"Schiller's first day back in Marvel's New York, Peter shuffled into the clinic looking utterly defeated. His arm was still bandaged in a sling. Schiller gave him a quick once-over and said,
"Looks like your road trip didn't go too well."
Peter sighed, slumped into the chair opposite, and set his backpack on his lap—only to bump his injured arm. He yelped in pain, then let out another long sigh.
"Forget everything else… I think maybe I'm just not cut out to be a superhero."
"What's the matter? Did you run into an opponent too tough to handle?"
"The opponent wasn't the problem at all. But…"
From Peter's account, Schiller soon pieced together what had happened on this absurdly disastrous road trip with Captain America.
Steve was a soldier through and through—disciplined, seasoned, experienced. As Captain America, his team was always comprised of elite fighters, veterans hardened by rigorous training. Even rookies assigned to him were skilled in combat fundamentals; they only lacked real-world experience.
But Peter? Peter was a blank slate. He threw punches like a street brawler, took hits with nothing but raw durability, and had no concept of tactics whatsoever.
Wanting to train the boy, Steve deliberately refused S.H.I.E.L.D.'s logistical support and decided to take Peter along on his own.
Their first problem? Peter's endless appetite.
His mutated body was still in a growth spurt, demanding massive amounts of food every day. Even Steve's money couldn't keep up. Anyone who's seen a road trip movie knows you can't always sit down for proper meals. Most of the time you just carry cheap rations in a backpack.
But Peter devoured everything. Their supplies barely lasted two meals before he cleaned them out. By the second day, they were already forced to reroute into the nearest small town.
The prices there weren't high, but Peter still racked up over $1,000 in food bills. No credit cards accepted, so Steve's cash was gone in one sitting. Their "road trip" ended before it even started.
Steve had to call Coulson for backup. In the end, S.H.I.E.L.D. sent a car, bailed them out, and supplied Peter with new experimental rations: compressed food bars with nutrient solutions designed to meet his insane metabolism. Without that, every diner along the way would've been wiped out.
Once fed, they began tracking the trail of ninjas. Steve tried to teach Peter the basics of recon. Peter did learn, but he ruined just as much.
His superhuman strength and healing were great—but he talked too much, moved too much, and couldn't stay still.
At first, he behaved, just trailing Steve and watching. But the moment he learned a little, his restless, chatty nature came roaring back.
Steve would creep toward a wall to scale it. Peter would leap straight onto the top, waving. Steve would prepare to sneak up behind a guard. Peter would drop in from above, cheerfully say hi, and then deck the guy in the face.
Two completely different combat styles, zero coordination. Every recon ended in a mess.
Fortunately, the ninjas were sloppy. They never expected trouble out in the desert, so their trails weren't hard to follow. Soon, Steve and Peter tracked down a small outpost.
And then it got worse.
The ninjas weren't strong fighters. Steve had been right—it was just a warm-up mission. But their ability to vanish caused chaos.
Steve hurled his shield at one ninja. The man disappeared—only to reveal Peter behind him, mid-sneak, about to pull a goofy face.
WHAM!
The shield smashed Peter's arm with a sickening crack.
Captain America's first accidental friendly-fire incident… was brutal.
"Steve told me it was better to hit from behind," Peter explained miserably. "So I swung in from the rafters. But just as I was about to strike, he switched tactics and charged straight in. His shield hit me so hard I flew into the wall…"
"The ninjas went down in seconds, but so did I."
Peter winced, then added, "So yeah, not my proudest moment."
Schiller tried not to laugh, but it was useless.
"Go on, laugh," Peter muttered bitterly. "Coulson, Natasha, and Matt have already laughed at me for days."
Schiller smothered a chuckle and said, "Don't feel bad. You should be honored. The last guy to take a full shield strike like that was the head of HYDRA."
Peter groaned. "I know I talk too much. I know I can't sit still. But I can't help it! When I get excited, I just—"
"Sometimes words carry more power than fists," Schiller said.
Later that day, Natasha came by instead of Steve. She looked exhausted.
"Stark ran into Steve while arguing with Fury," she said. "Now the two of them are at each other's throats."
"And you came to me? I can't separate them."
"Fury tried. They teamed up to yell at him instead. Coulson tried. They accused him of being biased. It's chaos. You're the only neutral party left."
Schiller narrowed his eyes. "Or maybe not me."
He reached over, grabbed Pikachu by the scruff of the neck, and dropped the yellow creature into Natasha's arms.
She blinked. "You want me to use… this? It can't even beat Fury, and he's the weakest one there!"
"Trust me," Schiller said. "Sometimes words are stronger than fists."
…Hours later, pounding fists rattled the clinic door.
When Schiller opened it, the entire group stumbled inside: Steve, Stark, Coulson, Natasha—and Stark clutching Pikachu tightly, his armored gauntlet clamped over its mouth.
"You'd better hope no reporters saw that," Schiller said dryly. "Otherwise animal rights groups will crucify you."
"No rights group would defend this rat!" Stark snarled. He yanked Pikachu up by the tail and tossed it across the room.
Coulson looked like he'd aged ten years. Natasha leaned against the wall, sighing, "Doctor, your solution was… extremely effective."
Her teeth practically ground the words out.
Pikachu recharged on Schiller's phone. Steve rubbed his forehead, collapsing into a chair.
"Oh God… I thought Peter was the loudest thing alive. I was wrong."
"That's because Pikachu is a rat," Schiller said.
Steve groaned. "It talked for six straight hours. Not one repeated insult. Fury couldn't even get a word in. It cursed out S.H.I.E.L.D. from his eyepatch to his coffee cup."
Coulson's voice shook. "It ate every donut in the office. It drained every juice machine. We all had to fight it together just to shut it up."
"It fried four phones and one of my suits," Natasha added. "Including Fury's top-security cell phone. He's still at the lab begging tech to recover his data."
"At least it worked, didn't it?" Schiller said, smirking. "You all teamed up against Pikachu. Unity at last."
The most bitter of them all, Stark, ground his teeth. "Yeah. I never thought I'd spend half an hour bonding with this fossil—" he jabbed a thumb at Steve—"over recipes on how to cook rat."
Schiller raised an eyebrow. "And now you understand my saying…"
Steve muttered first. Then Stark glanced over. Their eyes clashed like sparks.
And yet, in perfect unison, both said:
"Words are stronger than fists."