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The orange goo seemed waterproof, still nearly embedded into the grooves of his suit and stuck in clumps to his skin despite the boiling shower he was standing in. It was disgusting with the texture of mushy noodles and the scent of artificiality and chemicals. It wasn’t killing Peter’s nose the way he would’ve expected, but it had been stuck on him for hours now, he’d probably grown desensitized.
The fight itself hadn’t ended badly, per se. No civilians had been hurt, Tony and Peter made it out with no injuries, just gooped up. The alien had been captured and was carted off to SHIELD to be dealt with and that was that.
Except, nothing had ever been that easy.
Peter wasn’t meant to be in the fight. He’d just walked out of school, Ned at his side, discussing the cosplay they were working on for the upcoming Comic-Con and there’d been a loud crash. Peter’s spider sense went off and a quick glance down the street showed the slimy, tentacled alien—nearly ten feet tall—duking it out with Iron Man. How was he meant to sit back and not help?
In his opinion, he’d done a damn good job, too. He’d distracted the creature long enough for Tony to blast off one of its tentacles, a meaty hunk of it flying straight into the side of the math building. Peter thought that was a win, too, no algebra class for the next few weeks.
Tony had disagreed.
It wasn’t the class he was worried about, or even the gross goopy hunks of alien spread across Midtown. As always, it was Tony’s fear over Peter helping that had riled him up.
Since homecoming and the whole suit debacle, Tony and Peter had been spending a lot more time together. Every Friday, Peter went to the Tower to hang out with Tony, work on the suit, and do what May had dubbed ‘Superhero Check-Ins.’ Peter just checked in after patrols, discussed business and his recent notable vigilante work, and Tony secretly pushed Peter towards accepting a therapist. (“I am not a hypocrite, Parker. I’m just an adult and I know I am perfectly capable of dealing with my emotions all on my own. Now shut up.”)
It was Peter’s favorite part of the week. Except when it wasn’t. Except when Tony heard about the small stab wound, or the not so small broken femur, and got obscenely upset and threatened to bubble wrap Spiderman. (“I don’t care how it looks for your image, kid. If you break one more bone I’m pretty sure you’ll get a free smoothie from the medbay……No, kid, not really.”)
And walking out of school to an alien attack, throwing his suit on (barely hidden by some bushes) and joining into the fray? Yeah, Tony had not been happy about that.
They’d been standing there, Tony waggling his finger and talking in the same tone as the Ferry Incident, when the alien decided to do one final rebellious attack. Out of its…mouth? Out of the possible mouth on its head shot a stream of orange goo, viscous and disgusting, and stuck both Tony and Peter to one another.
They managed to get free, but the goo had stuck to them both and Tony had scooped Peter up to fly him back to the Tower for immediate decontamination.
Except, the water wasn’t working.
Sighing, Peter sunk against the wall, feeling so utterly drained. “Fri?”
“Yes, Peter?”
“Is there any way to get this junk off?” Weakly, he gestured to the chunks still stuck on his bare skin. The suit could be Tony’s problem tomorrow, but Peter just wanted to be clean and go lay down. The spots where he’d been stuck to Tony, his left arm and side of his neck, were tingling like crazy.
“I can attempt an anti-greasing agent if you would like, Peter?”
Peter hummed an affirmative and dropped his head down as the water shifted to a more chemical scented liquid. It raced down his body, taking small pieces of orange with it, and Peter sighed heavily.
After about five more minutes of standing and waiting, his skin finally cleared off just enough, Peter shut the water off. The exhaustion was bad enough to bowl him over and after slipping out of the ruined suit and into an oversized SI shirt and some flannel sleep pants, Peter collapsed into bed. He was asleep in seconds.
“Peter? Peter, wake up.” The Irish voice called from above and Peter swatted his hand awkwardly towards the ceiling.
It was quiet enough to nearly lull him back to sleep for the next few minutes. Just as unconsciousness tugged at him, the voice resumed.
“Peter, you need to wake up.”
