Something BIG
“Hi, I’m Captain America. I love celebrating this nation on the 4th of July, but trust me, there is nothing patriotic about illegal fireworks. So just remember if you’re on fire, stop, drop and roll. One more time, say it with me now: STOP, DROP and ROLL”
Peter groaned, tuning out the PSA. Why had the Captain even done them in the first place? They were an absolute embarrassment to him, Uncle Ben always made him sound so awesome. Anybody who would willingly inflict this kind of torture on kids was far fromAwesome. So lame, the man didn’t even make cool anymore. It was sad really. He was just glad the man had finished waxing on about the raptures of hot lunches. It’s like he doesn’t even try not to sound ninety years old. Seriously.
Bored, Peter looked up from where he had been doodling on his notebook and glanced around the classroom. It wasn’t a surprise to see that 60% of the class had decided to use this period to catch up on sleep. He wasn’t even sure what subject Mrs Hyde taught. Torture? Probably. Maybe boredom? She was always making them do something tedious in her class. His personal opinion was that she had learned teaching from Professor Umbridge. She even wore the pink cardigan, it was uncanny. Hell, Mrs Hyde had been teaching here so long that maybe J.K Rowling had her and used her for inspiration.
He leaned back to admire his doodle. It wasn’t half bad if could say so himself, he had good likeness for the giant robot. He couldn’t wait for the final bell so he could go looking for him? It? Maybe it was she? Ehh, Nah. He dismissed the thought the robot hadn’t looked like a she and that was assuming robots had genders at all. Why was it that everything had to have a gender? Maybe it was because it was rude to call people ‘its’.
Peter yawned. Captain America had moved on from dangerous pyrotechnics and on to ‘how great education is’. Come to think about it did the Captain even have any formal education? Peter didn’t think so, that seemed a little hypocritical of him. Maybe there was a hidden message there: ‘Get your education kids because if you don’t you’ll be stuck making lame videos with even worse editing when you leave the army’.
Whispers from behind him caught his attention. Preston, Rockwell’s resident bully was talking about that man from the diner, the one who had also seen the giant metal man (woman? He really needed to figure this out. Maybe he could ask the Giant). Anyway, Peter was fairly sure the man’s name was Stan or Mr Lee or Stanley? Preston and his cronies were coming up with ridiculous theories on what they thought Mr Lee saw. Stupid the lot of them. Big, beefy knuckleheads all three of them, they hadn’t a clue what they were talking about. Government conspiracies and satellites. Rubbish.
Crony no. 1 was animatedly whispering about how Mr Lee’s boat had been eaten. As if Giant (the name was a little un-creative but would have to do until he figured out the pronoun situation) would have gone near the thing, it had been made of wood.
His scoff must have been louder than he thought as he had managed to attract the attention of all three boys, Shit. it was never a good thing to have the attention of any one of the bullies let alone all three of them.
“What would you know about it, Poindexter?”
“Poindexter?” Peter queried, it wasn’t the worst thing he’d been called. He was a little surprised such an obscure and thought out insult had just come from Preston of all people, maybe he had been body-snatched. “You sure you know what that means?” It probably wasn’t the best idea, riling up the larger boy.
Preston screwed up his face, thinking or he might be taking a shit, Peter couldn’t tell. Whatever he was doing it looked painful. ”Uh, yeah! It means… it means…”
Peter raised an eyebrow, again not the smartest move.
Preston glared at him. “It means stupid people. Like you!” he sneered triumphantly.
Poindexter does not, in fact, mean ‘stupid people. It means:
Poindexter
/ˈpɔɪndɛkstə/
Noun INFORMAL•US
- a boringly studious and socially inept person.
While Peter wouldn’t really describe himself as ‘socially inept’ (he grew up in New York, you didn’t survive there very long if you don’t have some street smarts). But he would be boring in the eyes of the jocks that made up 80% of the school population. He was a nerd and proud of it. He thought of MJ and Ned and the way she affectionately called them all 'losers'. God, he missed them.
