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There were many things Peter Parker-Stark could handle. Supervillains. Midterms. Awkward hugs from Mr. Harrington. But on this fateful evening, in the glorious Stark Tower penthouse, Peter was losing to a far greater enemy: his own laundry pile.
It started with a simple groan.
“Ughhh…”
Pepper Potts-Stark froze mid-email draft at the kitchen counter. She tilted her head, sharp as a hawk. Tony Stark, lounging with his tablet and wearing glasses that made him look like he was actually working, perked up at once.
“You hear that?” Pepper whispered.
Tony lowered the tablet. “Kid groaned. Low volume. About a seven out of ten on the Parker Scale. Could be hunger. Could be heartbreak. Or—” he put on his Serious Genius Face, “—a Lego accident. Those hurt like hell.”
The groan turned into a whiny noise, echoing faintly down the hall.
“Ughhhh… why… why meeee?”
Pepper immediately shoved her tablet aside and stood. “That’s distress.”
“Agreed.” Tony shot up, already snapping his fingers for FRIDAY. “Track our kid. What’s the situation?”
FRIDAY’s voice came smoothly. “Location: Peter’s room. Heart rate elevated, respiration shallow. No enemies detected. Unless you count fabric.”
“Fabric?” Pepper frowned.
“Fabric?” Tony echoed, paling.
And then came the cry that made their blood run cold:
“Daaaad! Mooom! I’m— I’m trapped! Send help!”
Tony dropped his tablet. “He’s trapped!”
Pepper gasped. “Oh my god!”
They sprinted.
The door burst open with all the urgency of an Avengers-level crisis. What they found was—well.
Peter. Their son. Their sixteen-year-old, adopted yet loved the same like he was born from them, occasionally overdramatic genius.
Currently buried under what looked like half his wardrobe.
Shirts, hoodies, jeans, a rogue sock dangling from his ear. Only the faint outline of his flailing arms and the top of his curls could be seen under the mountain of fabric.
“Help!” Peter whimpered. “I can’t— I can’t feel my legs!”
Tony’s face went white. “Pep! He can’t feel his legs!”
Pepper pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh my god, honey—”
“Wait,” Tony said, leaning in closer, hands trembling like he was about to perform emergency surgery. “Buddy, do you mean you literally can’t feel your legs, or is this, like, a ‘my clothes are heavy and I’m being dramatic’ situation?”
Peter’s muffled voice shot out from under a pile of hoodies: “Both!”
“Both,” Tony repeated grimly. “We’re losing him!”
Without hesitation, Pepper and Tony leapt into action.
Pepper began frantically pulling clothes away. “Peter, honey, breathe! Mommy’s here!”
Tony dropped to his knees, tossing t-shirts and socks aside like live grenades. “Stay with me, kid. Don’t you dare close your eyes.”
Peter sniffled dramatically. “I was just… I was just trying to organize my closet, and then it fell… it all fell…”
“Shh.” Tony patted his son’s hair through the fabric pile. “Don’t talk. Save your strength.”
“I’m not gonna make it…”
Pepper gasped in horror. “Don’t say that!”
“You are gonna make it,” Tony barked, practically glaring at the laundry like it had personally betrayed him. “No son of mine goes out because of a dirty socks avalanche.”
Unfortunately for the Starks, their shouting had attracted an audience.
Thor was the first to poke his head in. “What peril has befallen young Stark? Shall I summon Mjolnir?”
“Clothes!” Tony snapped. “We’ve got a code: Laundry Collapse.”
Natasha appeared behind him, one eyebrow arched so high it nearly left her forehead. Clint leaned over her shoulder, holding a sandwich. Steve wandered up with a coffee. And finally, Sam strolled in like this was prime-time entertainment.
The sight that greeted them?
Tony and Pepper on their knees, frantically digging their teenage son out of a pile of laundry while Peter whined pitifully.
Natasha blinked. “…You’re kidding me.”
“He’s suffocating!” Tony yelled back.
“No, I’m not —” Peter coughed dramatically, which made Pepper panic and pull harder at the clothes.
“Oh my god!” she cried. “Tony, his airways!”
“Cover me,” Tony barked. He shoved aside a pair of jeans and pulled Peter’s face free. “Breathe, kid! Breathe!”
