Chapter Text
Peters skin was sticky and grimy, slick with oil, blood and sweat.
He’d always been a sickly child, and it hadn’t been his first encounter with measles, chicken pox, infections and viruses that left him spiraling.
Heck, he could probably graduate from medical school and open a pharmacy from Aunt May’s medicine cabinet.
And on top of all that, he’d never felt this utterly ill.
His bed was turned into a war zone filled with snot tears-stained tissues grenades.
Even the sun seemed to visit him and instead of some nice relief it slapped him with a fever of 38.7 degrees Celsius.
He was his normal healthy this morning, which still isn’t the pinnacle of health but at least he hadn’t felt like he knew death personally.
After fighting through a battle of sore muscles, he finally pushed himself onto his arms and set a foot onto the floor.
“Aunt May is gonna be so wo-“
at that moment he stepped on the glass of his shattered glasses that he flung while trying to find his inhaler a few hours ago.
As he felt the sharp pain rise throughout his body he decided to lay back in bed and try again tomorrow if he survived the night.
Peter shifted until he found the most comfortable position but as his hand touched the back of his head he felt a random bump.
Then it came to him.
While he was on a field trip today, he remembered seeing an empty case in one of the Genetically Modified Spider displays.
“Spider bite, that’s new”
he thought before drifting of to a pain induced sleep.
After waking up before he could even register he was awake, he realized he could read the words on his ironman poster clearly.
He shot up out of his bed which was another shock considering he was dying last night. He didn’t need his glasses, holy shit.
Excitement fogged his head as he reached for his phone to tell Ned what the hell was happening to him.
He took a step and felt a thousand voices screaming at him before he practically shoved himself to the side?
He looked down and saw a huge piece of glass from his broken glasses.
What the hell is happening to him.
This time he carefully tip-toed to his desk and grabbed his phone.
Dead, guess he’ll tell him later.
He tossed or at least tried to toss his phone onto his bed, instead it stuck to his fingers and made no notice to leave.
Peter gave it an eviction notice by freaking out and ripping off a bit of the skin on his fingertips.
“OH GOD, WHAT THE FUC-“
“PETER, DON’T YOU DARE FINISH THAT SENTENCE AND GET READY FOR SCHOOL.”
Peter froze as Aunt May’s voice came echoing through the walls.
His hands were now stuck to the back of his neck which had no mysterious spider bite lump.
“Okay Peter just get your weirdly gluey but dry hands off your neck without decapitating yourself or ripping an artery.”
He took a deep breath before immediately backing out and freaking the hell out.
It took a few moments before he ushered himself back into a scared calm as he finally took his hands off his neck with no bloodshed.
“What is happening”
He whispered to himself as his hands began trembling before a whole new wave of sensory came in.
The pans Aunt May was cooking breakfast on seemed to be bashing in his ear, his eyes left like they were on fire trying to focus on everything while he could literally feel his brain exploding trying to process and evaluate all the sensory input.
His woollen pyjamas that Aunt May made for him suddenly felt like a colony of ants trying to eat his lungs.
His gums, oh god his gums decided to feel what could only be acidic rot.
Dizzy.
Everything was spinning.
Could it spin if he didn’t even know where everything was.
THE LIGHTS, oh the lights. Since when was the sun in his room!?
In a daze he threw on a hoodie, maybe jeans? Or was it sweats.
Doesn’t matter when Peter just got his hands stuck to the toilet rim after throwing up yellow greenish acidic mixed with blood from his teeth.
His eyes darted around to every speck, nook and cranny in the room.
He needed to get out. No yesterday. Doesn’t matter just get out.
He repeated as he rushed past Aunt May, leaving her and her deliciously smelling bacon behind.
Did bacon always smell that good?
Maybe.
The February chill creeped into his bones making his legs lock and the fell splat onto the concrete.
No one helped the terrified boy up.
Peter ran warm, Aunt May would always joke that he was her personal heater for those unforgiving winter nights.
So why was that gone..
Oh god help him.
Feeling his teeth move around in a solution that tasted like spit, copper and acid he pushed himself with surprising strength and made it to an alley where he threw up all over a rat’s potential lunch.
He heaved feeling absolutely repulsed with himself.
That scream melted back into his conscious.