“What, Friday?” Peter groaned and rolled over, staring at the ceiling accusingly. What in the world was more important than sleeping right now?
“Tony needs you down in the lab, right now. It’s an emergency.”
His spidey sense didn’t attack his nerves like he was used to when his anxiety spiked, but he was quick to hop from the bed. Stumbling on his own feet, Peter raced down the stairs as fast as he could. By the time he reached the bottom he was huffing and puffing in a way he hadn’t in years.
What the—-
Before he could even open his mouth to question it through wheezes, plastic was pressed between his lips. Instinctually, he inhaled the medicine and held his breath for as long as he could…which was not nearly as long as normal.
“Are you alright?” Bruce asked from where he stood, inhaler still gripped in his large palm, held close to Peter’s face.
The medicine raced through Peter’s lungs, opening them like they’d never been closed, and he slowly caught his breath. “Yeah. Yeah. Thanks.”
Bruce nodded, eyes still wary, and then he gestured towards the middle of the lab where Tony was sat on the couch, one hand idly tapping at his folded knee with impatience —or anxiety —Peter couldn’t tell.
Walking over, Peter frowned, worry returning now that his breathing had calmed. “Mr. Stark? What’s wrong?”
“Why don’t you tell me, Spiderbaby. You’re the one who’s a woeful normal human again.” Tony spoke, his fear morphing into anger across his tongue.
“I…uh… what?” Peter asked, utterly lost. The pieces weren’t clicking into place and to be honest, this wasn’t a puzzle he wanted to be doing.
“Peter, it seems that when that alien attacked you two, whatever it hit you with…Well, it had some serious side effects.” Bruce spoke, calm and gentle, the way you would a spooked animal. Or, a soon to be spooked animal.
“M-meaning?…” Peter asked, swallowing down the truth that was beginning to burn at the edges of his consciousness.
“It means,” Tony growled, lifting a hand to reveal he was stuck palm-down to a pillow from the couch, “that I’ve got your freaky spider powers.”
“And you…have got none.” Bruce clarified as if Peter needed it.
Cold settled around Peter’s tendons like chains and a weight dropped into the pit of his stomach. “Oh.”
What if there was a mission? He could work pretty well with the suit and the web shooters, but Tony was already so protective. He’d be pissed if Peter tried to go out without the added help of his super healing, agility and spidey sense. God, what was he going to tell Ned? Ned was going to be devastated. And Aunt May…She might be happy about the released strain on their food budget or the possibility that Peter might have to take some time away from Spider-Manning to train, but would she be safe?
And Uncle Ben…. Well, Peter felt the tendrils of ice tighten and his stomach clenched with it. He was failing Uncle Ben…again. If he couldn’t help protect the city, couldn’t help to honor all that he’d lost, what was the point? He was back to being a screw-up all over again.
“Peter. Peter, come on. Parker!” Tony called and finally reached out with his not-stuck hand and shook Peter’s shoulder.
Peter jumped a mile, but sunk out of the haze of thoughts and back into the present. “Sorry, Mr. Stark…”
“You alright, kid? Look, I know this probably isn’t easy right now but we’ll figure it out. There’s no need to worry about all of this just yet. We’ll handle it.”
Peter knew the reassurances should help, after all there were two certifiable geniuses standing in front of him, but Peter didn’t feel any better. If anything, he felt worse. What if they never figured it out…?
“C’mon, it’ll be fine. But first things first.” Tony spoke, clearly trying to shift the attention and mood that was quickly saturating the air. “Unstick me.”
Peter’s eyebrow pulled up and he couldn’t help but to ask. “Unstick you?”
“Yes, brainiac, unstick me.” Tony repeated and held out the pillowed hand.
Peter laughed, feeling a modicum of the tense lifting away from his soul. “Mr. Stark, I would love to….But I don’t know how.”
“Don’t know how???” Tony stuttered out, voice three octaves higher than a moment ago.
“What do you mean, Peter?” Bruce asked, ever the levelheaded one.
Peter shrugged. “It took me a while to figure out the mechanics of it all? And I’m still not really sure how it works. I’d say just relax, but I’ve been known to stick to things in my sleep, so that doesn’t even work.”