Peter gasped loudly, dragging in a breath as if he’d just been rescued from drowning. “Fresh… air…”
Pepper kissed his forehead in relief. “Oh, sweetie. You scared us.”
The Avengers stared, absolutely dumbfounded.
“Are they serious?” Sam muttered.
Clint took a bite of his sandwich. “I think so. That’s the scary part.”
Thor frowned. “In my homeland, warriors face avalanches of stone and snow. Young Parker braves… cotton.”
Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose. “Unbelievable.”
Finally free from his cotton captors, Peter flopped against Pepper dramatically.
“Mom… I thought I was gonna die.”
Pepper stroked his curls. “But you didn’t. You’re safe now.”
Tony crouched beside them, nodding firmly. “You put up a good fight, kid. Brave. Strong. Ten out of ten.”
Peter sniffled, eyes big and watery. “I think I saw my life flash before my eyes. It was just me… and math homework…”
Pepper gasped. “Traumatic.”
“Downright cruel,” Tony agreed, glaring at the laundry pile like it was a sworn enemy.
Natasha finally spoke up, voice dry as dust. “You all realize he was buried under clothes, not rubble, right?”
Peter gasped like she’d just insulted his honor. “Clothes are heavier than rubble when there’s enough of them! Science says so!”
“No, it doesn’t,” Bruce said mildly, sipping his coffee.
“Science says so,” Tony immediately backed Peter up. “Banner, don’t argue with the near-dead.”
Bruce’s face: Are you kidding me.
By now, the penthouse was a full-blown drama stage.
Pepper wrapped Peter in a blanket as if he’d just survived an arctic expedition. Tony started lecturing the laundry pile like it had personally offended him.
“You listen to me, you ungrateful pile of fabric,” Tony wagged a finger at it. “You don’t get to attack my kid and walk away. I’m upgrading him to auto-fold tech. Consider yourself obsolete.”
Sam leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Second most,” Clint corrected. “Remember when Thor tried to microwave Pop-Tarts?”
Thor looked deeply offended. “They were frozen solid!”
Peter groaned, curling into Pepper. “Please… don’t let Dad build a robot to fold my clothes. It’ll kill me next time.”
Pepper kissed his head again. “Shh, don’t think about it.”
Tony put a hand on his chest, dead serious. “Over my dead body.”
The Avengers just stared, utterly dumbfounded by the spectacle of billionaire geniuses treating a laundry mishap like a near-death experience.
Eventually, Peter’s dramatic sobbing dwindled into sniffles. His head was tucked safely into Pepper’s shoulder, Tony hovering like an overprotective hawk.
Pepper murmured soothing things, stroking his curls. Tony whispered promises about inventing better closet systems. And Peter, ever the dramatic teenager, whispered back:
“I think… I’ll need therapy for this.”
Pepper didn’t even blink. “We’ll book you an appointment tomorrow, honey.”
Natasha muttered under her breath. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Bruce sighed, sipping his coffee again. “This family is… something else.”
Clint and Sam exchanged a look.
“Next time,” Clint whispered, “we’re stealing his cookies again. This was funnier.”
“Agreed,” Sam smirked.
And in the middle of it all, Peter Parker—safe, warm, and milking the drama for all it was worth—gave the faintest little smug smile against his mom’s shoulder.
Because if you couldn’t be Spider-Man and dramatic at the same time, what was even the point?
******************************
It was the last day of summer. The Stark penthouse was unusually quiet, a rare moment of peace that every Avenger present was suspicious of.
“Too quiet,” Natasha muttered, sipping her tea on the Stark common room sofa. “That kid is somewhere plotting.”
Sam stretched out on the armchair. “Relax, Romanoff. He’s probably doing something innocent. Summer homework or whatever.”
Steve raised a brow. “Summer homework? He’s sixteen. He should’ve finished that weeks ago.”
Natasha smirked. “You underestimate teenage procrastination.”
Somewhere down the hall, muffled typing, then a clunk of books being dropped. The faint sound of Peter muttering to himself carried over.
“ Ughhhh ..”
Clint peeked over his comic book. “Oh no. I recognize that sound. That’s the ‘I waited until the last minute’ sound. My kids do it every September.”
The Avengers shrugged. Normal teenage problem. Nothing world-ending.
They had no idea how wrong they were.