It didn’t scare him half to death this time considering this time it wasn’t deafening him.
It was like it was seizing his thoughts and dragging him along the streets of Queens.
He covered his eyes and ears only letting a sliver of light through so he could see.
The cold felt like death itself but this buzz in his head felt more urgent than any physical sensation. He walked through the streets of New York, letting his conscious guide him.
He walked fast until the buzz in his ear became a scream and he saw the source. A young lady getting harassed by an older man on the side of the road.
Why was no one helping her?
Why was no one helping her!
Before he could even realise he was moving he grabbed the man by his collar and pushed him away.
The man stared at Peter with utter shock.
The girl grabbed Peter’s shoulder, although grateful her bold droopy eyes remained drowned in fear for the boy.
“Kid run off, this isn’t something you need to be involved in. Go to school. Now.”
She told him quickly, trying to push him off into the bustling crowd.
But if Peter was ‘brave’ above all things he was a stubborn child.
The man had got up before Peter could reply and sent a fist flying towards him.
Peter caught it and threw him flying into the wall.
He remained lying there motionlessly.
His hand clasped against his mouth before taking a few steps back.
What had he done.
Did he just kill a man..
…
..
..
The man took a breath and Peter along with the small circle of people that had formed.
Peter turned trying to leave but an older gentleman with a simple but clean-shaven face stopped him.
“You did the right thing kid.”
The man turned him around where the girl was staring at him like he had just given her a million bucks.
Maybe he had. Who knew.
She covered her face with her dark red beanie and disappeared.
Peter ran.
Faster than he ever did.
He felt the wind being knocked out of him, not because of his old asthmatic ways but because he just beat a man 15 times bigger than him.
He couldn’t go to school like this.
Could he tell Aunt May?
Would she even know what to do.
He hid in an empty alley way, his eyes darting around. It was full of graffiti.
Some with names, others with random phrases, but one caught his eye.
An old painting of the Avengers saying: “anyone can be a hero.”
And a fresher one saying: “no expectations.”
He ignored the second one.
The other made something click in his head. Did he have powers!?
He squealed and hit his hand on a pole. The pole bent.
“HOLY SHIT!”
He screamed excitedly. He had POWERSSS! Like Captain America, Hulk, oh he could go on forever.
His excitement made him forget all about his aches and nausea until he had to heel over a dumpster.
Yet the smile didn’t leave his face this time.
He cleaned himself up and ran to school. He arrived as the bell rang and spewed a plethora of curses under his breath.
Ned and MJ were no where to be seen.
He grounded remembering he left his backpack behind.
“Mrs Sheffield is gonna be so mad.”
He shuffled into school already regretting showing up but grateful for the school walls protecting him from the wind and cold.
He tugged on the sleeves of his hoodie. Yesterday it fit wonderfully, perhaps even a bit baggy. Now it felt scratchy and tight. He flet like a sore thumb in a world of polished and filed nails.
Peter headed to the science lab where he put on his lab coat and safety glasses. Mrs Sheffield was yelling at everyone to continue their experiments.
The lab was cold and harsh. He could feel Mrs Sheffield’s eyes on him but none of that was bothering him. He was more focused on what his superhero name could be.
‘Well, a spider bit me so…. Spider? Black Widow! No that’s already a superhero name…hmm…’
He grabbed a few chemicals, barely glancing at them before pouring them.
‘Tarantula Man? No doesn’t sound right’
He sighed as he continued thinking.
‘Was choosing a superhero name always this hard?'
Peter wondered how Tony got his superhero name before he remembered that the news made up his name.
A bottle filled with Hydrochloric Acid shattered in his hand, giving him chemical burns.
“OW AUGH OW OW!”
Peter yelled as the acid seeped into his hand.
“Go wash your hands Peter! Ill clean this up and come check on you, don’t worry about it. GO, NOW!”
Mrs Sheffield hollered as she rushed over to clean the spill while shooing Peter to the sink.
The water washed over his hand, but it didn’t burn anymore... In fact it was healing, faster than any normal person should be able to.
‘Shit if Mrs Sheffield saw this.’
Peter panicked, his hand was already healed. Peter turned, following the voice in his head and burst out of the classroom and left school disappearing into the bustling streets of New York.