Peter decided that it wasn’t in his best interests to point out the true meaning of the word, he might finally push them into giving him a ‘swirly’. Yes, it was 2015 people and ‘swirlies’ are still a thing, at least in the small town of Rockwell. For those more mature people who grew up in polite society, a 'swirly'! is the act of getting your head flushed down a toilet, and Peter, thus far, had managed to avoid them.
“Ahh, right. Just checking you didn’t think it was a breed of dog or something. That would have been embarrassing.” Peter smirked. He had turned back to the front of the class so Preston and his cronies wouldn’t see.
“Shut up, you little spaz!”
Peter went to turn around again but caught Mrs Hyde eye as he did so. His mouth was open with a retort ready on his tongue.
“Hem, hem.” she tutted. She really couldn’t be more like Umbridge if she tried. “ There will be no talking in my class. Peter, if you do not wish to serve a detention with me this afternoon I suggest you pay attention.”
Peter dreaded finding out what detention with Mrs Hyde would look like, he didn’t want to find out if she really did have a blood quill hidden in her desk. Preston and his gang, all of whom had jumped and hurried to look busy the moment Mrs Hyde turned her piercing gaze on them were still trying to look unbelievably innocent. Evidently, they'd had the privilege of attending Mrs Hyde's detention before, probably more than once.
Cautiously he turned back to the projector screen, The Captain was now singing praises for hot lunches. He seriously doubted he would still be singing the same tune if he had ever eaten in a high school cafeteria.
Peter sighed, it was going to be a long day, he thought as he sank down in his seat.
Tony was probably going to regret this. So far no footage of his previous cafe visit had made it online yet and hopefully, it would stay that way. But he was testing fate showing his face again so soon, but Pepper made it clear that he needed to apologise to the wait staff for causing a scene like that. It was either this or the couch for a week and this was his preferred option. Turns out no matter how much money one spends on a couch, it’ll still leave you with a crick in the neck and an aching back.
He entered the cafe with his usual devil may care attitude, swaggering up to the bar. To his surprise, Peter’s aunt is running the bar. He would’ve thought that she would have been given the day off after yesterday.
“So,” he began. “What is a woman like you doing bussing tables? No offence but you don’t seem to look the type?”
“Really?” she snapped, sending him an icy glare. Apparently, she didn’t have a good night last night, shit. “and, pray tell, what is the type?” she raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to misstep.
“Hey! Hey. No. Sorry, that came out wrong. I just meant you look overqualified that’s all. You just look educated?” Tony raised his hands in the universal surrender signal. It was true too, the woman didn’t seem like the usual small-town waitress. She was smart and was very clearly a no-nonsense kind of gal, who didn’t put up with any bullshit. She reminded him a lot of Pepper actually.
“Nice save there, Mr Stark. Particularly since I have the right to refuse service to anyone.” she nods to a large sign over her shoulder, looking pointedly at him.
“Heh, yeah, about that… I’m sorry about yesterday. I’m not usually like that… well not like that anymore anyway. Believe it or not, I used to be a lot worse. My wife, she… uh… domesticated me you could say.”
Then something she said clicked. “Did Peter tell you? About who I am? He wasn’t supposed to… I mean, it’s not exactly a secret but I don’t exactly want to be found…” He rubbed his neck nervously.
“Relax, Mr Stark. Believe it or not, I don’t care. I have much more important things to do rather than spend every waking moment obsessing over you. I also am a New Yorker, born and bred, Peter has had your poster on his wall since before he saw that press conference of yours. I knew who you were the first time you walked through that door. I, unlike some, practice discretion. I thought you were getting the hang of it up until yesterday,” she raised an eyebrow at him.
“Hey! That’s not fair. I’d like to see you be discreet about removing a large, sharp, pointy… THING from your trousers,” Tony scowled, indignant.
May laughed, “You could always try wearing skirts. More room,” she suggested, sniggering.
Tony gave her a dark look, reminding her that she was teasing one of the most powerful men in the world and he was joking back. It struck her as a tad surreal.