Inside his room, Peter sat at his desk surrounded by the aftermath of procrastination: half-empty Red Bull cans, highlighters without caps, sticky notes with “ASK NED” scribbled all over, and a very judgmental pile of untouched math worksheets.
He was almost halfway through his history essay—“The Socioeconomic Impact of Early Industrialization.” He had at least fifteen tabs open: dictionary.com, Wikipedia, JSTOR (that Tony had sneakily gotten him premium access to), and YouTube tutorials titled “Industrial Revolution for Dummies!!!”
He was in the flow. He was working .
And then.
The little Wi-Fi icon blinked. Froze.
“No Internet Connection.”
Peter stared. Blinked once. Twice. Hit refresh. Hit it again. Slammed the trackpad. Nothing.
“…No.” His voice cracked. “No no no no no no no—”
And then it happened.
“NOOOOOOO!” Peter howled, falling backwards off his chair like someone had stabbed him through the heart.
In the common room, the Avengers jolted upright.
“What in God’s name was that?” Sam said.
“That,” Natasha deadpanned, “was the sound of Stark’s kid hitting rock bottom.”
Steve frowned. “We should check—”
Before he could finish, the door to Peter’s room flung open.
The boy stumbled out, laptop clutched to his chest, face pale and stricken. His eyes were wild, his breathing ragged. He dropped to his knees in the middle of the living room like a war widow in a tragic opera.
“THE WI-FI IS DEAD!” Peter bellowed.
The Avengers froze.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me,” Clint muttered.
Before anyone else could react, Pepper practically teleported to her son’s side.
“Oh my god, Peter!” she cried, crouching next to him. “What happened? Are you hurt? Where does it hurt?”
“In my soul!” Peter wailed. “The Wi-Fi’s gone! My tabs! My homework! It’s gone, all gone!”
Tony, hair sticking up from a nap on the couch, stumbled over. “What’s this about Wi-Fi? FRIDAY! Report!”
FRIDAY’s calm voice answered.
‘Connection unavailable. Router offline .’
Tony clutched his chest like he’d just been shot. “Router offline?! Oh my god.” He dropped to his knees beside Peter. “Kid, stay with me. Don’t you give up on me.”
“Dad, I can’t—” Peter gasped, clutching his laptop tighter. “I had sources! JSTOR! Even dictionary.com! Do you know how long it takes to load JSTOR?!”
Pepper stroked his hair. “Baby, it’s okay. Breathe, you’re okay.”
The Avengers stared in disbelief.
Sam whispered, “Are they seriously acting like he’s dying?”
Natasha didn’t blink. “Yes.”
Peter threw his head back dramatically, tears threatening to fall. “I’m ruined! MIT will reject me. I’ll be a disgrace to this family. Aunt May’s going to haunt me from beyond the ocean, yelling: ‘I told you to do your homework in July!’”
He collapsed against Tony’s chest like a fainting damsel.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” he whimpered. “I failed you.”
Tony patted his back frantically. “Don’t you dare say that. You’ve never failed me. You’re perfect, kid. Perfect!”
Steve pinched his nose. “I fought an actual world war for this?”
Clint whispered to Bucky, “This is worse than the time he had a meltdown over Pop-Tarts being out of stock.”
Pepper pulled Peter closer, rocking him like he was five. “Honey, we’ll fix it. I’ll call Stark IT right now.”
Sam blinked. “She’s about to call corporate tech support for a homework essay.”
“Of course she is,” Natasha said, sipping her tea.
Tony leapt up, whipping out his smartwatch. “Don’t worry, Underoos, Dad’s got this. FRIDAY, reroute power. We’re rebooting the whole system.”
‘Warning ,’ FRIDAY replied, ‘ this may disconnect— ’
“DO IT!” Tony barked, slamming buttons like he was defusing a bomb.
Peter clasped his hands like he was praying. “Please, Wi-Fi gods, please… I’ll never procrastinate again, I swear! I’ll do my homework on time next year!”
Sam coughed. “Sure, kid.”
Bucky muttered, “This family needs therapy.”
Thor, watching with interest, raised his goblet. “The boy fights valiantly against the cruel fates. Truly, he is worthy.”
Natasha rolled her eyes. “He’s fighting a router, not Thanos.”
“Both are formidable foes,” Thor replied gravely.
FRIDAY chimed. ‘ Router reboot successful. Connection restored .’
Peter froze. His eyes widened. His head whipped toward Tony. “It’s back?”
