Peter carried his heavy backpack as he trudged into Junk ‘N Stuff with a dejected mien.

  His recent scuffles with the Green Goblin were escating so fast that it was steadily growing past anything he was comfortable with. The scaled hob seemed to always know how to push him to new limits with every encounter.

  And then there was the smearing campaign that J. J. Jameson was religiously spearheading which had only grown more intense and scathing to the ears these past few weeks. He made it a routine to stress the fact everyday that Spider-Man’s presence was the reason for the rising crime rate in the boroughs, with his test proof being Green Goblin’s emergence.

  He was hardly getting any sleep nowadays, his sleep schedule having grown worse than that of the average hormonal teen. He was basically functioning on opportunistic naps for the better part of the week.

  Now he was functioning on 15 hours of sleep for the st five days, he was behind on four assignments, his attendance was tanking, he was sleeping through csses, he missed three dinners with Aunt May(oh he was going to Hell for that one) and he had botched two date pns… all the while having to stop J. J. Jameson’s endless tirade – which was practically a part of the city’s atmosphere at this point because he could seem to escape it. From his neighbors bsting their radio in the morning, electronic billboards and TVs along the street, and even at school – from getting to him.

  Oh, and he had trashed both of his suits beyond any sembnce of functionality, all credits to the Goblin.

  Seeing his suits destroyed beyond repair was another type of pain that he hadn’t been ready for. The material, whatever it was, was the perfect combination of comfort, esticity, durability and sheer quality. Now it was just pieces of cloth with numerous thin cuts and burnt parts.

  Ironically, his busted webshooters were the least of his problems.

  Now he was back here again with a pair of irreparable suits, a fist-sized dud explosive pumpkin, and a helpless hope that Mr. Isaac could make something—anything out of it.

  Fresh cool air hit him as soon as he escaped the outside sun and stepped inside the store. He once thought it was a little strange where the fresh air came from since he had never seen any vents or air conditioners inside the shop, but he soon ignored it after failing numerous times in coming up with an expnation.

  “Good evening, Mr. Isaac.”

  “Hey, Peter.” Like always, he was dressed in a shirt and vest semiformal combo with his sleeves folded around his arms. On his face, his hair framed the round gsses and the neatly shaved beard on his chin. “How was school today?”

  He couldn’t stop the instinctive grimace that crossed his face quickly enough because the man clearly saw it if the amused smile on his face were anything to go by.

  “That bad, huh?” He heard Mr. Isaac ask. “I’ve been noticing this new trend for a while but kept quiet so as not to pry, but I gotta ask, is everything okay?”

  He winced.

  “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to—”

  “It’s not that.” He hurriedly put that out there. The st thing he wanted was for another misunderstanding to fester. And besides, Mr. Isaac was a genuinely nice person who sometimes let him do his homework here at the corner table.

  “It’s just that… somehow… it feels like there’s no time for me to do anything. I’m falling behind in css, Aunt May is getting worried and it’s making me more worried that she’s worried,” he couldn’t help but sigh loudly, “and I’m barely getting enough sleep. It’s all a mess.”

  “And the thing taking up your time? Is it really that important?”

  “It is.” Peter replied instantly. “It is super mega important.” He picked at the frayed edges of his flimsy jacket. “But I don’t want it to be at the cost of everything else.”

  “Hmm. That kind, huh.” He was given a sympathetic nod. He really didn’t need sympathy right now. Feeling this shitty was enough. “Reminds me of when I was starting out and I was trying to arrange my inventory in a way that will fit in all my goods.”

  Peter blinked while Mr. Isaac looked wistful. Here he was having an early life crisis and it was being compared to fshback logistics.

  The thing he didn’t do was immediately brush it aside, Uncle Ben had told him so. He remembered sometimes, good times, when Uncle Ben would compare his particur bad day with some spring break cleaning two decades ago. It was an adult thing apparently.

  “What do you mean by that?” He asked as pulled off his bag and set it on the counter.

