Chapter Text
How much blood does a person have to lose to pass out?
Don't get him wrong, this is the one time he won't say he's asking for a friend, 'cause that would probably be more worrisome. But as far as Peter's concerned, that's a valid question. In this situation, at least. He always sees it happen in movies but it's never specified.
He doesn't blame the director for that, though. Admittedly it would be a little weird for a character to yell out, in the middle of being chased by a slasher, 'Oh no! 7.5 more pints of blood and I'll pass out!' as if it were common knowledge. Still, he wouldn't mind if it was.
The reason he's asking is that after about thirty minutes of nonstop walking, his feet feel like they're bleeding. And if you give him a few more minutes, his ears might start bleeding, too. Like seriously, he knows he's a hypocrite for saying this, but my god can that woman ramble.
And in all honesty, the rambling isn't the problem, it's how freaking happy she is while discussing the history of S.I! Not only is her voice's pitch way too high for this time of day- or rather night, but no one can be that enthusiastic when discussing the deaths of Howard and Maria Stark. Or just assassinations in general.
Despite popular belief, Peter had no idea what was inside Stark tower. Sure, there were tours almost every Saturday, but it's foolish to think he had enough money to blow on that. And now he's kinda glad he never tried, considering where he is right now.
So far they've passed through the biomedical and biochemical engineering, telecommunication engineering, and environmental engineering departments- and wow that's a lot of engineering, he guesses he has some stuff to consider before college. Tony wasn't lying about the equipment, by the way.
They had the kind of stuff you'd expect to see in some futuristic sci-fi movie, and thousands of it, too. He didn't expect any less, though, it must be easy getting access to all these materials when your company is the one who manufactures them.
Oh, and they brushed by the avengers' museum. Yes, you heard him right, the avengers' museum. He knows this is a popular area that would get a lot of foot traffic during tours, but it's a little cocky, isn't it?
The room's purpose must have been for tourists only, but something about the inside jokes written on sticky notes placed beside all of the Avengers' individual plaques says otherwise. For Thor, it says that both his favorite and least favorite animal is a snake. For Black Widow there aren't any words, just a yellow and red post-it placed next to each other and a sad face. For Tony, it's a dramatically long poem where the first line is "Strawberries: To buy or not to buy." And for Captain America, it just says "Language", which Peter doesn't really have context for but he has the feeling that he doesn't actually need it to understand.
He's seen way too many PSAs for the idea of the Captain not being a stickler for language to be impossible. Just when Peter had started to admire the previous arc reactor models, he heard voices coming around the corner and footsteps getting increasingly louder.
Ever the socially awkward teenager, Peter scurried off to the corner, making sure that he was unseen by the approaching people. It earned him a weird look from Ms. Heralds- Daminit! Why the honorifics?!- who was currently taking a break from the tour to text someone.
"Screw you, Steve, I know how to cook!" A deep voice rang out. Wait, Steve? Peter didn't turn around, but the name did slightly pique his interest.
"You know how to heat up a can of beans and a bowl of soup, Bucky, that hardly counts as cooking."
Now Peter's interest was piqued. He knew that voice, he was forced to listen to that voice every week until his ears bled and his soul detached from his body. Captain friggin America. Peter narrowed his eyes and sunk even deeper into the shadows, except this time it wasn't just his crippling social anxiety. He knew for a fact that if the man spoke to him, he might not be able to control whatever came out of his mouth as a reply.
"Like you can even talk, Rogers." Black Widow?! Peter had to physically restrain himself from turning around and bounding over to her to pester her about his countless questions. "You can make a bowl of pasta and nothing else. Congratu-freaking-lations." Hell yeah, you tell him!
"You have surprisingly high standards for someone who lives with us." The Winter Soldier piped in, "Bruce and Rhodey only make enough for themselves, Thor and Clint destroy the oven, Sam stinks as per usual, and Stark's eating schedule is still unknown to everyone but himself." Seems like they live as one big family in this building, and Peter didn't know if he should find that endearing or run for his life.