“It’s back,” Tony confirmed, deadly serious. “You’re online, kid.”
Peter shot to his feet, face glowing like he’d just been resurrected. “YES! I’M SAVED!”
He bolted back to his room, yelling, “NOBODY DISTURB ME UNLESS THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE OR THE EARTH IS ENDING!”
The door slammed.
The Avengers sat in silence.
Pepper exhaled shakily. “That was close.”
Tony collapsed back onto the couch. “Too close. I thought I was gonna lose him.”
Sam gawked. “You two seriously acted like he flatlined. Over Wi-Fi.”
“Because it mattered to him,” Pepper snapped, protective. “And if it matters to him, it matters to us.”
Natasha smirked. “You realize he’s still gonna procrastinate next year, right?”
“Shut up,” Tony muttered.
Muffled typing came from Peter’s room, followed by a shout: “DAD, WHAT’S AN ECONOMIC BOOM?”
Tony scrambled up. “I GOT YOU, KID!”
Pepper followed, calling, “Cite your sources, sweetheart!”
The Avengers exchanged long, horrified looks.
Bucky finally said it. “This family is insane.”
“Insane,” Steve agreed, rubbing his temples.
Thor raised his goblet high. “Insanely devoted! To House Stark, may their Wi-Fi never fall again!”
Sam groaned. “No, seriously. I need a drink.”
****************************************
The Avengers had gotten used to a certain background noise when they stayed at the Stark penthouse:
- Peter muttering to himself while doing homework.
- Tony yelling at Peter to stop using the plasma torch for "DIY science projects."
- Pepper’s calm-but-firm voice reminding both of them that dinner existed.
It was chaos, yes, but predictable chaos. The team had adapted.
This afternoon, the sun was shining, the air smelled faintly of Pepper’s expensive candles, and the Avengers were enjoying rare peace in the living room.
Steve was sketching quietly. Natasha read a book. Sam and Bucky were arguing about whether Die Hard counted as a Christmas movie.
That’s when Peter entered.
He was humming, bouncing along with youthful energy, wearing mismatched socks and sneakers he hadn’t tied properly. He carried a tray of juice boxes because “hydration is important, guys.”
Clint muttered, “He’s too happy. Something’s about to happen.”
Peter set the tray down with a flourish. “Juice delivery! Apple, grape, and—”
He spun dramatically on his heel… and fate struck.
One loose shoelace betrayed him.
He tripped, flailed like a tragic Shakespearean prince, and went down in slow motion.
“NOOOO!” Peter howled mid-fall, arms pinwheeling.
Thud.
Silence.
Peter lay on the floor, clutching his knee, eyes wide in shock.
Then came the sobbing.
“I—I tripped!” he hiccupped. “It hurts! Oh god, I think I broke my leg!” The Avengers gasped. Here comes the inevitable.
"Mom! Dad! HELP ME, I’M DYING!”
“…He tripped,” Bucky muttered flatly.
The reaction was immediate.
“PETER?!” Pepper’s voice rang out as she rushed from the kitchen, heels clicking like gunfire.
Tony stormed in right after, holding a screwdriver like it was a weapon. “What happened? Who touched him? WHO DO I HAVE TO KILL?”
Peter reached out pathetically. “Dad! I tripped—on my shoelace!”
He burst into louder sobs, dramatic tears spilling like a flood.
Pepper gasped. “Oh my god! Sweetheart, don’t move, you could make it worse!”
She dropped to her knees, cupping his face. “Where does it hurt? Can you feel your toes? Wiggle them for me!”
Tony was already scanning with his smartwatch. “FRIDAY, run a full-body scan! Priority: MY SON’S LEG!”
‘ Scanning ,’ FRIDAY replied.
The Avengers sat frozen.
Clint whispered to Natasha, “He literally just tripped.”
“I know,” Natasha said. “Let them have their crisis.”
Peter wailed like the world had ended. “Mom, Dad, I think—I think I’ll never walk again! Tell MIT I loved them!”
“Don’t you talk like that!” Tony snapped, near tears himself. “You’re going to MIT, you’re going to graduate, you’re gonna cure cancer, and you’re going to live to be at least 100, you hear me?!”
Pepper stroked his hair. “Shh, baby, you’re safe. Mommy’s here.”
