"You're telling me that you got Captain America-the War Hero, Steve Rogers-to become best friends with a thirteen-year-old kid? What, is this supposed to slowly introduce him to how irritating Generation Z is? Project Training Wheels or something?"
...
y'all i made a small plot hole mistake YALL DIDNT CATCH ME ON (it's fine i'll tell y'all at the end go read the wlw chaos. i know the title struck the fear of god in you).
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Casey Johnson pulled up in a black, Ford Focus exactly when she said she would. Lizzie timed it with her phone, still searching with no luck for any service. Twenty minutes on the dot at 11:07, the car was rolling down the long road (Lizzie had started walking twenty minutes ago, so it was at least a mile and a half) leading to the Damage Control Warehouse. Her car radio could be heard through the rolled-down windows, and the closer she got, the larger the pit in Lizzie's stomach grew. In those twenty minutes, she'd gone in-and-out of decisions such as walking her way back to D.C., then she contemplated staying in Maryland and feigning confusion to the Storage Facility drivers so she could hitch a ride, but the call had already been made. Casey was already here.
The recently-turned seventeen-year-old girl displayed a proper three-point-turn before backing up so that the passenger's door was on Lizzie's side. Lizzie shot her a mildly uncomfortable smile without making eye contact when she opened the door and climbed inside, putting every ounce of her attention into buckling her seatbelt like it was rocket-science after throwing her backpack at her feet. Her Airpod felt awkward in her ear, so she put that in her pocket with her phone and prayed she wouldn't lose it.
"...hey, thank you for picking me up. I didn't really have any other options."
Because swinging back to D.C. in a crisis with Peter was not one.
"Do I want to know?" Casey asked curiously, her eyes traveling to the rearview mirror to see further down the dirt-road to find any identifiable landmarks. "I feel like I shouldn't know."
