Midtown School of Science and Technology
Student Activities
Field Trip Permission Slip Form 

Dear Parent and/or Guardian, your child is going on a field trip to Stark Industries. Please read the information on the next sheet of this form and then sign and return this slip by 

Peter Benjamin Parker can easily lift ten tons. 

(That’s 20,000 pounds for anyone keeping score at home.)

Peter Benjamin Parker can lift twenty tons with a little more difficulty. He picked up a city bus, recently, during a mission and those things are heavy. 

(Anywhere from 25,000 to 40,000 pounds for anyone keeping score at home.) 

He once strained to keep a boat from falling apart, holding it together with nothing but his web fluid and his force of will. 

(He’d failed. Again, for those keeping score at home. He’d missed the mark, but Mr. Stark saved the day and after some wacky hijinks featuring a guy with metal wings who happened to be the father of his date and a building falling on him, forcing him to really do-or-die, he’d found out just how strong he was and just how much he hates small, dark spaces. It was a redemption arch for the ages, with a story that would make a really great movie.) 

But, somehow, the hardest thing that he’s ever had to do was lift the stack of fluorescent yellow papers that had been set down on his desk by Mr. Harrison, in the infamous “take one and pass it down” fashion. His hands shook as he took in the words printed in bold at the very top of the sheet, echoing what Mr. Harrison was saying to everyone else in the class. Peter had stopped reading after “return the permission slip” and had started staring ahead with an expression of abject horror. 

“Listen, I know it’s been a long day and you can’t wait to get out here but if I could just have your attention for a few more minutes… okay, I’ll wait.” 

Mr. Harrison leaned back against his desk and stared out at the class until the side-conversations and whispered jokes slowly trailed off. And Peter jumped when Michelle kicked the back of his chair, sending tingling vibrations through the metal desk and along his spine, giving him the very WEIRD impulse to turn and see and attack whatever got caught in his things. Spider things: not all of them are cool. 

“Are you going to share those?” Michelle asks, when he turns to look at her. 

Oh. Right. He’s not doing the passing back part of taking. He turns a little red and turns back to the stack of papers that were currently taunting him, delicately pushing one of them onto his desk and handing the rest back to Michelle, who only graced him with a delicate eyebrow raise before taking one for herself and handing the rest back. 

“Great. Now,” Mr. Harrison says, as everyone’s stopped talking. “This has been under wraps for a while because the School Board didn’t want to give you false hope. BUT. After some serious dedication and numerous emails, as well as a generous donation from the Thompson family -” 

Peter’s gaze darted over to where Flash was seated, impulsively, just in time to see a self-satisfied smirk on his face. 

“- I’m thrilled to announce that this Friday, we will be taking a field trip to Stark Industries as a reward for having the highest test scores in the state.” 

Somehow, even after seeing “Stark Industries” printed in bold on the form in front of him, it still feels a punch in the gut to hear it said out loud and Peter shrinks down in his seat, trying to go without being noticed as the conversations jump back up to full volume, questions being shouted out all at once. 

“Stark Industries? Are you serious?” 

“THE Stark Industries, right? Not the model on in Vegas?” 

“I’d go to Vegas! We should go there instead!” 

“Doesn’t that place get attacked like every week?” 

“Vegas?” 

“No, you stupid idiot. I meant Stark Industries.” 

“Do we have to pack our own lunches?” 

“My parents are out of town until next week! Can I have my brother sign this?” 

“Is Parker going to be giving us the tour?” 

That last question was the one he’d been dreading. Dreading so much that he would have tossed his hat into the ring for a Vegas field trip. At least Nevada had less of a chance of embarrassing him than walking around SI would. And he doesn’t even have to look over to know that Flash was the one who’d shouted that out, he can feel the superior glare burning into the back of his skull. 

Luckily, Mr. Harrison ignores that question. Just like he ignores most of Flash’s taunting of Peter. 

“Guys, guys! All the information is written on the paper. Read it over with your parents, guardians, or older brother who’s temporarily in charge of you and bring it back by Wednesday. No, I will not be accepting any of these a day later. The people at Stark Industries need to know who’s coming and they were very clear about not accepting any last minute additions. You got that? By Wednesday.” 