Steve blinked slowly. “…Is this normal?”
“Unfortunately,” Sam muttered.
Bucky shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve seen men shot in battle cry less than this kid tripping on a shoelace.”
Thor leaned forward, fascinated. “The boy faces his mortality with such spirit. Truly a warrior’s heart.”
Natasha smirked. “Spirit? He’s crying because he fell three inches.”
FRIDAY beeped, as dry as her Irish tilt can.
‘ Results: mild bruise on left knee. No fracture, no sprain. Peter is physically unharmed .’
Pepper sighed in relief. “Oh thank god.”
Tony clasped Peter’s hand. “Hear that, kid? You’re gonna make it. You’re strong, like your old man.”
Peter sniffled dramatically. “Are you sure? What if it’s internal bleeding?”
Clint slapped a hand over his face. “This kid is killing me.”
Natasha deadpanned, “If he had internal bleeding, he wouldn’t be whining about it.”
Peter gasped. “Aunt Nat, that’s so mean! What if this is my origin story—‘Peter Parker: Crippled By Shoelaces’?”
Sam groaned. “No, man. Just no.”
Pepper pulled him gently into her lap like he was five years old. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Mommy’s not leaving your side until you’re better.”
Tony whipped out his phone. “I’m calling Dr. Cho. No chances.”
“Tony—” Pepper began.
“No! We’re not risking it! He sneezed once last week and I nearly called an ambulance!”
The Avengers gawked.
Bucky muttered, “This family needs to be studied.”
Steve rubbed his forehead. “I feel like I’m losing brain cells watching this.”
Thor, beaming, clapped his hands. “The devotion! The passion! I shall write an ode to the boy felled by shoelaces!”
Natasha didn’t even look up. “Please don’t.”
Peter sniffled, milking it for all it was worth. “Mom, can you make soup? I need soup. And a blanket. And maybe someone to carry me to my room.”
Pepper immediately nodded. “Of course, baby. I’ll make soup right now.”
“I’ll carry you,” Tony said, already scooping Peter up bridal style. “Nobody hurts my son—not even gravity.”
Peter curled into his dad’s chest, sighing dramatically. “You’re the best dad ever.”
Tony’s voice wobbled. “Don’t say stuff like that, kid, I’ll cry.”
The Avengers stared, jaws dropped, as Tony Stark—genius, billionaire, ex-playboy—carried his fifteen-year-old son down the hall like a wounded war hero.
Clint finally said let out what they all think.. “That… was the dramatic thing I’ve ever seen.”
Later, the Avengers gathered in the living room, still dazed.
From down the hall, they could hear Pepper fussing over Peter with soup, along with Tony hovering, reminding Peter to “rest that leg.” Peter in respond, moaning dramatically: “Mom, Dad, if I don’t make it, tell Spider-Man I loved him!”
Sam snorted. “He IS Spider-Man. Does he forget?”
Natasha shook her head. “He doesn’t forget. He’s just dramatic.”
Bucky leaned back. “Dramatic? That was theater. Shakespeare would’ve told him to tone it down.”
Steve sighed, setting down his sketchpad. “They’re happy. Dysfunctional, but happy. Let’s… let’s just be grateful for that.”
“Grateful, sure,” Clint muttered. “But next time, I’m tying that kid’s shoelaces myself.”
That night, as the chaos finally settled, Tony sat beside Peter’s bed, still hovering.
“Kid,” he whispered, “you scared the hell out of me.”
Peter yawned, snuggling under three blankets. “Sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to trip. It just… really hurt.”
Tony kissed his forehead. “You don’t ever apologize for scaring me, okay? That’s my job. To worry. Forever.”
Pepper smiled softly from the doorway. “Both of you need to sleep. And Peter? No more walking with untied laces.”
Peter mumbled, half-asleep, “Yes, Mom.”
Pepper shook her head, amused. Tony brushed Peter’s hair back, heart aching with love.
Down the hall, the Avengers were still wide awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering how shoelaces had nearly caused a full-blown Stark Family Meltdown.
Sam finally muttered, “I fought aliens for this?”
No one answered.
Because everyone knew—this was just another day in House Stark.
*********************************
The lab was supposed to be a safe place.
Safe for science. Safe for exploration. Safe for Peter Parker to nerd out without fear of being mocked for squeaking like a startled hamster when an experiment fizzled unexpectedly.
