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The elevator doors slide open and Peter spills out into the hallway, already shrugging his backpack off his shoulder and flinging it somewhere as he heads straight for the kitchen.
“So yeah, except for this one guy, Pedro, who, let’s just say… has ‘sticky fingers.’” Peter’s voice echoes slightly off the sleek walls as he half-jogs toward the cabinets.
“Like kleptomania?” Ned’s voice crackles through the kitchen speakers. He’d transferred the call to F.R.I.D.A.Y. so Peter could keep his hands free.
Peter scoffs, already climbing onto the counter. “No. Like, whenever a customer left something on the table, Pedro would snatch that shit up like it was the last slice of pizza.”
“Oh man.”
Balanced on his tiptoes, Peter stretches one arm across the top of the cabinets, blindly patting around the dusty surface.
He remembers tossing the stash up here earlier.
“Yeah,” he continues, feeling around behind a stack of serving trays. “One dude left his wallet on his seat and I could see it from a distance but I’m super busy so I’m not making a bee-line for it.” His fingers finally brush against crinkly plastic.
Bingo.
Peter grabs the hidden snack bag and hops down from the counter. “But when I finally get to the table, color me surprised, the wallet’s gone.”
“And the customer comes back in,” Peter continues, tearing open the bag and tossing it onto the counter, “asking me if I saw it.”
He yanks open a drawer and rummages through it until he finds what he’s looking for. Four forks. “And what am I supposed to do here?! Narc on one of my co-workers who could be deported for this and have pure vengeance in his eyes for the incredibly harmable teenager that sent him back to the motherland, or just say ‘I don't know’?”
“It would be funny to watch you fight Pedro.” Ned says.
Peter snorts.
“So obviously I went with option B: ‘I don’t know.’”
He grabs two glasses from the cabinets and fills one with hot water, the other with cold.
“But the guy is adamant I stole the wallet,” Peter continues, dropping two forks into each glass. “So just to recap: I’m getting paid poverty wages while being yelled at by a grown man as Pedro is in the back squinting at me while cleaning knives.”
“You know what they say,” Ned says lightly. “No pain, no gain.”
Peter pauses. “My middle school teacher used to say that.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” Peter goes to the fridge and gets some leftover cold pizza and turns to his unhealthy snacks sitting on the counter as he waits for the forks to absorb the temperature. “‘No pain, no gain!’”
He studies the cold slice in his hand for a moment, then reaches over for bis bag of hidden snacks and grabs a bag of chips. A few crumbles rain down onto the pizza. Then he adds two gummy worms and a bit of skittles for good measure.
“I don’t know what that means!” Peter protests. “I was twelve years old! Puberty was already pain, and the only thing I’ve gained is hair between my buttcheeks!”
Ned bursts out laughing through the speakers. Peter grins to himself as he finishes assembling his culinary disaster. “Anyway,” he says, “four forks is all you need to make someone experience pain.” He takes a huge bite out of his freshly out of the fridge pizza that's decorated with wonderful snacks. “...and a glass of hot and cold water.”
“You’re going for that thermal grill then?” Ned asks.
Peter sets his Frankenstein pizza down and walks back to the counter. He pulls the forks out of the glasses and lines them up carefully, alternating hot and cold.
“It’s genius, dude,” he says, nudging them into place. “Everyone knows your body has different nerves for feeling hot and cold, right? But really intense heat triggers both at once, so your brain reads it as burning.”
“Right,” Ned replies. “And because your body doesn’t have infinite sensors, putting hot and cold close together kind of scrambles the signals.”
Peter beams. “Yeah Ned. Exactly that. You get me.”
He lowers his forearm across the forks. The reaction is immediate. Peter lets out a startled squeak and jerks his arm away.
“Did you just squeak?!" Ned laughs, "No wait-! Is it actually burning you?” He then asks, as an afterthought. Apparently laughing at Peter's pain is the top priority here.
Peter squints suspiciously at his arm. “Dude, now I have to double-check if it’s actually burning me.”
“I’ve seen people demonstrate the thermal grill illusion,” Ned says, intrigued. “But I’ve never seen someone try to push it as far as possible.”