“Sorry. I know yesterday wasn’t your fault. Peter, he’s lonely out here. He’s never been the best at making friends and he’s just too smart for the kids out here. I’m not saying he’s a mean kid, not at all, he never shows off or anything, he’s just miles and miles ahead of everyone out here. We’ve only moved to Maine two months ago so he misses his friends back in the city…” May realised she was rambling. She glanced at the billionaire, looking for any sign of boredom and disinterest she was expecting, she doubted the man wanted to hear about this. Instead, the billionaire sat intrigued, politely waiting for her to continue. “He wants to be an engineer just like you, you know, or failing that; a scientist like his parents. He’s got a couple more years but I reckon there will be a lot of upset when he has to choose between physics and biology.”
Tony hummed in agreement. His father had never given him a choice when it came to school or many other aspects of his life so he could appreciate how hard it could be to give up a subject you love. “What about chemistry?”
“Oh, you couldn’t pay him to drop chemistry, not for all the money in the world. Hell would freeze over first.”
“Really?” Tony smiled inwardly thinking about the adorable little dork he met just a day before. “How old is Peter, anyway? I would have said ten, but I’m starting to think older.”
“Thirteen, I can hardly believe it myself. He’s so tiny. He should start shooting up any day now, though, until then I remain convinced he has a hollow leg with the amount of food that kid eats.”
They both laugh at that. Tony glanced at his watch, the most expensive thing on him by far, and saw the time. He needed to get going, he’d had an unusual number of calls this morning and last night about various metal items receiving damage during the night, one man even claiming something had eaten his grain silo.
He was saved excusing himself by the wackjob who scared Peter yesterday, coming up behind him and interrupting their conversation. “Hey, Potts! I got something to show you.”
“Hi, and you are?” May cut in, unhappy with the man’s frankly appalling manners.
“Sorry, miss. Name’s Stan Lee. You mind if I borrow Howard?”
May looked confused for a second before she caught Tony’s pointed look that said ‘that’s me’. She sent one back that she hoped conveyed, ‘I know that he has his arm around your shoulder, who else would he be talking about?’ “Mr Potts hardly needs my permission, Mr Lee. Perhaps you should ask him, as I’m sure he has many important things to be getting on with today.” She turned to Tony, smiling sincerely, “Thanks for dropping by. Don’t worry about yesterday it was by far the most exciting thing that’s happened since we moved out here. Anyway, I gotta get back to work. It was since chatting with you if you ever need more excitement you know where to find us,” and with that, she gathered up Tony’s empty mug and left for the kitchen.
“Well?” Tony twisted round to face Mr Lee, “What’ve you got for me, Stan?”
A tractor waited for him just down the lane out towards the cornfields. It was so old, its rust makes it look like it’d grown a coat of fur. Tony couldn’t even tell you what colour the paint had once been with how little remained. He could only see the rear from where he was standing next to his classic chevy, just up the lane with Stan. The elderly man was rambling in his ear but he wasn’t paying any attention to him, too busy scanning the ancient machine for faults. He could see many things to fix but there were so many he didn’t even know where to start, with that amount of rust he could tell that almost all the pipes were cracked and leaking. This thing was a health hazard, it was high time it died. He rummaged round in his trailer digging out his tool kit- this was going to take him a while.
Hauling his kit, he took off down the lane, seeing more issues with every step. He was only a few metres away when he saw the cause of death; there was a large chunk missing from the bonnet of the tractor. Almost half of the casing and almost a third of the engine was gone. He glanced around looking for the parts that belonged to the missing piece but couldn’t see them anywhere. He looked inquisitively at Floyd, the owner of this beast. He had done work for Floyd before with him owning the many various machines that came with running a farm. Never, however, on this monstrosity. If he had known Floyd was still using something as antiquated as this he would have found a way to buy him a new one. He may not be a playboy or a superhero anymore but he was still a billionaire philanthropist. Floyd just shrugged. Stan popped up from behind him still rambling excitedly guestering at the tractor. “See? I told them, eh? This was the same thing that I saw off the coast. I swear it. See,” he waved madly at the missing chunk. “Space invaders! Back for round two, you’ll see.”
“Stan. Stop talking.” Tony held up a hand to silence him. The man’s endless stream of nonsense had finally gotten on his nerves. He opened and shut his mouth in protest, doing a very good impression of a gormless fish. He leveled the gauping man with a glare. “No. Zip it.” He turned to Stan, “Floyd, what the hell happened to this thing?”
