Chapter Text
Peter wasn’t enjoying being powerless. After all, it really did feel like losing a limb. That being said, there were a lot of things he wasn’t missing. It had been years since Peter could listen to music this way, with the bass up loud enough to vibrate through his bones, with the Bluetooth connected lights he’d dug from the Best Buy dumpster and fixed flashing along to the songs tempo.
If he was being truly honest with himself, it felt too good not to revel in it just a bit.
He almost felt normal again.
Which was a feeling he’d never expected to embrace so wholly. As Spider-Man a lot of things had changed, a lot of weight rested on Peter’s shoulders. After Uncle Ben, he’d taken it in stride and done his best to roll with the punches and make it all work. Someone had to do this job and he’d been handed the mantle. After accepting the powers, for good or bad, he’d moved on from thoughts of normal teenagers. His biggest worries weren’t always a prom date or a missed history test. Sometimes, his biggest worries were who lives and who dies. It’s just how it was, how it had to be, as Spider-Man.
But now? Thanks to some freaky alien, Peter wasn’t Spider-Man. And while he wasn’t entirely happy as pre-bite Peter…He had to admit he was surprised at how good it felt to just be Peter, a regular teenager, again.
Unfortunately, it didn’t always last.
Like after the first day when Tony had finally satiated his appetite and he and Bruce had forced Peter to sit down and discuss his eating habits. Peter had felt like spiders were crawling under his skin the entire time as both men berated him for not taking better care of himself, especially as a superhero and a teenager. (Or in the case of Tony, especially as he had access to a billionaire’s unlimited money.)
The music suddenly dropped down to a nearly silent level and Peter let out a noise of protest. But then, the lights dimmed, not only in his room, but in the hallway that he could see through the cracked door. And just like that, it hit him like a freight train.
Tony hadn’t ever had to deal with senses beyond the regular human capacity. He was, after all, just a regular guy inside the tin suit. Now, with the accidental switch, he was stuck with Peter’s powers…gifts or curses.
“Shit.” Peter whispered and stumbled from the bed, still not used to his gangly limbs and loss of grace. “Fri, Overload Procedure now.”
The lights dropped to nearly pitch black and Peter himself, even with his decreased hearing sensitivity, could hear the sudden silence that enveloped the building. It was deafening in a weird way.
“Where’s Mr. Stark?”
After a moment, clearly time in which Friday scanned properly, she spoke again, voice barely a brush of sound. “He’s in the hallway near his bedroom. Boss doesn’t seem to be able to finish walking there.”
A bad one then, Peter surmised. Then again, the memory of his first overload crept into his mind and it made sense. He’d all but passed out on the bus ride to school only to spend the rest of the morning puking his guts out on the boys room floor. If Tony was anywhere near as bad, Peter needed to help.
It was decided then. Peter slid into the bathroom attached to his tower bedroom and snagged the bulky headphones from the counter as well as the special foam goggles Tony had made specifically for him. After making sure he had a few other necessities stuffed into his pockets, he turned to get to his mentor.
Hurrying down the hall, as quiet as he could be in bare feet, Peter was quick to traverse the mini maze of corridors to get to Tony. The man was scrunched up on the floor, merely fifteen steps from his room, holding his head like it was seconds from exploding.
Peter took a quick breath and knelt down in front of him. Without saying a word he slipped the headphones over the crown of Tony’s head and then repeated the process with the nano and foam goggles. He knew from experience both items were lightweight enough to not really be felt, but also to block out just enough extra that would make overload a little more bearable.
Tony batted at his hand, but it was so weak it didn’t even move Peter. He was quick to roll his eyes and grab the pills from his back pocket. Peter tapped at Tony’s chin, but Tony only fought.
A sigh. “This is much easier when I’m on the other end…” Peter mumbled to himself.
Tapping at Tony’s temple he waited to see the flicker of eyelids opening behind the tinted lenses. Tony looked wrecked with bloodshot eyes and tears glistening across his cheeks.
Peter shot him a sympathetic smile and then tapped his own chin, popping his mouth open in response. He waited a second, repeated the action on himself, and then nodded at Tony.
This time, when he poked Tony’s goatee the other man’s mouth opened slightly, eyes watching Peter exhaustedly.
“Good.” Peter grinned and popped in the two dissolving tabs of painkillers that they’d whipped up for…Well, they’d been for Cap and the Hulk, but Peter had snuck a bottle from the medbay and used them for minor aches and pains the same way he used to use Tylenol before the bite. They only ever took the edge off, the dosage actually too low to help him with major injuries, but he knew they’d ease the overload hangover that was soon to come.
Tony closed his mouth on the tasteless wafers and continued to stare ahead. He went to speak when they were dissolved, but Peter shook his head. Speaking was a big no.
Instead, Peter just gave another smile and crouched into his familiar stance, even though now his muscles protested with fiery anguish at the movement. Ignoring it, Peter held out his hands to Tony and waited for him to take them.
Tony did and the two slowly stood together. Peter was beginning to realize just how weak he’d been before the spider powers when he shouldered Tony’s weight, but he just bit down on his bottom lip and began to slow shuffle to the bedroom.
It took nearly ten minutes to walk those handful of steps and actually get Tony into the bed. Peter was quick to toss off the heavy duvet that the Starks had and instead left only the thin, cotton sheet. Peter knew from experience none of this would be comfortable, exactly, but he knew it was better than anywhere else.
Tony settled into the bed, sinking into the mattress and shuttering his eyes. Peter slumped beside the bed, back pressed against the ornate knobs of the bedside table, and watched. It didn’t take long for the fight to leave Tony’s body and his posture to droop, breath evening out.
“Fri?” Peter whispered, knowing she’d hear no matter how quiet he was.
“He’s asleep, Peter.” Friday confirmed softly and Peter could feel his own tense muscles relax.
Slowly standing, Peter left the bottle of water he’d grabbed, a small bag full of slightly crunched plain crackers, and another few pills on the table. Sneaking out was fairly easy and soon Peter was trudging back to his room.
Lifting Mr. Stark’s weight, even if only partially, had really zapped him of strength. Another downside to losing something he’d long grown used to.
Returning to his bedroom, Peter shut the door with a tiny click and collapsed into his bed. Without bothering to fix the sheets or so much as speak when Friday asked if he was okay, Peter pressed his face into his pillow and allowed sleep to engulf his mind.