"I don't have high standards, you guys just set the bar so goddamn low." Black Widow said, and the spider vigilante could see her nonchalantly picking her nails with her knife as if it was the most casual thing in the world. So cool...
"Oh come on! That's complete bullshi-"
"Language." Peter, Black Widow, and the Winter Soldier said at the same time, perfectly in sync.
If Peter's life was a movie, this would be the moment where the camera freezes on the panicked expression on his face and he begins his voiceover. The voice-over would most likely be his future self talking, probably from Hell because there's no way he's making it past 25 with his lack of self-preservation, and future Peter would say something like 'And this, my friends, is the moment my life ended.' Because that's exactly what this is.
Why did he feel the need to invite himself into a conversation that he was never apart of? Why was the first thing he said a direct insult towards one of the speakers? And most importantly, why did Black Widow and the Winter Soldier say the exact same thing as him? Peter didn't know the answer to any of those questions. And frankly, he wished he didn't have to ask them in the first place.
The room was completely silent, and he didn't need to look into the reflection of the arc reactor display case to know that their eyes were burning holes into his neck. He didn't dare turn around, deathly afraid of what they would say to him. Is he about to get yelled at by two soldiers and an assassin? Scratch that, two soldiers, an assassin, and some overly enthusiastic receptionist.
Vaguely, a small part of Peter really wants to get yelled at by Ms. Heralds. Just to test his theory and see if she can experience more than one emotion.
Thirty seconds had passed and still, no one had uttered a word, he was starting to get a tad bit agitated. Like are they gonna yell at him or not?! Make up your minds people! If this goes on any longer he's gonna end up with chronic back pain from shrinking himself up too much. Peter saw Ms. Heralds' expression in the glass and concluded that yes, she can experience more than one emotion.
Except it wasn't so much anger and frustration as much as it was fear and dread. Still, he can die peacefully now that he has an answer. At his funeral, he hopes Ned will say something like 'Peter Benjamin Parker died as he lived, one overly dramatic science experiment.' Because really, when you think about it, Peter isn't a human or spider. He's just a science experiment and OH MY GOD THAT'S SO MESSED UP WHAT THE-
"H-how do you know what that means-" Steve's stuttering question cut off Peter's existential crisis and the doe-eyed teenager decided to return the favor.
"Put a sock in it, you hypocritical piece of crusty ravioli, I'm trying to think,"
WHY?! WHY CAN'T HE JUST SHUT UP?! WHY DOES HE KEEP MAKING THINGS WORSE FOR HIMSELF?! I mean he doesn't completely regret it because lord knows the avenger deserved it but still! Yes, Peter has a lack of self-preservation skills, but he thought that only applied to when he was fighting as Spider-Man! Not when he was taking a tour at S.I as a regular high school intern and having a conversation with one of the most cherished avengers.
But at least he wasn't hunched up in a ball anymore, having straightened up to turn and glare at the blonde super-soldier. Peter's heart rate didn't slow down at all after this new show of faux confidence but at least his spine was doing okay. While Peter's mind was racing for something else to say, he took in the expressions of everyone else in the room.
Captain was a mixture of horrified and scandalized. Ms. Heralds was just horrified and looked like she was about to pass out any minute now. The Winter Soldier just kept opening and closing his mouth as if he was trying to come up with a response to this entire situation but was coming up short (Peter could relate). And Black Widow... well, no one can ever tell with her. But all those expressions were directed at him and suddenly Peter realized that he didn't have enough time for a response.
He had to get out of here, and he had to get out fast. His feet were bleeding by now, right? And maybe his ears started bleeding too while he didn't notice. Just a little longer and he'll lose enough blood to pass out. They'll bring him to the hospital and he can forget this day ever happened-
"AHAHAHA," Peter flinched from the sudden noise that erupted from the brown-haired man. Was... was he laughing? Was it supposed to be a maniacal laugh at Peter's approaching doom?! Bucky continued his wheezing, aware of the crisis Peter was currently going through. "HE- OH MY GODD. HYPOCRITICAL P- AHAHHA." The man was already starting to tear up as he hunched over, back trembling as he failed to suppress his amusement. Damn, he hates the guy but even that's some cold-hearted betrayal to take the side of the scrawny teenager.
