Chapter Eleven: Full-ish House
The living space in Avengers HQ was top-notch. It made Peter want to cry. There were well-kept quarters for everyone who lived in it, state-of-the-art lab facilities, and most importantly, a constantly stocked kitchen. Peter was currently stuck to the wall in the kitchen area, ravaging a packet of Twisties like he hadn't eaten since he was born.
Hey now, Peter Parker was no freeloader. Most of the time. He was here for a reason; he was contacted earlier by Tony Stark, who said he needed to discuss something with the webhead. But, as expected, when Peter showed up, the guy was busy tending to equipment damage sustained during a mission led by Captain Rogers. Some tech, including Quinjet 5, Cap's protective uniform, and Hawkeye's specialised arrowheads, needed some once overs before they were either repaired or replaced.
Spidey heard some voices from the hallway growing louder. "I'm not saying that we need your help, I'm saying that most of the fights we go through would be over in ten seconds if you stuck around."
"There be Nine Realms that require the protection of the Thunder, friend Barton. Loathe be, I cannot spend all my moons on Midgard."
"What?"
"He says he has better things to do than protect you." A woman retorted with immense sass.
Four figures entered the room; Captain America, Hawkeye, Wasp, and Thor.
"Ehlo guhys." Peter greeted, mouth full of eviscerated Twisties and his gloveless fingers encrusted with the dust of his fallen cheesy enemies. The glove of his costume was sitting on the kitchen counter, and his mask had been pulled up and over his mouth to allow for the intake of sustenance.
Steve nodded curtly "Twice in one week, Peter.", Janet smiled energetically as she called melodically "Heyyyyy!"
Thor bellowed "Greetings my friend."
Clint frowned in disgust. "Jesus, you want to slow down there cowboy? You're getting cheese dust everywhere."
As the group entered, Thor set his trusty hammer, Mjolnir, onto the table and planted his hands on his hips. "Stifle thy misgivings, my avid arching companion; a feast is the mark of a victory well won! We too have smelt the sweet stench of a defeated foe. Speak; in the glory of what triumph doth thou currently bask by way of thy vigorous gorging?"
"Arh got arh pestuh." He slurred, still piling Twisties into the hatch.
"How old are you? Chew your food." Janet pressed.
Peter swallowed and clarified "I got a pasta."
"...'A pasta'? You got 'a pasta'?" Hawkeye repeated monotonously in disbelief and disappointment.
"Yeah. From a girl I like. It was awesome."
"She cooked you a meal? Sounds like you're getting somewhere." Steve said as he opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of spring water. Steve was wearing a fitted white t-shirt instead of his trademark uniform shirt; as previously mentioned, you dumb dumb, it was currently being appraised and mended by Tony.
"Oh. It was just the pasta in a paper bag. I mean it was boiled, though."
Steve cocked his head, furrowed his brow and squinted all at once. "Is...that a thing now?" He glanced around the room with genuine curiosity. He wasn't the kind of person who kept up with social trends and stuff. He had become incredibly caught up in recent years; you couldn't tell he was a hundred years old and lived most of his life without the magic of Spongebob Squarepants. But when it came to emerging trends, you could easily see the confusion in his eyes. Peter remembered trying to explain those weird Freddy Mercury meme videos to him. It was like showing a parent or a grandparent something and it just went completely over their heads; they were just confused at the end of it all.
Clint saw an opportunity and took it. "Duh, Steve. Didn't I tell you about when I got my pasta from Bobbi? She gave me a whole damn sack of spaghetti."
Steve nodded and pursed his lips, in an effort to absorb this information. "As soon as I'm used to everything, there's always something else that changes."
"Clint." Janet scalded, despite the fact that she thought it was kinda funny.
Hawkeye shrugged "What? Hank never gave you some ravioli or something? Ouch. That's rough."
"It's not a thing, Steve." She said reluctantly
The Captain rolled his eyes.
"Thanks Jan. You ruined it." Clint sighed as he leapt onto the couch, tracking soot and ash all over it.
Janet winked as she slid onto one of the stools at the kitchen counter.