“Peter Benjamin Parker, if you don’t get me free of this frankly, very ugly decorative pillow I swear to god I’m going to ground you.” Tony growled out, pillow violently shaking on his hand as he tried to look menacing.
Peter burst into laughter, shaking his head as if this was the funniest thing in the world. It sort of was, to be honest. Even Bruce joined with a few chuckles that were quickly met by absolute fire in Tony’s eyes.
”Peter.” Tony tried again.
Peter only shrugged. “I’m really sorry, I really don’t know. I just kind of… Did it?”
Tony groaned and flopped backwards onto the couch, holding his wrist with one hand and furiously shaking the other like he could make the adhesive of his hands go away with a hard enough movement.
Bruce turned to Peter then, eyes calculating. “Peter, how bad off were you before the spider bite? I mean, Friday’s records showed the asthma. It’s why I had the inhaler ready. But there isn’t much information before the time Tony started monitoring your movements as Spider-Man.”
“Not true!” Tony argued, now trying to pry the pillow off with his other hand. Peter didn’t bother to warn him he’d probably get the other one stuck, too. “There’s medical files, but Bruce won’t let me look through them.”
“Privacy is a thing, Tony.” Bruce scolded, eying the pillow that was now stuck to both of Tony’s hands.
Peter spoke up then, wanting to stop any argument that was about to take place. “I mean, I wasn’t great. I had severe asthma and was basically blind. Wasn’t very athletic either, so uh, there’s that.” Speaking about it brought to his attention that his eyesight was pretty bad and Peter suddenly squinted to try and correct it.
Bruce sighed, shaking his head as he looked between the two disasters that were suddenly his problem. “Okay, until we figure this mess out, you two are on house arrest.”
Neither argued. Though, to be fair, Tony had the throw pillow stuffed between his teeth as he tried to use his jaw to pull it off of his hands.
Bruce opened a nearby drawer and grabbed out a spare pair of his glasses and handed them over to Peter. “I’ll get your old prescription back in the next few hours, but these should do for now.”
Peter slipped them on, watching as the world returned to a much clearer state. “Thanks, Bruce.”
Bruce nodded, but didn’t get to speak, interrupted by Tony’s triumphant yells as the pillow sailed across the room to hit Dum-E head on. “I’m free!”
Peter laughed, knowing that feeling all too well. “Congrats, Mr. Stark. Now you’ve just got to figure it out so you don’t stick to everything.”
Tony swiveled to glare at the kid, but he too was interrupted. The sound of growling, a gurgling stomach, echoed through the laboratory and Tony looked shocked. “I just ate like thirty minutes ago??”
Again, Peter laughed, the feeling too familiar to explain. “Probably not enough. I can usually go two hours between meals if I eat enough.”
“Two hours?” Both scientists crowed out, fear sticking to their tongues and concern growing like weeds behind their eyes.
Shrinking into himself, Peter shrugged. “I’ve got a really fast metabolism?… If I eat a lot of carbs and protein I’m usually good for longer periods of time, but I can’t go too long without eating.”
It was like being seen in a new light and Peter hated the way he could see the gears working behind both Tony and Bruce’s eyes. He knew exactly what kind of math they were doing and he really didn’t want to see the outcome of it.
“How long, exactly, Parker?” Tony asked, voice dripping with barely contained anger. Which was valid, since he’d soon know the entire extent to which Peter limited himself.
“Well, uh…If I eat a lot of protein and carbs, like probably, uh, triple what a normal person would need for…for the day….Then I can go two-four hours before it’s painful?”
Bruce blinked. Tony stared, unblinking. Peter swallowed convulsively.
“You only eat like that at the tower.” Bruce began, slow, unsure. This was dangerous terrain and he knew it.
“Well, yeah.. May’s job doesn't bring home the kind of money it would take to eat like that all the time… so I just…” He shrugged, trailing off, refusing to meet either of their eyes.
“You starve.”
