A/N: In case you cannot see the whole title it says: That one, really strange time when Peter contemplated becoming a villain. 

You guys know what day it is...when Sarah updates! (SARAH! SARAH! SARAH! WOO!)

You're going to what a summary so you can understand just what the heck you're preparing yourselves for the glorious masterpiece I wrote while half-asleep.

Summary:

Peter went to McDonald's to pick up some lunch and then head back to the Tower.

Flash likes seeing Peter suffer, even if it is in the cruelest of forms.

Peter considers a dark villain story.

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Peter "Parker" Stark woke up half an hour late, leaving him scrambling to get dressed and to school before the well-hated hour of eight am. Hopping on one foot as he tied his sneakers, he read a note in Tony's messy handwriting that he packed his lunch on the counter. Peter wasn't a forgetful person, but you kind of forget stuff when you can't find your backpack and you have fifteen minutes to be at school. So he wasn't thinking twice as he shut the door, not having any breakfast and leaving his lunch on the counter.

Peter felt like he was going to die.

Minutes felt like hours.

Seconds felt like forever.

He couldn't focus on anything except for the fact that he was going to die of starvation.

Today's school lunch was fries and burgers, except school lunch was nasty as hell. The burgers looked more like pig slop then actual meat. And the fries smelled weird, and the last thing he needed was a stomach-ache on top of his hunger.

And it didn't help that Flash had a pizza pie delivered by his rich father that he shared with his friends. Peter didn't think of asking for a slice, he wasn't stupid. Flash hated him, and Flash was a jerk. He was that guy that if you asked for a pencil because your's just broke, he'd say no just to enjoy your suffering and pain.

He was so hungry.

Hungryhungryhungryhungryhungry

Curse his damn metabolism.

How did the Flash ever cope without not enough food?

Peter mentally groaned waiting for the clock to turn a minute forward, leaving only one more period in his day before he could finally leave this hell hole.

Ignoring the way his mouth watered just thinking about food, he quickly packed his bag heading to his Algebra class. And then he was free to eat as much as he wanted. He could practically smell the fast food restaurants across the block, specifically targeted for hungry teenagers.

Peter decided that right after the bell he would find a McDonalds and just eat. The next forty-five minutes felt like forever, trapped in a hot sweaty classroom with a substitute teacher who was teaching them basic Algebra instead of the normal Pre-Calculus, randomly choosing students to answer questions and marking them up if they got it wrong.

So Peter was annoyed.

It was hot, being a summer June day with the typical unbearable New York heat of at least eighty degrees.

Sixth period was gym and everyone around him stank.

He was so hungry.

He contemplated eating his paper but that would be hard to explain if he was caught. And weird in general.

And the paper would taste really bad against his taste buds and would dissolve in his stomach before his body could digest it.

So eating his classwork would be a really bad idea in general.

Peter sighed looking at the clock for it to be forty-four minutes left in the period.

He decided that if he ever saw a homeless person he'd give them enough money for a McDonalds, because he understood their pain and suffering. Not to be dramatic or anything but with his increased metabolism, if he didn't eat for an entire day he'd die.

And people called him dramatic.

And with his super-hearing, he could Flash obnoxiously chomping on something and he felt like screaming until the world died from too much pollution.

He gently shook his head, someone was being savage today.

He leaned forward in his seat and nearly smacked himself when a classmate got a basic math question wrong. A sixth grader could correctly answer "what is the supplement of a right angle?".

Peter sighed, gently slamming his head against his desk. This would make a great origin story for joining the dark side.

When the bell rang Peter bolted out the door at an inhuman speed, even running on a red light to the McDonalds. Lucky enough the line was short, only two people. He was so close, he could make it!

That was until Flash and his prick friends joined the line right behind Peter. Peter kept himself facing forward, he could calmly order food and walk out. No biggie. Yes biggie.

Peter spoke trying not to make himself sound really desperate, "Hi. I would like to order a large Mcfries and a vanilla Mcflurry." He already did the math and handed the cashier ten dollars and thirty-four cents.

The cashier looked surprised that the boy handed her the correct amount, tax included, handing him a receipt for the waiting line. Almost there Stark. So close.

Yet so far.

The two people in line took forever, dropping their wallet causing Peter to annoyingly sigh. All he wants is some fries and a Mcfluffy, is it too much to ask for? Honestly the shit he has to put up with.

Just as he was getting his fries and shake, Flash rammed into him, sending his food splattering to the floor. NOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Flash shrugged his shoulders playing it off as an accident, "Oops. Sorry."

Peter knew he wasn't sorry and this bitch was going to pay. Just not for his food cause McDonald's is a fine establishment that doesn't condone bullying. So now he's kicked out.

Peter began self-narrating, "So I'm starving to the point where I could probably die and just as I get my damn fries that son of a bitch put it too far. You can try and flush me down a toilet but mess with my fries and that's where I draw the line. I think not bitch."

Peter was practically shrieking, "It's times like this why I question why I do good for this world when it does nothing for me."

Somewhere on a mission, Bucky blurted, "Preach shistar."

Peter felt his blood boil to the point where he considered raising an army of the undead just to get back at his fries. Man, my fries.

And who is strong, bold and here to save the American way? The person he is definitely not going to call at the moment.

He quickly dials the number he knows by heart listening to the dialer ring a few times and then the famous billionaire's who just so happens to be his dad as well speaks, "Yo, kid. Wassup?"

Peter speaks bluntly, "I have decided to start a life of crime with the most tragic backstory." Tony nods, "Go on. I know a guy. I am the guy." Peter nods, "Good. Woke up late, missed breakfast. Forgot to pack lunch. So hungry. School lunch is more poison than actual food. Went to McD's and dumb Flash rammed me over and everything, my fries, my mcflurrie and my life went down. And now I'm kicked out. Dad, I need food before I die of starvation."

Tony nodded already in the car heading over, "Or, I can destroy Flash's life with my rich antics and give you all the fries and flurries you could dream of, and stay on the right side of the law. Everybody wins!"

Peter nodded, "That's why you're my favorite."

"Oh I'm so telling Pepper."

Tony rolled up in sweats and a really expensive car that made everyone freeze. He walked in, designer shades on his face despite being indoors speaking calmly, "Hey, I need all the fries this establishment has. Thank you, next."

The teenager merely nodded, so not geeking out, as she went to make more fries. So many fries.

Peter's mouth was a pool when he saw that glorious mountain of oily goodness. He jumped in the two feet tall hill, stuffing his face while Tony took care of the McFlurries.

It was a strange day for the McDonald's establishment.

Then again they did make two million dollars so who's complaining?