Peter grins, “And I have a mission! If we could make somebody scream,” he says, “like, in a bad way, I could make the most amazing machine ever. So that's the goal.”
“I have high hopes for this experiment,” Ned says. “Causing pain without damage.”
Peter looks down at the forks again, thinking. “So the next step,” he says slowly, “is figuring out how to heat and cool these with electricity instead of water.”
He taps one of the serving forks critically. “This might also get me in trouble with Mr. Stark.”
“A lot of the things you do might get you in trouble with Mr. Stark.” Ned says, all 'matter of fact'ly.
Peter holds up the fork like evidence. “He really likes these serving forks. I don’t. I actually hate them. The backs are too heavy.” He flips it in his hand. “They failed the yogurt cup test, yet they remain. I don’t understand how a man who calls himself a ‘genius’ like him can support forks like this with scientific evidence telling him that they suck.”
He narrows his eyes at the utensil. “I’m convinced he keeps them around purely to spite me.”
“I’d like to think the billionaire genius playboy philanthropist isn’t that petty.”
“Oh, he so is.” Peter drops the fork back onto the counter. “But Ned, you’ve got to help me with this project.”
“Help you make a pain machine? No way dude. I got other stuff to do.”
“But imagine the possibilities! A pain machine! It could work on anybody! Causes no harm! I could take down the avengers all by myself with a creation like this dude! It would be super cool and probably fine! Come on! We have to give it a shot!”
“I do wanna know if it’ll work on Captain America, considering he was stuck in ice for so long.”
“And you’ll never learn if you don’t help me! What other stuff could you be busy with that is ‘oh so important’ that you refuse to help me create a pain-machine?!” He says as he goes over to his oh so wonderful cold slice of pizza and takes another bite.
“First of all, that sounds incredibly evil and I know for a fact that the only reason you want my help while you have The Tony Stark himself with you is because you want to use me as a human test subject.”
“Because I really don’t think Tony would approve of a pain-machine being built to take his team down and I have increased pain tolerance! I can’t test it myself!” Peter tries to defend himself with a mouthful of his cold creation.
“Second of all," Ned continues, completely ignoring Peter, "the main reason for our call? The stupid exam on the theories of mankind and stuff?”
Peter groans dramatically. “Dude, I can’t do it. I cannot handle another dumb history conspiracy theory.”
“Some of the people behind those theories were geniuses.”
“Do not come to me with that.” Peter huffs. “Isaac Newton had an IQ of like 190 and died a virgin. He invented the reflecting telescope and still couldn’t find pussy with it? Sounds like a dummy to me.”
Ned lets out a cackle at that as he tries to reason with him, “Well, the exams deciding whether you’re stuck working with Pedro for the rest of your life kind of depend on this.”
Peter sighs. “Okay, fine. Hit me with another one.”
“Well, the third theory is from Donald Marshall,” Ned says. “He believes celebrities are secretly being killed and replaced with clones to brainwash society.”
Peter blinks. “Clones? Really? Also aren't clones like… they’re not coming out fully baked. They’re babies.”
“Well, that’s one theory,” Ned says. “Some people think it’s more like a Xerox machine.”
“Xeroxing is not how cloning works, Ned!”
“How do you know?” Ned fires back. “What are you, a clone expert now just because you work with Mr. Stark? I’m just saying there’s a possibility.”
Peter throws his hands up. “You’re creating an embryo with the same DNA. It still has to grow!”
“…Well,” Ned says slowly, “there’s no way we could really tell—”
“No, we can tell,” Peter insists. “Because they’ve cloned things.”
“Oh yeah?” Ned shoots back. “Like what?”
“A sheep.”
Silence crackles through the speakers. “I don’t believe you.”
“Look it up! Look up Dolly the sheep.”
A beat passes. “No way, dude,” Ned says, impressed. “That’s actually fire. And it’s, like, a super old experiment too. Why haven’t they evolved it or something?”
Peter shrugs, leaning back against the counter. “I don’t know. Ethics? I don’t think cloning people like sheep would go over great with human rights.”
“Oh, now you’re concerned about ethics?”