Steve, after sculling the entire bottle of water as if he were some sort of demented fish man, sorry Namor, tossed the empty vessel into the bin and approached Peter with even more curiosity. "So this woman...gave you pasta...in a bag? That's very...generous of her."
"Was it Bolognese at least? Janet quizzed.
Peter licked the tips of his cheesy fingers "No sauce."
"No sauce..." Steve ruminated, puzzled.
"Yeah."
Steve scratched the back of his head. "...Salt?"
"Nah. It was just boiled pasta."
"And...this was meant to be a gift?"
"Yeah, she tripped onto the street and I saved her."
Thor rubbed his beard contemplatively "Hm, curious. I cannot say that I have ever been granted this 'pasta' as a spoil of battle. Is she of sound mental health?"
"Well? Uh, yeah. Pretty sure. Why are we talking about my personal life again?"
"Because this broad's nuts. Get out while you can. You shouldn't have let that hot redhead dump you. Your new girlfriend's batshit insane."
"She's not my girlfriend, Hawkguy."
Steve snatched an apple from the fruit bowl and took a bite out of it as Thor brushed passed him and reached into the fridge, before saying "You should let her know how you feel, Peter. Give her a bouquet, take her dancing, go see a picture together."
"Picture? What picture? Art gallery?" Peter quipped.
"Funny." Steve dismissed.
Janet leant onto the counter and raised an eyebrow. "So uh...do you like that she gave you pasta?"
"Of course I do. I'm a college student." Spidey replied.
Thor plucked a bottle of Budweiser from the fridge and stared at it like it was some kind of completely strange sight that he had never beheld before. He literally pulled the cap off, which was a twist-off by the way, and took a swig. Afterwards, his face was painted with a sneer of pure disappointment "What manner of bile concoction is this? Doth this be some charlatan's excuse for ale? A child could ingest gallons of such weak dribble."
"Thor, it's American beer. It sucks." Clint muttered, laying down on the couch as he tossed a baseball up at the ceiling over and over again.
Steve, crossing his arms, took a step forward. "Come on, break time's over Clint. We got post-op duties to see to."
Clint groaned "Man, how come Thor doesn't have to file reports and manage equipment?"
"Because he'd Superman the computer." Peter added.
"What the hell does that mean?" Clint asked dryly.
"You know, age old trope of 'guy doesn't know how strong he is so he accidentally destroys something for comedic effect'?"
Wasp shrugged "It's not a trope if it's real, bug boy. I personally filled a drawer with extra doorknobs after you came by the first time."
Peter replied "I stand corrected."
"But thou art not standing..." Thor murmured not loud enough for anyone to hear.
Before long, Cap berated Hawkeye enough to get him to go with him and Janet to submit some incident reports regarding the mission. To help with the legalities of everything, it was always handy to have individual reports of every operation the Avengers embarked on. Thor held aloft his magic hammer and said "By the power of Asgard, I bid thee farewell." Before smashing through yet another glass window, Budweiser bottle still in hand.
At that point, once the party was over, Tony Stark finally appeared, shirt, face, and arms covered in grease. "Thanks for coming Pete."
"Woah."
"Yeah, I had to work overtime today. Everyone's breaking all of my expensive shit. You here about my call?"
"Yeah...I am. What did you need?" Peter answered, his hand now completely clean of Twisties dust thanks to the biological miracle of tongues and saliva.
Tony answered "I...wanted to ask you to join us again. The Avengers."
"We talked about this already, man. I'm just too busy for this kind of stuff."
"Peter, if you become a full-time Avenger you get a salary. You get paid. You don't need to study, or work, or anything. I know you've been having a tough time with cash, I can solve that for you."
Peter detached himself from the wall and threw his hands up in defeat. "You still don't get it. I don't need your help, Tony. I don't want it. I'm going to make it through by working hard and doing it legit."
"This is legit."
"Maybe. But answer this for me. Why do I deserve your money while there are people out there who work even harder and get nothing from you?"
"...You're starting to sound like Reed." Tony said quietly.