But today?
Today, the lab became the scene of what could only be described as the most heartbreaking crime of the century.
“NOOOOOOO!”
The wail tore through Stark Industries’ intern lab like a banshee’s cry. Coffee mugs rattled on workbenches. A hapless intern dropped a tray of pipettes. Someone screamed, convinced they had broken containment on a volatile sample.
In reality? Peter Parker was standing in front of a locker, staring into its hollow emptiness, his face stricken like he had just watched someone snap Bambi’s mother in half.
“It’s GONE,” Peter gasped, clutching the locker door as though it were the only thing keeping him upright. “My shirt. My FAVORITE shirt. ‘Lettuce: The Taste of Sadness.’ It’s—IT’S—” He inhaled sharply and promptly began sobbing into his hands.
“MOM!"
"DAD!”
Around him, the other interns froze mid-task. To them, Peter Parker wasn’t just “the boss’s kid”—he was the golden child, the walking PR miracle, the boy who could solve complex equations one minute and do his high school homework the next.
He even stared down some aggressive military generals.
And yet here he was, breaking down over… a missing T-shirt?
Ned Leeds, unfortunately coming over for a lab buddy session, got seated front row to the entire meltdown, groaned into his palms. He had seen the warning signs the moment Peter tugged open the locker and froze.
He knew what was coming—the drawn-out gasp, the trembling lip, the wide eyes. Still, even he wasn’t prepared for the sheer, Oscar-worthy theatrics Peter unleashed.
“Pete, buddy,” Ned said, standing slowly as though approaching a feral cat. “Maybe—maybe it’s just in the laundry?”
“LAUNDRY?” Peter’s head snapped up, his curls sticking in every possible direction from him raking his hands through his hair.
“Do you know what happens in the laundry, Ned? Shirts get lost in the void! THE VOID. Socks disappear there and are never heard from again! What if my shirt is just—gone forever?!”
A second wail shook the lab. Someone in the corner muttered, “Is this… is this normal for him?”
Before Ned could even answer, the doors to the lab slammed open with such force they ricocheted off the walls.
“WHAT HAPPENED?!”
Pepper stormed in, heels clicking like gunfire, her eyes scanning the room with the efficiency of a CEO who had taken down boardroom sharks before breakfast. Right behind her, Tony barreled through, lab coat thrown over his usual designer clothes, his hair sticking up like he had sprinted the whole way down from the executive floor.
“WHERE’S THE BLOOD?!” Tony demanded, eyes wide as he looked around for carnage. “Where’s the severed limb?! Who broke my kid?!”
“MOM! DAD!” Peter turned, eyes red and shiny with tears, voice cracking like a boy in a soap opera. “It’s gone! My shirt is GONE!”
Both parents froze.
Pepper blinked. “Your… shirt?”
Tony narrowed his eyes. “Wait—this isn’t a collapsed lung or missing fingers? This is about laundry?”
“NOT JUST ANY SHIRT!” Peter stomped his foot, pointing to his locker like it was the scene of a felony. “It’s my ‘Lettuce: The Taste of Sadness’ shirt! The only shirt in the world that truly understands me!” His voice cracked again, this time with soul-crushing despair. “And now it’s gone. Vanished. Like—like—Uncle Ben all over again!”
The lab interns collectively gasped. One dropped a pen. Another muttered, “Oh my god.”
Ned simply buried his face into his hands and mumbled, “Why am I here?”
Pepper instantly swooped forward, cradling Peter’s face in her hands like he had declared a terminal diagnosis. “Oh, sweetheart, are you sure you didn’t misplace it?”
“I NEVER misplaced it,” Peter wailed. “It’s my comfort shirt! It’s my lab shirt! It’s—it’s basically me in fabric form!”
Tony threw his hands into the air, spinning in a circle. “That’s it. That’s it! FRIDAY, lock down the building. Nobody in or out until the Sad Lettuce Shirt is located. Run inventory, check all the washing machines, and interrogate the janitorial staff if you have to.”
‘ Boss ,’ FRIDAY replied calmly, ‘ are you seriously requesting a Level 5 security lockdown over a missing T-shirt? ’
“YES,” Tony snapped. “And while you’re at it, get me satellite heat signatures of all laundry carts within a two-mile radius!”