Captain sighed, but Peter could easily see his face redding. Any more of this and he'll be a tomato. The blonde soldier had a new look on his face, but it wasn't anger or spite or anything like that, really. It was just... exasperated humiliation.
Peter started inching away while the others were distracted, tugging on Ms. Heralds phone to snap her out of her stupor. She startled a bit before picking up on his signal and rapidly nodding. They quietly snuck back into the elevator with the stealth of alley cats. And just as the door was closing, they both heard one last thing from Black Widow.
"See? Even Peter agrees. Your pasta sucks."
Yeah... they should move on.
Stark Industries was such a well-known establishment that people occasionally forgot it's actual contents. Sure, it's science, but that's one hell of a broad term. And yeah, it's home to the avengers, who possess powers that most people could only dream of, but that's in no way related to the company. Truth is, there was another aspect of S.I that many people chose to ignore. And that, my friends, are the business departments. ...There's probably a more specific term for that but Peter doesn't know what it is.
"And h-here is the marketing and advertising sector!" Stuttered Ms. Heralds, clearly still affect by their recent encounter with the avengers. He wanted to feel satisfied with it, he really did, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel at least a little pity for the woman. Peter could sense his Spider-Man alter ego slip away as the shy, empathetic persona took its place. He smiled at the woman and for the first time in a long time, he was happy she smiled back. She continued.
"They design S.I's logos, ads, everything. And it's not as simple as many people think, as you can see." And yeah, he could see. The more he observed the employees in this sector, the more confused he got. There were certain patterns and colors that logos needed to have to draw attention to the product, the placement of objects in the photos needed to be just right, the saturation and focus of said objects also needed to be specified- all of it was just... so much. Although, he did wonder how cool it would be to be one of those models in the Stark phone commercials.
He and Ms. Heralds wandered through the rest of the sectors- accounting and finance, production and inventory, etc.- observing the workers and occasionally striking up a conversation with some of them, much to the employees' confusion. Most of them seem shocked at the scene of a teenager who looked like they still need six more hours of sleepwalking in, fully equipped with an S.I theta badge and a little notebook. Still, though, they gladly answered all of his questions, which he happily jotted down on the notebook pages. Most of the questions he asked were for clarification, like what the acronyms they used represented. APD, BIMS, ETA, BAT- he learned all of it. However, no one knew what goddamn SB time stood for . Is he already being singled out here?! In any case, that wasn't what concerned him the most.
The conversations were easy to start and uphold, but the words that the employees would mutter to themselves when they thought Peter wasn't listening was more than concerning. Of course, it was a reasonable assumption to think that Peter wasn't listening. After all, no normal human being should be able to coherently hear them from that far away. But as you all know, he's not fully human, he's a... science experiment. Yeah. Okay. But still, it was definitely unnerving to hear them say things like 'bright as the freaking sun' after their conversation had come to an end.
It's certainly one of the weirdest experiences he's ever had in a working environment. Peter didn't know what any of it meant. Was it a secret language the employees of S.I had developed so they could talk about others behind their back? And if so, what were they saying about him?! None of this is helping his paranoia! Still, he stayed silent. Because he knows that if he ever brought it up, they'd start asking him questions about how he'd been able to hear them. Agh, being a science experiment sucks sometimes.
"Oh, yeah," A woman with pepper black hair and white whisps chuckled out as she stared at paperwork and chewed on her pen, it was a harsh, raspy sound, "the public relations department is treated like royalty here. And rightfully so!" She exclaimed the last part a bit louder, earning a few annoyed glances. Peter raised an eyebrow at her, silently asking her to elaborate as he copied down everything she said.
"That Potts lady, whatever her first name is, gives us another luxury whenever Tony Stark majorly screws up his public image. Of course, he never actually screws it up, you know why? 'Cause we take care of it. Whether it's being caught partying too hard, an embarrassing iron man moment, or a bad interaction with the paparazzi, the PR department shoves it under the carpet. And in return, we get raises. We get more breaks. We get our own private bathrooms. We get everything, kid.