“Not a clue, son. Moved her outta my barn yesterday, was going to be towing her down to see a collector this morning. She’s an old gal as you can see. Antique. Been on this here farm since the harvest of ‘56, my old man bought her new. I remember that year, we had the juiciest corn in the county. It was the best harvest we’d had since the war. My old man caught me out in that there barn tumbling in the hay with Lucinda. Gave me a whopping like I’d never known. Was worth it though, prettiest bird in town, my Lucinda.” He trailed off lost in the memories of his youth.
Tony continued to circle the tractor, finishing his assessment. Even as an antique it wouldn’t be worth all that much, the engine could have been stripped for parts but not a lot else with all the rust damage. “Where is the rest of it? The parts from here?” He asked, peering closely at the hole. It looked as if someone had just scooped it out, cutting through the metal like it was butter.
“Beats me,” Floyd responded, “found her like this just after dawn. Not sure what to do with her now.”
“Well…” Tony started rubbing his neck, “I can take her off your hands. I could give you… a grand? How ‘bout it?” He looked up and saw both Stan and Ernie looking at him with their eyebrows in their hair, an impressive feat considering both mens’ receding hairlines. Oops. Maybe that was a bit high for half a tonne of rust. Even after two years he was still trying to learn the working class money scale, being a billionaire he forgets how much money is worth to most people.
Floyd regained his wits long enough to stammer out a response. “Yeah, Yeah sure. Uh… thank you.” Both men obviously hadn’t thought it was worth even half that much.
“It’s fine. Your gonna have to replace the old beast… and it's the least I can do.” Tony shrugged, “Besides who knows how much I’ll get selling that engine. You can get quite a bit if you know the right people. It’s all about who you know, gentlemen,” he smirked smugly, trying to smooth over his blunder. He had never met anyone with even the slightest need nor want of antique tractor parts, but they didn’t need to know that. He could figure it out easily enough, maybe the kid will want them. He had a sudden vision of SPYDER the size of a car and suppressed a shudder. That was a terrifying thought.
With Stan’s help, they had the beast hooked up to his 1961 chevy pickup in no time. His chevy was a bit of a frankenstein truck not that she looked it. He'd found it in the impound lot and had done it up with parts he rescued from the junkyard. A lot of rust remover and a lick of paint later and it was a new vehicle. He had put some improvements in; done up the engine- he got the same noise whilst using a third of the petrol- she also has four times the horsepower of a classic chevy. He was rather proud himself.
“Thanks again for the scrap, Stan. Sorry, I can’t give you more,” he called as he started his truck. ”Still don’t know what could have done this.”
Stan chuckled and said, “I told you what did this.”
“Oh yeah, Strange invaders,” he rolled his eyes. “Give me a ring if the rest of her turns up.”
Stan walked to his window, leaning in. “Thanks for believing me. I really did call the government. They're sending someone to take care of the whole thing.”
“Jeez, Stan. You really are crazy. I mean, who in the hell would the government send?” Him, probably. If they knew where to find him, which they probably did and were just being polite and waiting for him to step in. He wouldn’t. He made his wife a promise and he was gonna keep it.
“Thaddeus Ross, United States Government and liaison to the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division.”
The slam of his rental car’s door punctuated his declaration, effectively announcing his arrival. A man who’d only introduced himself as Marv the foreman was waiting for him.
“What happened here?” He snapped. He had been a general in the United States Army, he wasn’t supposed to be doing grunt work. He didn’t have time to investigate every 084 that S.H.I.E.L.D threw his way. They had taken to giving him the worst assignments to punish him, usually meaning he got sent to backwater places like this. It wasn’t his fault Tony Stark had no backbone.
Thaddeus Ross had worked for S.H.I.E.L.D ever since the government decided it wanted nothing more to do with him after the public found out about the Raft, his top-secret containment facility (prison) for the enhanced. Apparently it was "inhumane" and "stripped them of their human rights". If they were still human they would get their rights and they wouldn’t be in this situation. But getting rid of him was easier said than done, not that they hadn’t tried. First, they had him transferred out of positions with power and once they thought he had no sway they had courtmarshaled him. As a ‘sorry we had you forcibly removed and then ruined your reputation’ gift the government had placed him with S.H.I.E.L.D much to their dismay, he apparently kept chasing away Avengers. The only reason he even got this job was due to the few favours (blackmail) he had managed.
