People tended not to run into Peter Maximoff. He was usually a blur which they thought they saw only didn't so they never talked about him which he liked. He was already a freak. He knew it, his mom sure knew it, even his kid sister knew it; Peter didn't need the rest of the world thinking about it, talking about, going on about it all the time. There were too many other things way more interesting than him being a freak.
Especially in Test City.
Food was a staple requirement for survival. There was some statistic put out there by smart people which said it was supposed to take like forty days or something to starve someone to death, but Peter was convinced that was bullshit. He couldn't go more than two hours without food before he started getting hateful or tired. If he went a full eight hours without eating? It was almost as bad as dying. His muscles cramped, his stomach spasmed, his body convulsed. The police had locked him up for the night without food when his mom refused to bail him out.
It'd been the only time he'd ever thought his mother might really care about him since she'd shown up as soon as the police called her. She's smoothed his hair back from his face and brought him a milkshake. Normally they didn't talk about what he ate unless it was to tell him he should eat healthier. Peter couldn't remember a time before or after when she'd ever just done something for him without a lecture involved. He'd kept his hands to himself for a whole month after that incident. When it had been obvious it didn't matter to her one way or the other, Peter had went back to doing what he did best which was a good thing all around seeing as it'd gotten him the chance to meet more people like himself.
"Woah there," he said as he sidestepped the guy coming out of the cafe, neatly avoiding any contact with him at all, "You would have got me if I'd been someone else. Wait. Are you going to throw up? You look like you're going to throw up. I don't do vomit, man. I think you should sit down. Or breathe into a paper bag. Or maybe just open your eyes because it might prevent you from passing out. I don't know. I'm not medical or anything. I'm just here to get a piece of pie."
He went inside took a piece of pie, plated it, grabbed a set of silverware, decided he really wanted three pieces of pie, dished those out, and then moved back to lean against the side of the door where the guy was still trying not to do whatever he was about to do.
"So, you okay? Want a piece of pie? Their chocolate is way too sweet for me, but the strawberry is good and so is the lemon. I'll get you one if you want. Unless that really is your vomit face. Then you probably don't want to eat. Just saying."