that is currently being cradled in Peter’s hand as he tries to cut his sandwich in half with the other. It’s not going well. “Stop that. You’re getting lettuce everywhere.”
“I don’t even know why there’s lettuce in there. I hate lettuce,” he responds, miserably. “And Agnes is sentient to me.”
She rolls her eyes, placing a hand on her hip. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Where’s Ned? Isn’t he co-parenting your egg with you?”
Peter begins to slaughter the poor sandwich in a slightly more aggressive manner, mayonnaise spilling out from the side. And ketchup. Who puts ketchup in a sandwich? “Ned is off gallivanting when he should be looking after our beautiful baby egg.” Peter is gesturing very passionately with his butter knife.
“Oh, no. You’re in an argument, aren’t you?” Cindy says, with dawning horror. And it wasn’t because of the gummy bears (gummy bears?) popping out from under the bread. “Oh, God. This is terrible. You’re in an argument and now you’re going to make it everyone else’s problem, aren’t you?”
Having reached his maximum capacity of frustration, he began just stabbing the sandwich. Is that spaghetti? “Why would we ever do that?” He sounds genuinely perplexed.
“Are you kidding? Do you not remember the Great Gardening Club Incident of— Okay, just stop!” Cindy grabs the knife out of his hand and pulls the top slice of bread off. “What is this infernal contraption? Which depths of hell did you pull this out of?”
“It’s a sandwich.”
“No, it’s not! It’s poison!” Cindy snaps, placing the knife down a careful ways away from Peter, concerned for his sanity. “Can’t you just put the egg down?”
“No. Parenting comes with many challenges, and cutting sandwiches one-handed is just one of those.”
“Okay. Never mind. Forget I said anything. Can you just explain to me why you’re arguing?”
Peter sighs, gently placing Agnes down on the table. Oh, so now he can put it down? Cindy thinks. She watches with a mixture of disgust and fascination as he picks a ketchup covered gummy bear out of the cadaver of the sandwich, placing it in his mouth. “This whole parenting thing… isn’t really working out for us. I mean, it’s just so stressful and I don’t think we were meant to be parents. We’re trying to keep it together for Agnes but it’s not going well. I don’t know what to do, Cindy.”
“Never mind. Forget I asked. Go talk to a therapist. Or listen to some Olivia Rodrigo.”
Peter moves his hair to the side (it had grown longer lately; emo phase possibly?) and gestures to an earbud she hadn’t seen earlier. “What do you think I’ve been doing?” He begins to softly sing the lyrics to get him back!. Cindy is regretting all of her life decisions up to this moment. Midtown's education was not worth listening to this rendition of one of the worst songs of all time (sue her, she hates Olivia Rodrigo songs).
“Please stop.”
“I don’t think I will, Cindy.”
Cindy always sits behind Peter and Ned in Spanish. It’s normally extremely annoying, listening to their monologues of love to one another when she was trying to figure out conjugations. It isn’t like she’s trying to eavesdrop — they’re just so loud!
“Ned. We need to talk.”
“What’s up?”
Despite herself, Cindy’s curiosity is peaked. She straightens up, no longer bending over the crumpled up worksheet on her desk, leaning forward. Betty throws her a look but she pays her no mind.
“I was talking to Cindy the other day. She said we’re not good for each other. She said… she said we should divorce. It would be better for the baby.”
Cindy’s and Ned’s jaws drop in unison. “What? Cindy said that?” Cindy did not say that. When she got her hands on Peter Parker…
“I’m sorry, Ned, but you can’t tell me you haven’t noticed it too. We’ve been fighting and arguing and Agnes is suffering because of it!”
“Fine,” Ned responds, sounding unusually cold. “Fine. You want to break up? We’ll break up.”
And Cindy knows it’s serious because Ned gets out his phone and unfollows Peter on all his socials. (Facebook. That’s literally all the social media the two of them have). She glances at Peter and she elbows Betty, gesturing to him, ignoring the glare she sends her way. His eye is literally twitching. This is the hottest gossip Midtown’s had in years.
“Oh, you’re going to be petty? You’re so immature.” Peter slams his hands on the table, standing up.
A scoff echoes throughout the classroom. The hatred in Peter’s eyes is reflected in Ned’s and his grip on the pen in his hand is so tight Cindy is worried it’s going to break. And then it does.
Even Betty is watching now.
“I’m immature? Me? You’re the one making so much bigger than it has to be!”
“Bigger? I’m making necessary sacrifices!”
“Don’t act like this is hurting you. You don’t care about me. You never have.”
