When the "peanut gallery" learned that the date had been strictly a car-buying expedition, the disappointment in the room was palpable.
Toby tossed the keys of the new Ford Raptor to Ben. As expected, the lecture began immediately—a synchronized performance by Ben and May on the virtues of frugality and the "excess" of a hundred-thousand-dollar truck.
Only Peter was a chaotic ally, jumping up and down and begging for a chance to take the new beast for a spin.
Toby, however, was a master at handling his parents. He knew that the $110,000 price tag sat exactly at the threshold of what they could eventually justify as "success" without feeling like they were living in sin. After ten minutes of grumbling, the smiles finally broke through.
May's smile was one of maternal pride—her son was a success, and more importantly, a good son. Ben's smile, however, was the pure, unadulterated gleam of a man who had just been given a new toy.
"What about your 'old partner'?" Toby asked, leaning against the doorframe. "The one you couldn't bear to leave yesterday?"
Ben didn't even look back. "That old heap? I'm calling the scrapyard tomorrow. It's earned its retirement."
Ben beat Peter to the punch, sliding into the driver's seat before his nephew could even touch the handle. This was his "new partner," and no one was taking the first drive but him. To Ben, Toby was just the "valet" who had delivered it—the true maiden voyage belonged to the head of the house.
Toby, Peter, and May watched from the porch as Ben stroked the steering wheel, inspected the door panels, and walked around to pat the truck's tailgate with the doting affection of a man in a trance.
"He's lost to us," May sighed, though she was beaming.
Since Ben was busy courting his new truck, Peter gave up on the test drive. He and Toby headed to their rooms to change for the OsCorp seminar.
While Toby encouraged his father's humble tastes, he had his own transportation: a charcoal-grey Audi R8. It hadn't been a purchase; Fisk had "gifted" it to him after a particularly messy contract. Toby's cover story to his parents was the usual: a performance reward from his "boss" for a successful project. Technically, a high-profile assassination was a project, so he wasn't lying.
But as Toby settled into the R8, he found himself missing the Raptor's cabin. At six-foot-six, even an Audi felt like a designer sardine can. He made a mental note to trade it in for something with more headroom—perhaps he'd bring Gwen along again to "consult."
As for this R8... maybe I'll give it to Peter when he graduates, Toby thought. The look on the kid's face when he goes from a skateboard to a mid-engine supercar would be worth the price alone.
As they pulled up to the looming silhouette of the OsCorp Tower, Peter's usual chatter died away. He stared at the building—a literal titan of glass and steel—with a complex, shadowed gaze.
"Something on your mind, Pete?" Toby asked.
Peter shook his head, though the melancholy in his eyes remained. "Just memories. My parents... they used to work here. And my best friend, Harry... he was an Osborn. He was sent away to boarding school right around the time the 'accident' happened. I haven't seen him since."
Toby rubbed his chin. Harry Osborn and the Parkers' deaths happening at the same time? He'd never connected the dots that closely before. Was it a coincidence, or was Norman Osborn clearing the board?
"It's okay," Peter said, forcing a bright smile as if to reassure Toby. "In my darkest times, I had you. I had Ben and May. I don't know how I would've made it through without this family."
Toby was silent for a moment. He reached out and squeezed Peter's shoulder. "We're brothers, Pete. I was always going to be there. Always."
Looking at Peter—a kid who had lost everything yet kept a heart so pure it practically radiated light—Toby felt a momentary flicker of guilt. He had known the truth. He had known the danger. And he had chosen to stay in the shadows to protect his own skin.
The feeling passed as quickly as it came. The past was a closed book. He couldn't change the "accident," but he could change the future. He could remove the rot at the source. He could kill Norman Osborn.
With his current "Bully" stats, he could erase the entire Osborn bloodline before the police even finished their morning coffee.
But then he looked at Peter again.
No. This is Peter's cross to bear. If I take it from him, I rob him of his growth.
Besides, Peter was about to get his own upgrade. Toby hadn't agreed to this trip just to hear Dr. Connors drone on about cross-species genetics. He knew that somewhere in this building, the radioactive "Super-Spiders" were waiting.
Those spiders had been keyed to the Parker DNA by Richard Parker himself. Only a Parker could survive the bite; anyone else would face a gruesome genetic collapse.
I'm a Parker too, Toby thought, his eyes narrowing as they entered the lobby. If I let one of those things sink its fangs into me, would I get a 'Double Awakening'? Or would I just turn into an eight-eyed freak with a web-shooting ass?
Safety first. He'd let Peter go first—follow the "script." He'd snag a few spiders for himself and run some tests in his basement lab before deciding if he wanted to double down on the mutation.
"Hey! Toby! Peter! Over here!"
Gwen's voice cut through his thoughts. She was waving at them from across the marble lobby. She was wearing a crisp white lab coat over her outfit, which, instead of hiding her beauty, gave her an air of intellectual elegance that made her even more striking.
Toby couldn't help himself. "The lab coat suits you. You look incredible."
Gwen turned, a sly, mischievous spark in her blue eyes. She did a playful little pirouette in front of him, her coat fluttering. "Oh? So you like the 'scientist' look? Tell you what—if you take me out to dinner again, I'll wear this to the restaurant. Deal?"
She was teasing, expecting the usual brick-wall response.
"Deal," Toby said firmly. "Next Saturday. I'm picking you up."
Gwen's pupils dilated instantly. Toby's enhanced hearing caught the sudden, violent spike in her heart rate—a rapid-fire thrumming that echoed through the quiet lobby.
Toby smiled. Physiological attraction, he noted. She's not just 'interested.' She's hooked.