Well, there’s at least one genius idea for getting out of this. Peter’s already planning out how he can “accidentally” forget about the form at the bottom of his backpack until it’s too late. He can ask Aunt May to sign it Wednesday night and even make an extreme case of pleading to Mr. Harrison, knowing that he’ll ultimately be told no. That way, he’s not actually lying to his Aunt by omission AND it’ll look like an accident. It’s a solid idea, even if being devious makes his stomach a little queasy. He starts to shove the paper into his bag as the bell rings, keeping his gaze keen on adjusting the contents so that he can avoid Flash’s gaze. 

Ned makes his way over to his desk, loyal as ever and face shining with unbridled enthusiasm. 

“Peter!!!” He says, as soon as he looks up. “I can’t believe this. We’re going to Stark Industries! I mean, I know you’ve been there before and so this must be soooo boring to you but I can’t wait to see all the stuff. Do you know who’s going to be touring us? Oh, do you know what we’re going to see? Is Mr. Stark going to be there? Do you think he’ll do signatures? I’ll bring my Ironman Poster, just in case.”

“Ned!” Peter says, trying not to laugh in the face of something that has his best friend so excited. “I don’t know. I bet Mr. Stark doesn’t even know about this. And I don’t really… know the other interns.” 

Mostly because he’s not an intern. 

At least, not a traditional one. Sure, he is on the papers that were filed with the school, giving him permission to leave early sometimes, whenever a ‘superhero’ emergency came up. But he’s not the kind that goes on coffee runs or makes sure that Mr. Stark eats before his blood sugar gets too low. Friday kind of handles all of that stuff for him, setting reminders for him to eat and putting in orders for coffee that are delivered to the building and then usually brought in by Ms. Potts when she wants to check on Tony or by Ms. Potts personal assistant, Emily. His internship is the kind that’s a cover for being Spiderman. And, sure. He’s been hanging out with Mr. Stark a lot more since the Vulture-security-threat-Peter-beat-up-a-bad-guy-in-his-pajamas-and-almost-died thing, but that’s not… interning. 

That’s just sitting in the lab with him and learning about real high-tech robotics and even getting a hand in on helping with the development of suits. Things like his new watch, that he’s kept tucked under his sleeve. Packing the suit everywhere had turned out to be a real hassle, so Mr. Stark had developed this watch to keep him in touch with Karen, who in part was connected to Friday, and kept Mr. Stark in the know. It could deploy the suit, now connected to his watch, and make emergency calls to one of three contacts: Aunt May, Ms. Potts, and Mr. Stark. He could make commands to Karen, who could talk out loud or through an inconspicuous cordless microphone he wears now. It’d proven to be helpful for her to play a soothing melody the last time he had a panic attack and now he won’t go anywhere without it.

But that’s not the kind of thing that he can really brag about. Especially not at school, where almost no one believes him about interning at all. No one’s as hard on him about it as Flash is, but there’s always a buzz of agreement whenever Flash points out how “impossible” it would be for someone like Peter to ever be noticed by someone like Mr. Stark. 

...Especially since, most of the time, Peter still thinks that way too. 

But Ned knows the truth about everything. And Michelle seems to believe him, even if her keen gaze seems to be searching for something more behind the story. 

“And, anyway, I don’t spend a lot of time on the lower levels. It’s mostly just me up with Mr. Stark in his lab. It’ll be just as new to me as it is to the rest of you. Except for the food court, that place is awesome. I go there all the time.” 

“Awesome.” Ned said, breathlessly, like Peter had just talked about going to Beyonce concerts instead of grabbing two trays of the best lo-mein in the city for him and Mr. Stark when Tony doesn’t feel like going all the way downstairs to grab something to eat, no matter what Friday is refusing to let him continue to work on until he does. 

“Peter, can I speak to you for a minute?” Mr. Harrison suddenly called out, interrupting whatever question was about to ask next. “Privately, please.” 

Ned shot Peter a questioning glance but nodded. “Yeah, sure. See you later, Peter. Hey, make sure to ask your Aunt if you can come over to my house this weekend. My dad got me a new lego set!” 

“Awesome! I’ll ask.” Peter said, picking his bag off of the floor and sliding it over his shoulder, casting a slightly worried look over at Mr. Harrison. 

He shuffles toward his desk as Ned makes a hasty exit, his stomach doing a flip. Wondering if maybe he’d failed the last pop quiz they’d had -- he’d been out late the night before, past his “spider-man” curfew, stopping a mugging from happening and hadn’t had a lot of focus the next day, but he’d thought he’d done alright. 