Glancing around he surveyed the damage before turning his glare on the foreman.
“Dunno. Sometimes when the weather is bad we’ll have a line snapped, sure. But…” Marv rubbed his neck nervously.
“Must have been one hell of a storm.” Ross snapped dismissively, even an idiot could see this wasn’t weather damage but then this idiot didn’t look like he had even graduated from the local high school.
“Uhh… Sir, while we did have a storm just last week, for a tower to get all twisted up like that? If I didn’t know any better I’d say it was...” Marv flapped his hands, looking for the right word to describe just what had been done to the power station, “Well, for lack of a better word, bitten off, sir.”
Eaten? Really. This one had a great imagination. “And what, pray tell, do you think bit it?” Ross sneered, making his disdain clear.
“I don’t know, sir, but I’d say some kind of enormous beast,” the foreman stuttered.
Nodding sarcastically, the ex-general got out his notebook and started taking notes. “Ginormous beast… yeah ok.” He looked up, “What do you reckon, escaped gorilla?” his face twisted into an ugly demeaning smile.
“Uh, what department did you say you were from again?” This wasn’t what Marv had been expecting when he was told someone from the government was coming down to survey the damage.
Ross spun around glaring at him again. “ Frankly, I am not at liberty to reveal the particulars of the agency I work for…” his eyes narrowed as he continued to glare at the foreman, “and all that it implies.” He knew that there wasn’t much of a point in scaring the man but he was getting fed up with his idiotic, useless answers. Besides if he really wanted info on S.H.I.E.L.D all it would take was a few well-worded google searches. S.H.I.E.L.D’s IT experts were still working on erasing them from the internet years after Black Widow decided to dump their servers.
“You mean like,” Marv’s voice dropped to a hushed whisper, “national security?” he asked conspiratorially.
Ross sighed heavily. It was going to be a long day. Taking a deep breath he started again, “Let's put it this way. Once in a while, things happen…” he waves his hands meaningfully, “...that can't be rationalized in a conventional way. People wanna know that their government has a response. I am that response. So were there any witnesses?” He flashed the foreman a cold smile, stepping aside so he could lead the way.
“Well, sir, if you’ll just follow me.” Marv cautiously stepped around the intimidating ex-general leading him to his ute, pulling out half a weapon.
Interesting. He snatches the item from the other man. A BB gun, he was looking for a child. He wipes some dirt and grime off of the handle there was something written there; Pet Pa? Hmmm.
“We found this in the clearing to the south. Less than a hundred feet from the station. May not mean anything, kids round here use these woods all the time, they’re just play’n. So. United States Government, huh? Guess that means something big’s happening here, eh?”
Ross drags a hand down his face before turning to the other man. “No, Marv.” A cold sarcastic smile plastered on his face, “Big things happen in big places. And the sooner I fill out my reports, the sooner I can get back to them.”
With that done he marched off to his car clambering in absentmindedly. “Ginormous beast. Ha. yeah right.” muttering to himself he reaches over to chuck the crushed BB gun on his passenger seat. The sound of plastic hitting gravel snaps him out of his thoughts. A very unmanly sound escapes his throat as he scrambles back out of the vehicle. The entire left door was missing. Vanished. Poof. Gone. Nada. Even the passenger seat was gone, leaving nothing but twisted sharp edges and crushed electronics.
He clambers back up the slope to the wrecked station, collaring Marv and dragging him back to the road. “Hurry up! I need a witness. It’s-” He stops dead at the edge of the road. “It was here. It was right here! What? Where the hell did it go?!”
Marv just shrugs at him.
“It-It was like a big… Chomp out of the side of my car. It was right here?!”
“Uhh… what are we looking at, Mr Ross?” Marv ventures cautiously as the other man splutters.
Ross seemed to regain his wits glancing up the neglected road. “Something big, Marv. Something Big.”