"Don't get me wrong, though, nothing about this is shady. You know why all of us were hired? 'Cause we're the best of the best. And when you're the best, you know how to handle things in the best way possible. Here at S.I we acknowledge our mistakes, rather than cover them up. We let it all out in the open, and we make it up to the public. Of course, the whole making it up part may count as a bit manipulative. But I prefer the term 'strategic' if you will.
"We donate more money to charities, we throw fundraisers, we host galas, all of that and more. The most recent scandal was Stark drunkenly flying around in his little suit. Did you know he crashed into a giant donut? Yeah, not your regular Tuesday. Anyway, we took care of that, too."
"How'd you take care of it?" He asked, eyes ablaze with curiosity. The pepper haired woman paused in her pen chewing, twisting her neck around like a snake to look at him. She smirked, vibrant green eyes gleaming in appraisal.
"Look around, kid. Who's idea do you think it was to expand the September Foundation to highschool applicants." Peter tilted his head. What did she-?
Oh.
He shouldn't be offended by the woman's not-so-subtle implication, he doesn't have the right to be. In fact, he shouldn't even be surprised, because it's nothing to be surprised about. If there's one thing he learned from the raspy-voiced woman in their short conversation, it's that business is business, not something to take personally. That didn't make the cold realization sting any less, though.
But come on! Just because it was originally intended as a PR 'strategic' move, that didn't mean he didn't earn his role here. That didn't take away the worth from his academic accomplishments. This company could have easily told the press that they were expanding, and then just not hire anyone. No one would question it, because how could they? And Peter's about 60% sure that's what they intended to do in the first place. But even so, they'd taken him in! That proved that no matter how little or insignificant, Peter was worth just a bit of their time. And he'll take what he can get.
Peter smiled at the woman and shrugged, feigning nonchalance like he didn't just analyze this entire conversation. He watched as her eyes widened a bit before smoothing out her expression. She was shocked, but why? What was she expecting him to do?
Before he could ponder on the matter any longer, Ms. Heralds was already guiding him to the elevators, blabbering about sandwiches and smoothies or something. However, even as the doors started to close, he could still feel the vibrant green eyes burning into his back.
Ugh, what is it with dramatic and ominous exits into elevators today? Like Jesus christ people just press the button and get a move on, it's not that hard! Do they really feel the need to have the last word or action in every little thing? Is it a habit that people in this building spread to each other like a plague? In any case, at least he took notes.
Something to shove in Ms. Warren's face.
Turns out that the reason Ms. Heralds was blabbering about sandwiches and smoothies was that she was treating him to sandwiches and smoothies in the fanciest goddamn cafeteria he had ever seen. Peter's a regular 16-year-old kid- if you ignore the mystery surrounding what species he is- and he goes to a regular high school with a regular cafeteria.
He's used to ramen noodles dumped in the water fountain, gum under the table, barely edible food, and cliques. Not regular cliques, of course, like jocks and nerds and stuff, that's unrealistic. Just normal groups of friends that you always think are laughing at you when really they're discussing which species of dinosaur would be a better boyfriend.
And no, he's not making some weird joke, that was an actual conversation he overheard. Reasons were provided for the brachiosaurus, for the ankylosaurus, and for the tyrannosaurus rex. And Peter can say with 100% confidence that neither side deserved to win after traumatizing him for life.
But anyway, you can imagine his reaction to the foreign land that is the Stark Industries cafeteria.
To start it off, there were no water fountains, because of course, that'd be too easy for Tony Stark. Instead, mini-robots were rolling around, stopping by anyone who pressed some weird red button on their table and refilling their cups and water bottles. Interesting. Second, from where Peter was sitting, he risked running his hand along the bottom surface of the table and was pleasantly surprised to find absolutely nothing sticking to his hand afterward. Third, the food here was edible. More than edible. This was the kind of stuff you'd find in the pages of a greek mythology book being served to Zeus or something. It was meant for the gods, not a broke teenager. The menus contained items from a wide range of countries: France, Italy, Greece, the Philippines, and so much more.