“Is everything okay?” He asks, standing awkwardly a few feet away as Mr. Harrison takes a seat and gazes at him with something like pity in his gaze. 

“I just need to talk to you about something. Peter, listen… I understand that things have been very hard for you, lately. You’ve gone through a lot in the last year and overcome things that would have been difficult for anyone.” 

Peter can’t help but think that Mr. Harrison has NO idea, but his chest gets that uncomfortable feeling that it always does when someone starts to hedge around the subject of his parents or Uncle Ben and so he only swallows against the lump in his throat and nods, wondering where this is going. 

“I look at you and I see a very bright, very determined young man who can do anything he sets his mind to. Even a Stark Internship… once you’re old enough.” Mr. Harrison finishes, still looking at Peter gravely. “Peter, you’re a very intelligent young man. And I can see why you’d want to make yourself look more impressive. Popularity is a hell of a drug. But there’s nothing you can gain by making up stories.” 

“But, I’m not -” 

“Listen. I’m not angry with you. I’m not yelling at you. I’m telling you this for your own good. Lying about interning for Stark Industries is only going to cause you a lot of harm when the people who do trust you find out that you’ve been lying to them. And, with the internet being what it is today, it wouldn’t be hard for them to vet a future application and realize that you’d been making up stories and just like that, a real opportunity disappears because you wanted to shine a little bit before you were ready.” 

“Mr. Harrison,” Peter argues, the words feeling sharp in his throat. “I’m not lying. I swear, I’m not. I know it sounds impossible, but I have papers filed with the school and everything!” 

“Yes, I know all about that. But seeing as Stark Industries does not take on interns in high-school, let alone ones under the age of eighteen for liability reasons… bringing in forged papers was a very silly thing to do. The Principal let it slide, because I argued on your behalf. But you’ve got to stop all of this. I promise, things are going to get better. And they’ll get better on their own. You don’t have to pretend.” 

Peter ducked his head, his eyes stinging with angry tears. It was one thing to hear Flash saying things like this… one thing to hear hissed remarks of “Penis Parker”... but he likes Mr. Harrison. And he’s not even being a jerk about it; he sounds like he really cares. 

And somehow that’s worse. 

“Okay,” He manages to get out.

“Okay? Good. I’m sending an email to your Aunt, advising her to seek a counseling program for you. It’s not an obligation, but I think talking to someone will really help you. And I don’t want to hear anymore lying from you, Peter. You’re better than that, I know you are.” 

“Okay.” Peter says again, since there’s not much else to say. He doesn’t look at Mr. Harrison as he shuffles out of the classroom, eyes kept firmly on the floor.

***

“You’re late.” 

That’s Happy’s cheerful greeting to Peter as he climbs into the backseat, gingerly setting his bag onto the floor and automatically reaching for his seatbelt. 

“Sorry,” Peter murmurs, quietly, eyes still downcast like he’ll be able to avoid ever seeing the look of disappointment in someone’s eyes, again, as long as he keeps staring down. 

“Sorry?” Happy repeats, sounding bemused… and then concerned, when he speaks up again. “Kid, what’s wrong? I can’t think of a single time you’ve gotten into the car without immediately talking my ear off about whatever you did at school or asking to know what the boss has been up to or if there’s another chance for you to throw yourself in danger. You sick?” 

“I’m just tired,” Peter lies, even as his stomach flips and churns at the thought of that permission slip in the bottom of his bag. “It was a long day, you know? Um, how are you?” 

“I’m head of security at Stark Industries, forced to drive around a sixteen-year-old because my boss doesn’t trust New York’s fine Taxi service. How do you think I am?” Happy asks, but his voice is still wavering with a little concern, his usual sarcasm marred for it. “Seriously, kid. Tony’ll have my head if anything happened to you on my watch. No scrapes, bumps, or bruises. You have any of those?” 

“Nope.” Peter says, finally looking up to catch Happy gazing at him through where the privacy divider would normally be up. Usually rolled up by Happy when they got caught in traffic, so Peter could only hear his muffled road rage. “No injuries. I really am just tired.” 

Whether or not Happy believes him is up for debate, but they’re already late since Peter didn’t run from school like he usually does, and he doesn’t have time to keep quizzing him. Secretly, Peter’s grateful. This is the first time in a long time that he hasn’t felt like talking to Happy. Or anyone. He just stares out the window and hopes that his mood will improve by the time they reach the tower.