Chapter Text
You were somewhere over Kansas when you started to question every life choice that led you to this exact moment. A red-eye flight to New York sounded somewhat dreamy and luxurious when you planned it. Freedom. Adventure. Midnight takeoff, early sunrise over the East Coast. But five hours into the flight, with Anne drooling on your shoulder and Liz snoring softly against the window, you were starting to feel like maybe ‘dreamy’ had been optimistic.
You leaned your head back against the seat, earbuds in, watching the small plane icon crawl across the in-flight map. Three hours left. You could power through. You’d done worse - like somehow surviving junior year.
Anne had claimed the aisle seat purely so she could pace if she “got restless” (translation: needed to talk). Liz was wedged by the window, a blanket cocooned around her like a burrito, her iPad propped up on the tray table. You peeked over to see Heath Ledger’s face frozen mid-smirk.
“Of course,” you muttered, amused.
“Don’t judge,” Liz said, eyes still glued to 10 Things I Hate About You. “This movie is a masterpiece. A masterclass in romance and comedy.”
Anne tore her gaze away from her own screen just long enough to scoff. “Yeah, a masterpiece until Heath Ledger turned into the Joker and scarred me for life.”
Liz rolled her eyes. “Please. If I had to choose between ‘Joker’ Heath and ‘Patrick’ Heath, it’s not even close.”
“Obviously Christian Bale wins,” Anne said, leaning in like this was the world’s most serious debate. “I mean, have you seen him in The Dark Knight?”
You smirked. “Anne, didn’t you literally just say you’re watching Revenge of the Sith because of Hayden Christensen?”
Anne didn’t even blink. “I contain multitudes. Sometimes we can like multiple things.”
You snorted, shaking your head, and turned back to your own screen, playing Happy Death Day. Not exactly first-class cinema, but it wasn’t too scary, and it had a weirdly cute love subplot buried under the murder-mystery chaos. Perfect airplane content. Besides, you didn’t need to be clutching the armrest every time something jumped out of a closet. The flight attendants already looked like they were seconds away from cutting someone off from the coffee.
For a while, the cabin filled with the quiet hum of the engines and the occasional rustle of someone shifting. The three of you were an odd little tableau: Anne mouthing Star Wars lines under her breath, Liz quietly quoting Shakespeare from her rom-com, and you counting the minutes until landing.
At some point between Tree’s fifth death and your fifth bag of pretzels, you all synced up and started watching Crazy Rich Asians together. After a ten-minute debate, of course. Liz wanted The Notebook. Anne wanted Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. You just wanted peace. In the end, Crazy Rich Asians won because it was the only movie Anne hadn’t memorized and the only one Liz didn’t cry over.
“Fine,” Anne relented. “But I’m picking the next one.”
“You said that last time,” you said.
“Yeah, but this time I mean it.”
You barely made it halfway through before the cabin lights dimmed completely, the soft purple glow of night settling over the rows. For a moment, it was quiet. Peaceful. Just you and your best friends, halfway across the country, suspended between yesterday and everything new.
ººº
The sun was barely up when the pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to New York City. The local time is 6:27 a.m., the temperature's a comfortable sixty-four degrees…”
Liz groaned. “6:27 should be illegal.”
Anne was already unbuckling her seatbelt. “Do you think Stark Tower’s visible from the airport? DO YOU THINK WE’LL SEE IRON MAN OH MY GOSH.”
You blinked at her. “Anne, it’s literally 6 a.m. You think Tony Stark’s out there waving good morning to the planes?”
“Maybe!” she said brightly. “He’s rich. He can do whatever he wants.”
“Yeah, including sleeping in.”
The three of you shuffled off the plane, bleary-eyed, hair tangled, and already starving. JFK was chaos: lines of people dragging suitcases, announcements echoing over the PA, the smell of must everywhere. You were too tired to process it properly. You grabbed your checked bag, texted your mom a quick ‘landed safe’ (which, of course, got a ‘call when you can’ reply, definitely half-hearted), and herded Anne and Liz toward a cab.
The drive into Manhattan was quiet at first. Then, predictably, Anne started pressing her face to the window like a five-year-old on a field trip.
“Is that Central Park?” she asked.
“No,” Liz said. “That’s a random patch of trees by the freeway.”
“Oh.” Anne frowned. “Do you think Tony Stark’s in there?”
You sighed, but couldn’t help grinning. “Anne, he doesn’t live in the park.”
Liz nudged you. “Yet. Not until I rob him of his riches and make him homeless.”
ººº
By the time you reached the hotel, the sky was bright gold, skyscrapers glinting like glass towers out of a postcard. You dropped your bags in the lobby storage (your room wasn’t ready yet, of course) and stepped back onto the street, all three of you buzzing despite the exhaustion.