Jason Ionello leans over to Betty, whispering in her ear, not taking his eyes off of Peter and Ned (and Agnes, who must be watching her fathers in horror on the adorable little baby egg basket they made her— Wait. No. Eggs are not sentient, Cindy!). “We should record this for the news channel. This is the second time they’ve ever argued.” The first time was the Great Gardening Cluh Incident of 2014.
Cindy’s face lights up and she almost takes out her phone to pass to Betty, before Betty smacks him on the arm. “That’s an invasion of their privacy, Jason!” she says, annoyed. After he winces and goes back to his seat, Betty practically snatches the phone from Cindy’s pocket and starts recording. Cindy rolls her eyes. At least the news channel will be more accurate than Peter's lies about her.
“I’m doing what’s necessary for this family. For Agnes.”
“I thought you cared about me, Peter. If we’re really a family, you’d stay. For Agnes.”
“Family? Don’t you get it? We were never a family, Ned! We were just two kids caught up in our own fantasies!” Peter lets out a breath, lowering his voice, but it contrasts the harsh, cold, eager silence of the rest of the class. They can all hear him. “We got carried away, Ned. You need to accept that.”
Ned clenches his jaw. “Fine,” he bites out. He leaves the classroom. Peter sighs, holding himself up with one arm on the table before he leaves as well. Betty is still recording after they leave. They’re not arguing anymore, there’s nothing to listen to, but the silence lingers.
Flash, of all people, speaks up. “Um… I feel like something has shifted in the cosmos, guys.”
“What?”
“I mean. That was so wrong. Jesus. Is this a repeat of gardening club?”
It dawns on them all, then, that this is not just a repeat of the Great Gardening Club Incident of 2014. This is so much worse.
Peter frowns at the plastic bowl on the counter in front of May. “I’m pretty sure we weren’t meant to add that many eggs.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Peter,” May says. “The recipe said five eggs.”
“No, it said three.”
“Don’t argue with me,” May chirps, pressing a kiss to his forehead as she glances at the dusty, stained cookbook. The edges are slightly burnt. “Oh. You’re right. It says three.”
With a sigh, he grabs the flour. “Maybe if we add more of the other ingredients, it’ll be fine,” he attempts, trying to be positive.
“Of course it’ll be fine. It’ll have that Parker magic,” May says, optimistically. Peter is not convinced. If anything, he’s /less/ convinced.
"I can't believe you sacrified two innocent eggs for this." As they put the cake in the oven, Peter leans against the counter, thinking hard. “May, how do you deal with being a parent?”
“Alcohol,” she says, wisely.
“What?” Peter gasped. “Excuse me?”
She giggles, setting the timer for the oven and washing her hands under the sink. “I’m kidding. Um, healthy communication. With the kid and the other parent.” May knows about what happened with Ned, so she suspects this isn’t really about Agnes at all. More like relationship problems.
Peter thinks back to his argument with Ned. “I don’t think healthy communication is working out right now. Any other tips and tricks?”
“I’d bake something for Ben if we ever argued,” May suggests. Peter winces and opts not to speak at that one, which makes her roll her eyes. “Ask Tony.”
He raises his eyebrows at that. “Tony doesn’t have kids.”
May rolls her eyes. Maybe he hasn't, but May has never had a suspiciously homosexually coded relationship with her best friend, so she doesn't really know what advice to give. Tony will definitely know what advice to give, even if he is dating Pepper. “You and I both know this is not about the egg, Peter.”
So Peter calls Tony (and Rhodey). “Peter,” Tony says, sounding alarmed, which is a shitty greeting, Peter thinks. “What is it? Are you okay? Do you need help?”
“Why do you automatically assume there’s a problem?” Peter demands, first before anything else. There’s a long silence and Peter thinks, yeah, that’s fair actually. “Okay, that’s not the point. There is a problem. Me and Ned are having relationship issues. How do I patch up the gaping hole in my heart and cross the empty chasm between us?”
“Does Ned have any allergies?” Tony jokes, which doesn’t make sense to him at all. What does that have to do with anything?
“Happiness,” Peter responds, without missing a beat.
There's a short pause. Tony seems to be speaking to someone on the other side of the phone, though Peter can't make out what it is they're saying. Something about a boy-toy, he thinks. "Uh, you probably shouldn't say that about your boyfriend, Peter," Rhodey says, having taken the phone from Tony.
Peter pretends to gag. "We're actually co-parents and ex-best friends."
"…Okay. Do you think that maybe you and Ned could benefit from a discussion?" Rhodey tries. "Y'know, about your feelings?"
"The only feeling I have towards him is hatred."
Some more shuffling later, Tony has the phone again. "First of all, you don't hate him. Bullshit. Second of all, why are you asking me and Rhodey for advice?"
"Well, May said you two probably have experience dealing with this sort of stuff."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Tony demands. Peter shrugs helplessly.