Taking Out The Trash
The effect he caused was cataclysmic. People started stumbling over each other, backing up, running forward. It was absolute chaos, and Thor seemed to revel in it all.
With a booming laugh, he strode toward the remnants of the Peter Pile, arms spread enthusiastically.
“PARKERSON!” he bellowed.
There was no time to brace. Thor intercepted Peter with the momentum of an armored tank, and without a word, Peter was yanked off his feet and enveloped in a bone-crushing, manly hug.
“Eep.” The air left his lungs with a great whoosh! and he swore he felt his newly-healed ribs creak. The god of thunder shook him like Raggedy Anne once, twice, before setting him down so forcefully Peter nearly face-planted again.
"Whoa, whoa," he muttered, and received a vigorous thump on the back in response.
“Well met, young man! I would have greeted you sooner, but I didn’t wish to interrupt the others. What was that, a wrestling game of some sort?”
”More like body-slamming,” Peter muttered. "With a sprinkling of assault."
MJ snorted.
Thor frowned. ”What was that?”
”Never mind.”
"Well, we have similar greetings on Asgard. I would love to partake in the future."
Christ Lord, no.
Thor just grinned. “Anyway, I am thrilled to see you, young Parkerson. I am recently returned from my home, Asgard, and I come bearing joyous news: my brother Loki is alive!”
”That’s fantastic!” Peter said enthusiastically, ignoring Clint's dubious expression. What could he say: Thor’s energy was contagious.
”Yes, indeed. Mind you, I believe this to be the second or third time this decade, but every time is just as good, don't you think?”
As Peter nodded along, the ding of the elevator reaching the back of his consciousness. A scowling, battered Flash Thompson stepped out, trailed by an equally irritated-looking Mr. Harrington.
”And who are these mortals?” Thor boomed, waving vaguely in the team’s general direction, gauntleted hand missing Ned's face by mere centimeters.
Ned staggered, awestruck, like, Dude, an Avenger almost hit me. So cool.
“My school,” Peter mumbled. He braced himself as he said so, and honestly, who could blame him? The last time that confession left his mouth, half the Avenger's roster dropped onto him like divine retribution raining from sky.
Thankfully, nothing happened. Thor nodded, then pointed across the room. ”And you are all in some sort of band of brothers and sisters?"
"Yeah, we're a team for a...a scholarly activity, I guess."
"Fascinating! This one as well?"
Everyone turned to find Flash silently trying to nudge his way to the front, who stopped with a flinch when he realized he was the target of Thor's question.
”Yeah. Him, too.”
”Flash Thompson,” Flash corrected, like it would make any difference to Thor.
Out of the corner of his eye, Peter noticed Steve tugging on Natasha’s arm and gesturing in Flash's direction, to which she scowled fiercely and rattled off a string of whispered Russian in his ear. When Steve’s eyes hardened, Bucky bent in to catch a word.
"And you are the head of this troupe?" Thor directed his attention to Mr. Harrington.
"Erm, yes. I am. The teacher. I'm the teacher."
With an equally dark frown, Bucky stretched out his arm and pulled Wanda into the little Russian circle.
How many Avengers know Russian? Peter thought to himself. I want to know Russian. Also, what the hell are they doing?
Over on his other side, Clint darted small, discreet signs at Sam, and Peter caught F-L-A-S-H signed somewhere in the middle of his sentence. Sam's lip curled, and he turned to Scott and Shuri.
In the matter of a few, short seconds, almost every Avenger had a cold, pissed off glare trained on Flash.
Uh oh, Peter thought.
Oblivious, Thor beamed at Flash like an Immortal-All-Powerful-Golden-Retriever, and Flash seemed to rejuvenate under the attention. He puffed out his chest and managed to look kind of proud despite the dust from the boxing ring still smeared across his button-down.
His little smirk dropped like rock when the god boomed, “Is ‘Thomp’ a common first name on Midgard?”
”Wha–wait, what?”
“You introduced yourself as Flash, son of Thomp. Is ‘Thomp’ a common first name on Midgard?”
“No, no!” Flash shook his head in horror. “My father’s name isn’t ‘Thomp’. My last name is ‘Thompson.’”
”Son of Thomp.”
”Thompson!”
”I do not understand. Thomp is a perfectly noble name,” Thor informed Flash, clapping him on the shoulder. “Fit for only the best...” he looked at Flash’s dirty button-down, “streetsweepers. Or waste-haulers.”