Of course, he didn't actually order any of those. It felt weird ordering something so fancy when it wasn't his money that he'd be spending. So he stuck with a simple grilled cheese sandwich a strawberry banana smoothie that he was way too embarrassed to say the name of when ordering. Like seriously, 'Strawbana Bobana Bang Bang'? How can anyone expect anyone to say that out loud?! He just gave a dead stare to the cashier and said number 5, thanking the gods when the man gave him an empathetic nod in return. Finally, someone who understands his pain.
However, not everything was so different from Midtown high when it came to cafeterias. Hence, the cliques. Why is he getting deja vu from the Mean Girls movie? It's like every department has formed its own little cult and is glaring at everyone who hasn't made a pledge of allegiance to them. Assistants not included, though, since they don't really align with any specific group. Peter guesses he should be grateful for that. It's when he takes the first bite of his gooey sandwich that Ms. Heralds starts talking.
"As you know, this is the cafeteria. And since there's such a wide arrange of food here, there's no need to go to outside sources for employee dinner orders." Oh right, he forgot it was actually dark outside right now. "So you won't need a company card or anything like that." THANK GOD. That obnoxious piece of plastic gives him more anxiety than it's tiny little size is worth. "You're free to use any of the carts provided if you have a particularly large order and need help carrying everything. Although judging by the way you were able to juggle a sandwich, smoothie, and notebook in your hands on the way over here, I don't think that'll be necessary." Peter snorted, sipping his smoothie, and Ms. Heralds brightened up. "So, how are you enjoying everything so far?"
Peter considered his words before meekly responding, already having learned his lesson about impulsiveness from that Captain America interaction. "It's... good. Really good. There's a wide range of departments for every single aspect of this company and I've already learned a lot from just a few conversations with some of the employees." Peter gestured to his notebook, filled with the familiar frantic chicken scratch. "Although, the PR department scares me." Ms. Heralds giggled.
"They scare everyone, Natalie, especially." She informed him.
"Natalie?" He doesn't remember meeting anyone by that name.
"Tall, black hair with some white strands, green eyes. You met her just a little while ago if I remember correctly." Oh , her. Peter shivered, and Ms. Heralds nodded in understanding.
"Yeah, she has that effect on people. I swear she could make anyone sweat just by glancing at them. But she's good at her job, and she's close to all higher-ups, so she's pretty much the apex predator here." Apex predator. The enemy in a jungle full of prey.
Damnit, he's already a spider. Is he seriously going to be compared to a freaking mouse now? "If I were you, I'd stay on her good side. Or just, avoid all contact with her as much as possible."
Sounds pretty weird coming from someone as social as Ms. Heralds, but something about the haunted shadow that passed over her face tells Peter that she has already tried, and failed, the friendship route with Natalie. Rejection sucks in general, but that's gotta be brutal.
"Got it. Don't mess with Natalie." Ms. Heralds gave a firm nod, satisfied with his response. She opened her mouth again, looking as if she was prepared to give him more advice that he would gladly accept. But before she could even make a sound, a loud slam sounded on his left. Both Peter and Ms. Heralds flinched at the sudden burst in noise, turning at the same time to catch the culprit red-handed.
They didn't expect to see said culprit grinning like a madman as she focused all of her attention on Peter, hovering over her tray that had literally nothing on it. All that told Peter was that she clearly didn't come here to eat and probably had some ulterior motives on her mind. The woman with straight black hair and eyes settled down in the seat next to Peter whipped out his phone before finally speaking.
"So, Peter Parker? That's your name?" Does this woman seriously think he's going to reveal personal information to a stranger-
"Yeah,"
"Eh, I can work with that. Your lucky it's a catchy alliteration, something that rolls of the tongue on a magazine article." Odd comparison, but thanks, he guessed. "Your face on the other hand?" She made a 'yikes' face.
He's known this woman for two seconds and she's already ruined his self-esteem. People at Stark Industries really are 100% one side or the other on the jerk spectrum, huh? Peter tried not to look too offended at her comment, but she picked it up anyway.