The interns watched in open-mouthed horror as their boss—the genius billionaire—went DEFCON 1 over… a lettuce-themed shirt.
“I don’t get paid enough for this,” one whispered.
“You don’t get paid at all,” another corrected.
Pepper shot Tony a sharp look. “Tony, that’s excessive.”
“Excessive? EXCESSIVE?” Tony jabbed a finger toward Peter, who was dramatically sliding down the locker door like he’d lost the will to live. “Do you not see our son falling apart right now? He’s got the posture of Hamlet in Act V!”
Peter, ever the dramatist, sniffled loudly. “To shirt, or not to shirt… that is the question…”
Ned groaned again. “Please stop quoting Shakespeare about lettuce.”
And then the cavalry arrived.
Because apparently, the Avengers had heard the commotion.
Steve Rogers stepped into the lab first, arms crossed, face set in that tight-lipped dad-who’s-had-enough expression. Right behind him, Natasha Romanoff raised a single eyebrow, while Sam Wilson peeked around her shoulder, clearly hoping to see something entertaining.
Clint Barton was munching on a granola bar, eyes lighting up when he realized chaos was brewing. Bruce Banner trailed in last, already rubbing his temples.
“What’s going on?” Steve demanded.
Pepper gestured helplessly toward Peter, who was now curled on the floor in a ball of woe. “He… lost his favorite shirt.”
There was a pause.
“A shirt,” Natasha repeated flatly.
Clint’s chewing slowed, then stopped. He looked at Peter, then at Tony, then back at Peter. “Wait, don’t tell me this is about the stupid lettuce shirt he always wears.”
Peter shot up from the floor, pointing an accusatory finger. “STUPID?! That shirt is iconic, you farm-boy knockoff!”
Sam choked on a laugh, clapping a hand to his mouth. “Oh my god. You’re all serious. You people are serious.”
Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “You called a lab-wide panic over clothing?”
“It’s not just clothing, Capsicle,” Tony barked. “It’s his favorite shirt. You wouldn’t understand— your wardrobe’s been stuck in the ‘40s since, well, the ‘40s.”
“Hey,” Clint piped up with a grin, “if you’re that upset, Stark, why don’t you just buy the entire company that makes the shirt? Problem solved.”
Sam snorted. “Forget buying the company, he’ll probably make an AI-powered Lettuce 2.0 shirt with built-in wi-fi and a holographic salad dispenser.”
The interns laughed nervously, though a few quickly stopped when Pepper gave them the patented CEO Death Stare™ .
Peter, however, gasped as though Clint had just suggested burning the Mona Lisa. “You don’t understand! It’s not about money! It’s about EMOTIONAL ATTACHMENT!” His voice cracked again, and he turned to Pepper with wide, wet eyes. “Mom, they don’t get it!”
Pepper instantly hugged him to her chest, glaring at the room. “Of course they don’t. It’s your special shirt.”
Tony crouched beside them, patting Peter’s hair. “Don’t worry, kid. We’re gonna get it back. Even if I have to launch a full-scale Stark Industries rescue operation.”
There was a beat of silence before Natasha muttered, “This family needs therapy.”
“Group therapy,” Bruce agreed, already jotting a mental prescription.
Ned, watching all this unfold, whispered, “This is worse than the cookie incident.”
The chaos continued for another twenty minutes.
Pepper ordered the interns to search lockers. Tony stormed around the lab with a magnifying glass he’d conjured from who-knows-where, pretending to track clues. Peter followed close behind, hiccuping sobs and muttering about betrayal and loss.
The Avengers?
They just leaned against the wall, watching the circus with growing disbelief.
“I fought an alien army for this,” Steve muttered.
Sam crossed his arms. “I can’t believe Earth’s Mightiest Heroes are third-wheeling a manhunt for a lettuce shirt.”
Clint smirked. “Hey, don’t knock it. At least it’s entertaining. Ten bucks says Pepper finds it in the laundry room within the hour.”
“Twenty says Tony builds a replacement shirt before that,” Natasha deadpanned.
By the time Pepper finally convinced Peter to let her check the Stark Tower laundry herself, the interns were pale, the Avengers were traumatized, and Tony was already sketching designs for a Lettuce Shirt 2.0 on a holographic display.
And Ned?
Ned sat in the corner, muttering, “Next time, I’m not coming over. Next time, I’m just… I’m just staying home.”