“Okay, Navigator,” Liz said, bumping your shoulder. “Where to first?”
You grinned, pulling out your phone. “There’s this cafe I found on Instagram. Supposed to have the best matcha lattes in the city. Cute interior, pastries that look like art, AND still somewhat underground.”
“I’m listening,” Liz said.
“I’m sold. I’ll do anything to get some caffeine in me right now,” Anne added.
The city unfolded around you as you walked: honking cars, the smell of bagels and the stench of the sewers seeping out of storm drains. The café turned out to be tucked between a plant shop and a bookstore, all warm light and wooden tables. You ordered a matcha and a bran muffin; Liz got something called a ‘strawberry cloud latte’ and immediately declared it life-changing; Anne went for a black coffee, simply ‘because Tony Stark drinks it,’ then added about 20 packets of sugar.
You rolled your eyes. “Pretty sure he doesn’t drink anything that costs less than twenty dollars. Or use his morning coffee to consume an ungodly amount of sugar.”
Anne shrugged. “A girl can dream.”
After breakfast, you wandered toward a park that was small, tucked away between streets, with benches and little patches of sunlight filtering through the trees. You all kicked off your shoes, stretched out on the grass, and let the jet lag hit full force. Liz scrolled through her phone. “Okay, explain to me why every hot guy in New York is walking a dog. Is that a thing? Is it like a law?”
“Probably because women think it’s cute,” Anne said, not looking up from her screen.
“Statistically smart.”
You smirked. “You just say ‘statistically’ to sound smart.”
“Statistically,” she said, “that’s true.” You threw a napkin at her.
Anne, of course, was already doom-scrolling through Reddit, the glow of conspiracy-level excitement on her face. “Guys,” she said suddenly, sitting upright. “You’re not gonna believe this.”
Liz groaned. “If it’s another ‘SHIELD sighting,’ I swear-”
“No, listen!” Anne thrust her phone at you. A headline glared back: ‘Masked man attacks gala in Stuttgart, Germany - claims to be a god.’
Beneath it, grainy photos showed a tall man in green and gold armor, a strange horned helmet gleaming under the lights.
Liz frowned. “Who is that? Some sort of cosplayer?”
Anne shook her head, eyes wide. “He called himself Loki. And get this - apparently Captain America showed up.”
Liz snorted. “You mean the guy who was on all those old war posters? He’s, like, ninety.”
“Not anymore,” Anne said, voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. “They unfroze him.”
You blinked. “Unfroze him?”
“Yeah! Like, cryogenics! Frozen in ice, seventy years, revived by SHIELD. I told you SHIELD was real!”
Liz stared at her. “That still sounds hella fake.”
“Fake or not, this guy apparently attacked someone to steal his eye,” Anne said, scrolling furiously. “And Iron Man was there too! People are saying there’s footage of both of them!”
You exchanged a look with Liz. “She’s actually serious,” you said.
“She’s always serious,” Liz replied.
Anne was still talking, barely breathing between words. “If they’re both in Germany, then something’s happening. Like, maybe aliens, or magic…”
“Anne,” you interrupted gently, “you need sleep.”
She looked affronted. “Sleep is for the uninformed. I need answers.”
Liz snickered. “That explains a lot.”
It wasn’t that you didn’t believe Anne - she was just… Anne. The kind of person who could make an intergalactic invasion sound like a fun group project. Still, you loved her for it. Eventually, the three of you drifted from the park to the next parental-approved stops on your itinerary: the Met (‘for culture’), Rockefeller Center (‘for photos’), and the New York Public Library (‘for academics,’ according to all three moms).
The Met was actually kind of fun - Liz flirted with the guy at the ticket desk, Anne tried to find an Egyptian exhibit that looked ‘mystical,’ and you mostly wandered, letting the quiet hallways swallow the noise of the city. Rockefeller Center was crowded, all neon signs and tourist energy. Anne kept pointing at random skyscrapers like they might belong to SHIELD. Liz bought a pretzel, took one bite, then immediately dropped half of it on the sidewalk.
By the time you reached the library, it was past 1pm, and the combination of jet lag, heat, and sugar crash had all three of you dragging your feet. You all somehow found your way back to the hotel, your room finally ready, and collapsed variously around the space.
You let your eyes drift shut for what was supposed to be ‘5 minutes.’ When you woke up, sunlight had shifted, slanting a golden haze across the wooden table in the room. Liz was snoring quietly and Anne was scrolling again.
“More SHIELD news?” you mumbled.
Anne nodded, eyes wide. “Loki just showed up in New York. There’s footage on every channel. And…they’re saying Stark Tower’s lighting up.”
You sat up, blinking sleep away. “Wait. Like, right now?”
“Right now.”