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It all started innocently enough. Tony had invited Peter to the Tower again, saying something about catching up on schoolwork while simultaneously pretending he didn’t miss the kid being around as much. Peter, of course, jumped at the chance. Why stay in his small apartment with May nagging him about laundry when he could chill at Stark Tower and do his homework with the Avengers?
Well, sort of do his homework.
Okay, he was going to screw around with Tony and the rest of the Avengers the whole time.
“Hey, Underoos, pizza’s on the way,” Tony called from the kitchen, and Peter grinned, sprawling out on the couch. It wasn’t long before the rest of the Avengers trickled in. Thor came in last, trailing crumbs from a Pop-Tart.
“Midgardian food is strange but delicious,” Thor proclaimed, cradling Mjölnir in one hand like it weighed nothing. He set it down absentmindedly on the coffee table before plopping into a chair.
Peter’s eyes flicked to Mjölnir, and his mind wandered. He’d seen Steve try to lift it once. Didn’t budge. Clint had tried for a laugh at a party and ended up needing an ice pack for his back afterward. It wasn’t just heavy; it was impossible to lift.
Unless, of course, you were “worthy,” whatever that meant.
“Back in five,” Tony said, walking out with Natasha and Clint to pick up the pizzas.
“Sure, Mr. Stark,” Peter called back, grabbing a textbook to pretend he wasn’t counting the seconds until the food arrived.
The room emptied, leaving Peter alone with Thor and his hammer. A grin crept onto his face as he glanced at Mjölnir.
Just a quick try, he thought. What could go wrong?
Peter approached cautiously, casting a glance over his shoulder at Thor, who was engrossed in some documentary on the Discovery channel. The hammer sat there, immovable, like it was daring him.
“You’re not so special,” Peter muttered at it.
He reached down, wrapped his fingers around the handle, and pulled. It lifted smoothly, almost too smoothly, like it weighed nothing. Peter blinked in shock.
He had to bite back a squeal of excitement.
“Holy—” Peter whispered. His brain scrambled.
He was holding Mjölnir.
He was holding Mjölnir.
Peter did a little hop on the spot. Thor didn’t even look up.
For a second, Peter thought about announcing it, showing off that he was somehow worthy of lifting Thor’s hammer. But then his mischievous side kicked in, a grin spreading wider across his face.
No one has to know.
And that was how it started.
It started off by moving it by an inch or two — maybe a foot — every so often, just to mess with him. As soon as Peter saw that Thor was starting to notice, he decided to go further.
Over the next few weeks, Peter made it his personal mission to hide Mjölnir in every possible corner of the Avengers’ floor. The first time, he placed it in the broom closet. Thor walked around for ten minutes muttering in confusion before finally retrieving it.
Next, Peter slid it under the couch cushions. He almost broke his hand trying to push the hammer down, but it worked. Thor spent the better part of an hour flipping furniture until he found it. Every time, Peter just sat in the background, trying his hardest not to laugh.
The more Thor struggled, the more Peter kept up the game. Every time Mjölnir went missing, Thor’s eyes narrowed, but he never said anything. Weeks went by, and Peter’s hammer-hiding game grew more elaborate.
Once, he stashed Mjölnir in the ceiling vent. Thor didn’t find it until Friday.
He even started to set traps around the hammer — nothing Spider-Man couldn't handle, obviously.
It all came to a head one fateful evening during Avengers movie night. The team was gathered in the living room, snacks strewn across the table. Clint and Natasha were arguing about which movie to watch—something about Die Hard being a Christmas movie, even though it was October.
Thor paced the room, clearly agitated. Peter, perched on the armrest of a chair, was watching him with a barely contained grin.
“Something wrong, Point Break?” Tony asked nonchalantly, barely even looking up at him.
Thor stopped pacing and sighed, looking at the ceiling in frustration. “I must confess… someone has been moving Mjölnir around the tower.”
The room went dead silent.
Tony paused mid-sip of his drink. “What?”
“My hammer,” Thor elaborated, frowning. “Someone has been moving it when I am not looking. I cannot find it this time.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Who around here could possibly move your hammer?”
Thor crossed his arms. “I don’t know! No one should be able to lift it, and yet… it keeps moving. Sometimes to strange places.”
Clint’s eyes widened, clearly intrigued. “So you’re saying someone here is… worthy?”
Peter’s mouth twitched as he attempted to keep his poker face, pretending to be shocked and surprised. He bit his lip as he attempted to hold back his laughter. Everyone sat in an uncomfortable silence, not knowing what to say.
Peter just about lost it. He burst into uncontrollable laughter, sliding off the armrest and onto the floor, clutching his sides.
“Oh my God, I can’t—I’m sorry—I can’t—” he gasped between giggles.
The Avengers stared at him in confusion, and Thor’s frown deepened. “What is so amusing, Man of Spiders?”
Peter could hardly breathe. “You—you guys—oh man, I tried to keep a straight face, I really did!” He clambered to his feet, wiping tears from his eyes. “Hang on, hang on—”
Still giggling, Peter made his way to the kitchen cabinet, the one he’d very carefully chosen earlier that day.
He opened it.
And there it was: Mjölnir, tucked neatly behind a box of cereal and a loaf of bread.
“Ta-da!” Peter said, stepping aside, gesturing with jazz hands. The Avengers’ jaws collectively dropped.
Thor blinked. “You—you’ve been moving Mjölnir?”
Peter snickered and, without thinking, grabbed the hammer with one hand and tossed it casually toward Thor like it weighed nothing. Thor caught it, but the entire team flinched in unison.
“Honestly, I thought this was one of the easier hiding spots, too,” Peter said with a nonchalant shrug, as if it wasn’t the wildest thing in the world.
There was a moment of stunned silence.
Tony was the first to speak. “You—wait, you—what?”
Clint’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t just—how?”
Natasha looked like she might be impressed, though it was hard to tell. “I’ve got to admit, didn’t see that coming.”
Thor stood there, hammer in hand, blinking repeatedly at Peter like he couldn’t quite process it. “You have… moved Mjölnir. Repeatedly. For weeks?”
Peter beamed. “You’d be amazed where it fits.”
Tony ran a hand down his face. “I need a drink.”