  “I have two simir answers for you that are basically two sides of a coin.” The two fingers he held up became one. “One, you either choose which one is more important and go for it at the expense of the others. It’s called a priority.”

  Peter frowned. Yeah, he was not doing that. Sabotaging his education and future career, after everything Aunt May had done for him, was out of the question. There was no compromise to be met on that end.

  “The other one?” He asked with a weak chuckle.

  Mr. Isaac smiled. “You do what I did to that particur inventory.”

  Peter raised a questioning eye at the dramatic pause.

  “You smudge everything in until it fits, even if it isn’t perfect.” He said with amusement clear on his face. “You tuck in your chin and do it all with a strong face and accept every pain that comes with it because it is a result of your choice. It won’t be perfect by a long shot, but you’ll start figuring out an easier way to carry all of them along.”

  Peter’s mouth gaped in a silent ‘O’. He was expecting either good or bad advice, but what he wasn’t expecting was a ‘just do it’.

  “You want to know what it’s called?” The man asked. “It’s called being an adult. Shocking right?”

  Peter’s reply to that was a breathless ugh that was supported by partial disbelief. It was not a reply that comforted him or solved his problems. There was no soce in it. Just do it if you want to do it, it is your choice.

  “.. Yeah, I, uh, I think I’ll do that.”

  Mr. Isaac looked pleased at that. “Good. It’s one of, if not, the best answer to your problem. But do fix your sleep and assignments as soon as possible. If what you’re doing keeps affecting the people around you, that’s usually a sign that you are doing it wrong.”

  “Yeah, I’ll try to do just that.” He took in a deep breath and exhaled before reaching for his bag to unzip it. His eyes were fixed on his bag as a question, unbidden, left his lips.

  “I thought you didn’t involve yourself with your customers outside of a trade?”

  He brought out his busted suits sans the mask since half of it was blown away.

  “I don’t.” He heard Mr. Isaac say. He brought out an older model of his current webshooter. “You’re not just a customer, you’re a valued customer…. It’s a bit more than that actually. You’re more of a friendly neighbor than a simple customer. That and the shop likes you. Eh, don’t sweat the fine print, kid.”

  He intentionally refused to raise his head because of how hot his face and ears were. He was not used to any sort of special attention, even if it was for something as simple as being seen as a friendly neighbor rather than a customer.

  “That aside, what new junk have you brought for me?” And with that his receding embarrassment came back in full bloom.

  The fact that he only traded in his broken gadgets made him feel a tiny bit scummy on the inside. It was only ‘a tiny bit’ because Mr. Isaac repeatedly reassured that they had good resale value in some markets.

  “Um, this…” he was suddenly feeling nervous as Mr. Isaac picked up the tattered piece of clothing that had once been his superhero suit with clear interest in his eyes. He hoped he wouldn’t start asking those questions now.

  “I found it halfway inside the garbage in an alley. He might have thrown it away because of how busted it is.” His mouth automatically parroted his made up excuse(lie) before he was even asked.

  “Hmm.” All he received for it was an absentminded grunt which he happily accepted. “Do you have the masks?”

  He hesitated for a second before reaching in and brought them out. For some reason, he always felt like the mask was what made everything real, like it was the final piece to the ‘Spider-Man’ puzzle.

  “There it is. Now this is an antique piece.” He heard the Merchant’s whisper which made him feel a bit complicated inside.

  The two older model webshooters were id on top of the two destroyed suits. To Peter, the image felt like it held some deeper meaning.

  ‘I need every edge I can get if I want to put a quick stop to the Goblin. From Mr. Isaac’s words, I can expect some value from them. I need enough materials for maybe four suits, and a new batch of chemicals for my webs. I guess I’ll be using the stronger formu. And also experiment some new variations—can’t forget about that.’

  “Nice catch, Peter. I’ll take these two off your hands. A pair of Spider-Man’s original suits. Not just that, the very first two he made — yeah, you definitely got a trade.”