“I don’t starve!” Peter turned to argue, arms crossing over his chest, pout settling onto his lips. “I help around some bodegas and stuff and they give me free food sometimes. And sometimes as Spider-Man people buy me snacks! And I’ve got the allowance Mr. Stark gives me for food. I’m not dying.”
“But you’re in pain.” Bruce corrected, eyes sad.
Peter didn’t answer.
Tony shook his head, standing, “We’re going to be fixing that immediately when we fix this switcharoo.”
Peter didn’t respond, chewing at his lip, eyes back on his socked feet.
“For now, I need food.” Tony reiterated, swiping away the tension like he always did. He wrapped an arm around Peter and they headed upstairs.
“Do you have any ideas how we’re going to fix this?” Peter asked as they went into the kitchen. Friday, ever the faithful listener, already had the oven going for whatever Tony decided to throw in.
“Not sure. Gave Bruce some of that glop that was all over us for testing. We’ll figure it out, Pete. Don’t worry.”
“I’ll try not to.” Peter mumbled and sat at the table, adjusting the glasses on his face. They felt heavy, after so long without wearing any, but he found it wasn’t too bothersome. Something else he’d noticed? The lights from the overhead weren’t blinding him. It was probably the best relief he’d ever felt.
Tony tossed in a pizza despite it being barely ten thirty in the morning and he leaned against the breakfast bar, across from where Peter sat in his stool. “So, how’re you feeling? I mean, I got your freaky spider powers and I know it’s a lot. I’m sure it’s weird for you, going back to normal.
And it was. It was so weird after so long. Peter wasn’t the same kid who had been bitten. He’d lost a lot of people in that time. He’d gained a few, too. Still, it felt…Odd to not have the constant pulse under his skin, to not feel nearly as agile, to feel more rundown than he had in a long time.
“I…I don’t know. It’s weird.”
“Very descriptive, kid.” Tony rolled his eyes, hand digging into the candy bowl he’d left out on the counter, searching for a Three Musketeers Peter knew he’d never find.
“I don’t know, Mr. Stark. It’s really weird to not have my powers anymore. I’ve gotten really used to them. I feel a little like I lost a limb. But….I did exist before the bite, as just as normal kid. I can sorta return to it?”
“Do you want to?”
“Do….do I what?”
Tony shrugged, acting nonchalant as he tore open a mini sized snickers. “I mean, do you want to be “normal’ again? Being Spider-Man, being any superhero, isn’t easy. Especially not at sixteen. I’m just saying, maybe this wasn’t the worst thing to happen.”
And, well, Tony had a point.
Peter had never asked to be bitten, to suddenly be thrust into superherodom and have all that responsibility rest on his shoulders. But at the same time…. Who was he without it? Without the suit, he was still Peter, still Spider-Man. But without his powers? He was just Peter. Peter who could barely breathe. Peter who was scared of bullies and shadows at night. Peter -- a kid without a purpose.
“No.” Peter shook his head, picking idly at his fingernails. “It’s a lot, I know that. But I don’t know who I’d be without it. I like being able to help, to stand up for the little guy. I don’t want to lose that.”
Tony turned as the oven beeped its joyous song. He hummed as he pulled out the family sized pizza, placing it down on the stovetop. “You know you don’t have to have creepy powers to do that, right, kiddo?”
Peter watched as Tony sliced up the pie, absentmindedly picking off pepperonis and shoving them into his mouth even though Peter knew they must be boiling hot. “I know, but the powers do make it a lot easier.”
Tony chuckled, nodding his agreement. He placed a plate in front of Peter and one down in front of himself. “Can’t fault you on that one. But it’ll be okay. Bruce and I will figure it out.”
Peter hummed, pulling his plate closer and fiddling with the crust, which was just a bit doughy, exactly the way Tony liked it, the heathen.
Peter wanted them to fix it, preferably soon. He especially wanted it fixed before Tony started to realize exactly what his powers meant and how rocky they sometimes were to manage. But for now? Peter was more than content to share a pizza with Tony and not have to worry about filling up on energy for patrol.