Peter shook his head. "I'm fine with what you do, I really am. I just don't want to be treated any differently than the guy on the street."
"Why the hell are you so stubborn about this?"
"Because I was brought up to value working hard for something, Tony. My Uncle Ben worked seven days a week for thirty-two years of his life to buy a tiny, two-bedroom house in Queens. It's not a mansion, it's not perfect, but he put everything into it. I know you're just trying to help, but I don't want your pity. I want to earn things, not have them handed to me on a platter."
Silence filled the room as Tony sighed and looked about. Peter had been a temporary member in the past, but his life was simply too packed to warrant being permanently involved in one more thing.
'What?', you say? 'Spider-Man is meant to be Iron Man's sidekick', you say? Well, Peter was never one to be anyone's sidekick. He was Spider-Man, not Spider-Boy, not Iron Lad, not even Iron boy. Peter was determined to be responsible (you should have a shot of vodka every time you read that word), and that determination couldn't be shattered by anyone.
Tony finally asked "Is that...is that a broken window on the thirty-fifth level of my skyscraper base?"
"Uh...yeah. It was Thor."
"He's like a goddamn pigeon. Can never see the bloody things."
Though it was tempting to further agitate Tony Stark, Peter decided not to smash another window on his way out. Instead, he used the front door like a normal human being...well, a normal guy with a full-body costume and holding a bag of cooked pasta. So, maybe not so normal after all.
As he distanced himself from Avengers Tower, he felt something shake inside of his backpack. He fumbled to pry open the zip and pull out his phone - answering mere seconds before it went to voicemail.
"Peter, are you there?" The small, sweet voice of his old aunt sounded on the other end.
"Y-Yeah! How are you, Aunt May?" Peter answered, swinging out of public view and perching on the top of a nearby sign. He pulled his mask over his mouth, only barely, to ensure that his voice wasn't muffled. He didn't want to make her suspicious. Yeah, his seventy-six year-old aunt didn't know that he was Spider-Man. Nobody knows, because you know, it's a secret identity. Well MJ knows but that doesn't count because we all know MJ is going to get tossed into the back boot for this one. I'll give you a few seconds to process the fact that she isn't some young, hot mom that Tony Stark can flirt with for a laugh.
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Okay, ready to continue? I'll just assume you said yes because at this very moment Aunt May is replying to Peter in her cute, old lady voice. "Oh, I'm fine. Just taking a few of Ben's things to the basement."
Peter's entire face paled behind the mask. He hadn't looked at that stuff in years...but the idea of it being removed from his aunt's place made him feel a little empty. He had loved his Uncle Ben like a father. There was no one else like him in the entire world; he taught Peter the value of patience, hard work, and get your shots ready, responsibility. "Your moving Uncle Ben's stuff? Why?"
"I thought it was time to redecorate, and heaven knows Ben never had any taste." There was a hint of sorrow in her tone that sliced right through Peter's heart. "Don't worry, it's not like I'm getting rid of this stuff. It will all be here if you ever want to look at it."
Peter sighed, attempting to subdue an almost unbearable memory. "You should have told me, I could've helped..."
"Nonesense, I'm not dead yet." May laughed, but Peter hated it when she even mentioned death. He had already lost his Uncle, and as the years passed he feared the inevitability of his Aunt leaving as well. "I only called because a few volunteers at the homeless shelter called in sick for tomorrow's free lunch. I was hoping you could come in and give me a hand."
"Sure. I got a free day tomorrow anyway." Peter replied without hesitation. His aunt had been keeping herself busy since Uncle Ben passed. She got involved with charities, helping people in rehab, and was an avid volunteer at the homeless shelter. Even at her age, she was still finding ways to help people. If Uncle Ben was Peter moral compass, then his Aunt May was his hero. She had always been, even now. Spider-Man couldn't hold a candle to that woman.
He was more than happy to help her in any way that he possibly could...and maybe he could sneak some free soup on the side. 'College student' and 'homeless' were kind of the same thing, in some ways. Except he had a roof over his head, so it wasn't 'homeless', it was just 'less'. Less food, less time, less sleep.