"It's nothing personal about your hair anything, it's just the weird face you make whenever a camera is pointed at you. It's like the person behind the camera is waving a gun around and threatening to shoot you if you don't smile on the count of 3. No one is gonna wanna buy a magazine with something that looks like a mugshot on the cover of it." Okay, what's with the random comparisons to magazines?
"I'm- I'm not going to be on a magazine cover, though..."
"Well, of course not an actual magazine. Everything is online nowadays and I'd prefer not to waste paper. And yes, actually, you will, whether you like it or not. So it's my job to prepare you for that,"
That's certainly very threatening.
"Good," Ah, he said it out loud, "And it's for your own good, too. You can either work with me on this- which I strongly recommend, I really need the credibility this would give me for a promotion- or you can work with Natalie. And at least I, unlike Natalie, wouldn't leave out any information regarding your honest opinions about the topic that you may reveal during this interview," Peter froze.
"Interview?" She scoffed
"Well duh, how else would I write this article?"
"You keep mentioning writing an article, but you haven't actually told me what it's about. Or- or even why it's related to me. Is it just information on a different employee here that I came across? Like Natalie? And is- is that why you said she would leave out certain information said about her?"
"No, silly!" Peter slightly frowned. He loved friendly people, and he considered himself to be one when he wasn't so devastatingly awkward or snarky at the wrong moment. But there was something about the way this woman was sugar-coating her words and talking down to him that made alarm bells go off in his ears, "This article isn't about her, it's about the 'strategic move' the PR department keeps bragging about lately. I figured I'd steal some spotlight and knock them down a few notches. Lord knows they deserve it,"
Well, that's... shady.
"Oh... Well, in that case, I'm not sure I can help you. Natalie only vaguely mentioned the galas and fundraisers, she didn't tell me too much about it." Even if she did, he's not sure he would tell this woman based on the way she's flashing all her teeth like a shark. Peter turned to the quiet woman next to him, "Maybe Ms. Heralds knows thou-"
Ms. Heralds picked up her lunch and scurried out of the cafeteria, leaving the words 'bathroom!' in her wake. Traitor. Peter turned back to the woman. The woman named... Marie, judging by the golden engraved pen she pulled out along with a notepad. She gave him a sly smile.
"I'm not talking about the galas, Parker, I'm talking about you," Oh.
Peter zoned out staring at his food as Marie began chattering about the basic questions she was gonna ask- where he's from, what school he goes to, whether he was a scholarship kid or not, and if so how grateful is he to be handed such great opportunities... all that jazz. He supposed he should be grateful, after all not everyone gets the chance to go to a school as prestigious as Midtown and work somewhere like Stark and Hammer, especially not someone from his socioeconomic status. And it's because of that fact that Peter can't help but feel like a bad person whenever he feels a sting of disappointment at someone bringing it up.
He likes to think of himself as a hard worker, given how much time he spends studying and reviewing, helping other people with their studying and reviewing, and how often he had to give puppy eyes to the receptionist at the local library so she would let him continue on with his studying and reviewing way after midnight. And with all of the endless efforts that go into that, he would have thought that they would be recognized for what they really are, which are his accomplishments. His, no one else's.
Because when they're labeled as something other than that, all the hard work Peter thought he did would vanish from sight and the only thing that could be perceived was two words that Flash had uttered to him during his first week of school, words he knows tens of people secretly think behind their back: Charity case.
But at the end of the day, his situation is unavoidable, and the everlasting risk of poverty that floats around him and his aunt prevents him from ever trying to escape it. He doesn't want anyone's pity, but their pity brings money, and that's the one thing his hard work was never able to make up for. So for now, he'll suck it up. He'll answer these dumb questions and pose as the PR department's strategic move to pay back Stark and Hammer and whoever else brought it upon themselves to 'save him'. Because that's what he does.
He works, he smiles, and he keeps his mouth shut. All in hopes that one day- when he's an adult with a stable career, both in STEM and Spiderman, and a stable income for him and his aunt- he'll be the one doing the saving. And he'll be more than just a charity case.
Peter lifted his head to face Maria, who had just stopped talking to wait for his answer. He forced his usual small smile.
"I couldn't be more grateful."