Kids started snickering at Thor’s open, honestly bemused expression contrasted with Flash’s horrified gape.
”Yes, only the mightiest of waste-haulers!” Thor assured Flash.
“Don’t try to fight it,” Sam said, though his voice sounded stiff, frozen. Freeze dried, almost, like being courteous to Flash was simply a facade. “He won’t stop calling me ‘son of Wil’ no matter how hard I try. Apparently I’ll make a great bird-keeper.”
Oh god, Peter thought, taking a moment to document the room.
It was disaster point after disaster point. Sam’s murderous expression. The red curling from Wanda’s fingers. Cap thoughtfully thumbing his No. 2 pencil like a razor-blade.
What did Nat and Clint tell them?
Hadn’t it been enough for them to ambush him from the ceiling, or plop an oblivious god of thunder on top of his field trip?
When the group started up again, Thor walked with one huge, muscular arm around Flash, regaling him with stories of the greatest decays and wastes he had seen.
“It was fantastic!” Thor bellowed. “Ymir decayed, and the Nine Worlds were created. Even the maggots became dwarves. You would be right at home.”
Flash looked about ready to blow up. Paired with the dirt smeared on his shirt, a lovely bruise the size of Natasha’s fist bloomed on his cheek in a lovely mosaic of yellows and blacks.
MJ sidled up to Peter with Ned close behind. “You good?”
”Hmm?”
”You just got slammed by the AVENGERS!” Ned squealed. Peter had no more energy to calm him down. “That looked so painful!”
”You sound excited for some reason,” Peter noticed. Man, his poor ribs were toast. Disintegrated. Shattered beyond repair.
Not really. But they still hurt.
”Sorry, dude,” Ned sighed. “You seem okay? Are you okay?”
”Yeah—“
”I love how Thor’s calling Flash a piece of garbage,” MJ pointed out, looking more satisfied than Peter had even seen her look. "We should make it a rebrand."
Peter nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sam waving him over. He made his way over with his friends tagging along. The moment Ned and MJ stepped into sight, the glares turned to them.
MJ held her head high while, in contrast, Ned shrank back.
”Guys,” Peter sighed to the Avengers. “They’re fine.”
They relented, moving aside to let all three of them pass.
Peter watched, a little bit delirious. This had gotten so out of control he couldn’t keep track of it.
First, Flash was a jerk. That was normal. Then he was slightly more of a jerk. Also completely normal.
Then Peter was stressing over a school trip. Slightly less normal. Then, Clint was slamming him into the floor, Natasha was making him punch stuff, Shuri was showing him tech, Bucky was shooting up crap, half the Avengers were jumping on top of him, and Thor arrived.
That wasn’t unusual or weird or crazy or mindblowing or any other adjectives that would’ve gotten him ten points in decathlon practice. This was Parker Luck in its purest form. Plain and simple.
”Umm, Pete?” Ned nudged him and he snapped back to reality.
Shit. Ahead of them, Clint signed rapid-fire at the rest of the Avengers, and everyone was nodding along. Clint pointed at Bucky and signed something. Bucky nodded and peeled off seconds later, heading for the elevators.
”Uh,” Peter hesitated, jogging to keep up and feeling the way he did whenever he watched a silent movie. “What...?
Clint ignored him. Motioning at Nat, he signed A-C and then made a beckoning motion, followed by a waving motion with his fingers. She split off next.
Peter recognized that sign. It meant “air conditioning” and it was what Clint used as a shortcut for “ceiling vents.”
He did the same with almost all the Avengers, each one peeling off to do some unknown task.
To Sam: Peter caught “left”, “stop”, “catch”
To Wanda: “blast” (that didn’t bode well)
To Scott: “groin,” “window,” “fist bump”
Wait, no. That was just a fist bump.
With each Avenger that left, Peter’s blood went a little colder. Finally, only Clint and Cap were left, signing back and forth rapid-fire, (boy-talk-friend-murder-convince-no, Clint) ignoring Peter, MJ, and Ned altogether.
”Hey,” Peter tried, raising his hand a little. The two blonde Avengers ignored him. “HEY!”
They turned.
”What the hell are you guys doing?”
Clint just winked at him impishly and grinned as he reached over and ruffled Peter's hair.