  The hope in Peter’s heart surged. He could tell that Mr. Isaac was genuinely happy with these. It was somehow funny that he got the materials for the suit, webshooters and webfluids from the man and here he was selling them back to him as destroyed scraps.

  ‘That is not funny, Peter. It almost feels like we’re scamming him… okay, no more thinking.’

  “I apologize if I’m overstepping but how can you even sell that? I feel like I’m scamming you. I’m sorry if I’m being insensitive.”

  Mr. Isaac sighed. “I feel like we keep having this conversation any time you sell me something.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s alright, kid. It just shows that you’re a good sort.” He reached under the counter and pulled out a bottle of water which he threw at Peter who stuttered a thanks as he caught it.

  “As for your question, let me ask you this: how much do you think Captain America’s World War 2 uniform would sell for in an auction even if it was partially destroyed?”

  Peter’s random trivia brain spun a few circles and marked out highlighters like antique, collector’s item, auction, celebrity, superhero, world’s most famous and came to a staggering pause.

  “A lot.” He muttered.

  “If I were to give an estimate, between 10 – 20 million dolrs. If a bidding war starts, it might probably go as high as 50 million.” Peter’s mouth dropped but the Merchant wasn’t finished. “Spider-Man fits all those criteria but on a lower scale. Say I store them away for the next 5 years and Spider-Man continues to become a more famous hero, their value will also increase.”

  The man looked at the younger boy, more specifically the remaining sprout of doubt in his eyes and decided to make an exception for reasons known only to him.

  He opened his drawers and brought out his invoice book. He flipped through the pages and stopped at one before he resumed speaking.

  “Remember that busted scrap you sold me quite a while ago?” He showed Peter the invoice but ensured to cover everything else except the price. “That’s how much I sold it for.”

  Peter’s mind bnked. Ten thousand dolrs. Ten thousand freedom currencies. Ten thousand democracy tokens.

  ‘No, snap out of it. That is not how you were raised.’

  The unbending morals that his Aunt and te Uncle raised him with stopped his mind from straying towards something filthy.

  “You didn’t have to.” He said as he pushed the book back. “I’m sorry for being pushy, Mr. Isaac.”

  “It’s no problem like I said, kid. I just figured that it’ll finally put your mind to rest for the next time you come to trade something. Now where were we?” He returned the book and Peter suddenly gulped as they stared at each other with different forms of anticipation.

  “For the two full sets of damaged suits and two webshooters, I’ll give you 11,600. Deal?”

  “Bah… what?!” Peter excimed. He expected at most a few hundred bucks and Mr. Isaac’s happy mood made him greedily hope for like a thousand dolrs. “Are you serious?”

  The man nodded and began what Peter had quickly come to realize as business speech. “While it would be easy to rip off and defraud our customers, especially the ignorant ones, we here at Junk ‘N Stuff value transparency and fair trade. The price I gave you is what I value those items at at this point in time in respect to their future potential.”

  What could Peter say? This was the biggest sum he’s ever had and he couldn’t help but think of the things he could do with it. The bills, the rent, some clothes, Aunt May’s—

  “Still with us?”

  “Y-yeah. It’s just… a lot.” Peter had to actively try to slow down his rapidly beating heart. He was that shocked. He didn’t even feel this way in all of his fights with the Green Goblin.

  Mr. Isaac pointed at the damaged suits—antiques now.

  “Still haven’t gotten confirmation. Trade?”

  “Y-yes, yes. Of course. I’ll trade. Yes please.”

  Mr. Isaac nodded in the business way he usually did and folded the suits and kept them away.

  “Before I send over your bance, are you buying anything?” Peter nodded, putting a pleased smile on Mr. Isaac's face.

  “Fantastic. Write me the list for the specifics while I bring out a catalog for things you might be interested in.”

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  A/N: This chapter was not pnned to be completely about Peter. I pnned to introduce some X-Men characters to the chapter halfway but I just ended up typing out Peter's bits. Since this chapter is already done, and I’m already feeling sleepy, I decided to put it in the next chapter.

  Bye for now.

  (Seriously, I need to sleep).

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