Peter straightens. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’ll have you know that I risk my ass to save people everyday here!”
“You were literally just asking me to be your guinea-pig for a pain-machine to take down the Avengers! Literal heros! That's supervillain shit!”
“Yeah!” Peter tries to defend himself, “Ethically take them down. And I’m asking you to volunteer to help me with my pain-machine! And YOU agreed! Plus, you know what they say, no harm, no foul.” Then Peter pauses, considering the idea more seriously. “Although now I’m really wondering if it’d work on Captain America,” he adds thoughtfully. “Do you think his nerves work like ours, or did the ice fucked with them a little?”
Behind him, someone clears their throat.
Peter freezes.
Oh no.
“Don’t ask me!” Ned continues cheerfully, unaware. “I only agreed to help build the pain machine so I could find out too. Plus if you actually manage to take down the Avengers with it, ethically, which I still don’t think counts by the way, I want my name on that project, man.”
Very slowly, very reluctantly, Peter turns around.
Tony Stark stands in the doorway, arms crossed, staring directly at him. “He’ll call you back later, Ted,” he says calmly.
On the other end of the line, Ned howls. “Oh man, Peter, you are so done!” he laughs. “Forget taking down the exam or the Avengers! Good luck taking down—” The call cuts off as F.R.I.D.A.Y. disconnects.
And now Peter is just left standing there.
With Tony Stark.
And the rest of the Avengers standing a little bit behind him. Including Captain America. Peter was not planning on meeting them like this.
“I can explain.” Peter says weekly. He can, in fact, not explain.
Tony doesn’t even look at him first. His eyes lock onto the slice in Peter’s hand like it personally offended him.
“Sure,” Tony says dryly. “Let’s start with the culinary war crime you’re holding, then move on to the part where you’re apparently building a machine designed to take down the Avengers, for reasons I’m still trying to understand, while planning to test it on your best friend because you have ‘high pain tolerance,’ so your test won’t be accurate, which is a fascinating choice considering the device is supposedly meant to work on us, all of which you’re planning on doing in my lab, behind my back, without my permission might I add, instead of studying for the one class you’re failing in, again.”
He gestures vaguely toward the forks, the water glasses, the whole chaotic setup.
“And somewhere in that brilliant life plan we’ve also got the diner job I explicitly told you not to take, a coworker named Pedro who is apparently threatening you with knives on the job I told you not to take! You’re supposed to tell me this stuff! And don’t get me started on these forks. I like these forks!”
Tony stops, staring again at the pizza. ”And just so we’re clear, we’re circling back to this because I refuse to let it go-”
He points directly at the slice.“-what the hell is on that pizza, and don’t I feed you?”
Peter raises the slice defensively. “Oh yeah, yeah, shame me!” he fires back. “At least when I’m disgusting, it’s on purpose!” Plus, he’s got that mutated metabolism.
Behind Tony, Thor leans slightly toward Banner, nodding solemnly. “I like the boy’s spirit,” he murmurs, as if evaluating a young warrior.
Tony sighs, “And just for how long have you been hiding that snack bag from me?” he says, disappointed.
Banner is still staring at the pizza. “…are those gummy worms?”
“Don’t judge my wonderful creation,” Peter mutters, shoulders tightening.
Clint, leaning against the doorway, points flatly. “Kid… that’s a cry for help.”
A short silence settles over the kitchen. Peter is still holding the pizza. Steve Rogers finally speaks. “Peter,” he says calmly, “Other than the questions I have concerning your identity, I just want to clarify something.”
Peter slowly lowers the slice. “Yes, Mr. Rogers?”
Steve gestures lightly toward the forks on the counter. “Your plan was to build a device… specifically designed to take down the Avengers.”
Peter winces. “Ethically.”
Steve blinks once.
“I’m not sure that word means what you think it means.”
Behind him, Thor nods approvingly. “Still,” Thor says, crossing his arms, “the boy seeks to challenge warriors stronger than himself. That is admirable.”
And The Black Widow is just there, not saying anything, watching this whole ordeal go down.
Peter groans internally. This is not how he wanted to meet the Avengers. At all.