Chapter Text
Peter spent the weekend at the Avengers Tower, which was nothing unusual. Over the past few months he spends nearly every weekend at the Tower, but on school days he is at home with May, he is still trying to convince her to let him sleep over during school night.
He woke up before his alarm rang and waited for the morning grogginess to go away. Staring at the ceiling something felt off. Not his Peter-Tingle blaring, but something was just wrong. Like he slept in an awkward position.
Peter’s head was slightly throbbing and his torso ached. Not the satisfying ache after patrol or training, this was something deep, like his muscles and tendons stretched overnight.
“Ow…” he groaned as he sat up, hugging his sides.
He sat up a little straighter and the aching vanished as quickly as it came.
Okay…. Weird.
Rubbing his eyes, he noticed something else. His hearing. One of the many perks of being Spider-Man is being able to hear conversations from across floors if he really focuses, but now it won’t stop. He was able to hear the hum of the coffee machine thirty-two floors down, two dogs barking at each other outside the tower.
“What the…” Peter clamped his ears with his hands and hung his head low as his head throbbed harder.
Not a full migraine but enough to make it feel like his brain was squirming.
I probably didn’t get enough sleep, nothing to worry anyone over.
He went along with his morning routine, his hearing lessening enough for it to be manageable. But the pounding in his skull was relentless.
“I’m telling you, Tony,” Clint said as Peter entered the kitchen, “You have to make some sort of energy barrier for the balcony, racoons keep on stealing my food when I eat up there!”
“There is no racoon,” Natasha sighed, nursing a cup of coffee.
“Yeah I think it was a squirrel," Tony added.
Thor’s voice made Peter’s brain vibrate, “A brave creature regardless,”
Wanda noticed Peter first, “Hey Peter!”
Peter plastered on an easy smile, “Good morning,”
Thor stood up immediately, “Man of Spiders!”
Before Peter could react, Thor pulled him into one of his legendary bear hugs.
“Good,” Thor said as Peter wheezed, “Morning!”
“You remain too fragile,” Thor stated, finally letting go.
“I lifted a building once!”
“And yet,” Thor went back to his poptarts, “I can still hear your ribs creaking,”
“They’re overdramatic,” Peter replied, sitting across from Tony at the kitchen island.
Tony put his coffee down and stared at Peter, “Kid?”
“Old man,”
“You look awful,”
Peter put a hand over his heart, “Wow, good morning to you too,”
“You got bags under your eyes,”
“I’m trying to look like you,”
Tony muttered with no venom, “You little piece of shi-”
“Eat,” Steve said, pushing a full plate towards him, “before Tony starts diagnosing you,”
“I’m always diagnosing him,”
Bruce called from the stove, “I can confirm that,”
Peter looked down at his plate. Fruit, eggs, toast, a stack of pancakes, and a pile of bacon. Usually breakfast at the tower smelt amazing but today the smell of dead pig made his stomach lurch.
Everything smelt so strong, like they shoved his breakfast up his nose.
“You okay?”
Peter looked up and saw Tony staring at him, “Yeah, I’m fine,”
“You sure?” Tony cocked his head.
“Yeah I was just thinking,”
Bruce let out a low whistle, “Dangerous,”
Peter picked up his fork while the conversation resumed. Thor was telling a story about a sea monster called Jörmungandr and Clint was convinced it was fake. And when Thor explained the story again Natasha claimed it made less sense.
Peter would have joined the conversation but his hearing increased again. He heard the pants of something jogging three streets away, a helicopter flying somewhere, the refrigerator condenser coils humming, coffee sloshing inside the mug as Tony mixed, Steve’s heartbeat.
Peter blinked. Wait… a heartbeat?
Peter looked to his left, Steve was sitting on a stool, buttering his toast. Completely normal. But Peter could hear it like he was using the world’s best stethoscope, the beat was steady and strong.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
“Pete?” Tony said.
“Mmm?” Peter replied, still staring at Steve.
“You’ve been staring at Capsicle for half a minute,”
Peter turned away so fast his neck cracked, “I was studying,”
“My… buttering technique?” Steve raised an eyebrow and Peter blushed in embarrassment.
“It’s very uhh patriotic,”
Clint laughed and Steve muttered about how he walked into that one. Peter smiled but a spike of pain shot through his head immediately.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Natasha asked.
“I think I’m getting sick,” Peter rubbed his temple.
Tony’s head snapped up so fast it looked painful, “You don’t get sick,”
“I know,”
“No, like it is impossible for you to get sick,” Bruce said, walking closer to Peter.
“I know,” Peter replied through clenched teeth, resisting the urge to yell at Bruce, “Maybe I’m evolving,”
Tony wrinkled his face, “Please don’t,”
Everyone was staring at him, he tried to act normal. He picked up his fork and stabbed an egg. After swallowing his stomach immediately revolted.
Nope.
Peter placed down the fork.
“You’ve eaten one bite,” Tony said.
"I'm pacing myself,"
"You've eaten one bite," Tony repeated, stressing each word.
"I'm savoring,"
"Kid."
"I'm fine,"
Tony wasn’t convinced, neither were any of the Avengers.
Peter picked up a piece of toast, thinking dry food would help. It didn’t. It tasted a hundred times more than it should, he could taste each grain of wheat. Setting the toast back down, he pushed his plate away.
“You hate my cooking?” Thor asked, he had the most exaggerated expressions of betrayal. You would think Peter killed his best friend, brother, half his fellow Asgardians and destroyed his planet.
“You cooked… toast?”
“Yes,”
“Ohh uhh…”
The entire table laughed, which felt like cackles in Peter’s ears. Everything was so loud, the fan overhead, a woman asking for directions across the street, the elevator opening for a worker, and there was a buzzing next to his ear which felt like it was going to make his eardrums bleed.
The fly landed on the table before flying away. Without thinking, Peter grabbed the fly with his index and thumb, not killing it but holding it as it tried to squirm away. Peter didn’t even feel himself move, but there he was, a fly in his hands.
“Did you just catch a fly?” Clint blinked in shock.
Tony leaned forward, “Are you planning on becoming a frog too?”
“I…”
Peter let go of the bug and the room watched it fly away.
“Man of Frogs,” Thor hummed, “Doesn’t have the same ring as Man of Spiders,”
Steve whistled, “Fastest reflexes I’ve ever seen,”
Fastest Peter has seen too. His heartbeat sped up and Peter could hear it. His Spider-Sense didn’t go off, he didn’t consciously move, his body just did it, like blinking.
“You alright?” Tony asked again, his voice dripping with concern.
“Yep,” Peter’s voice was three octaves too high.
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” Peter tried to think of an excuse but between the sound of his own heartbeat and a cabbie swearing twenty blocks away it was hard to think, “Stood up to fast,”
“Uhh Pete, you’re sitting,”
“Right…” Peter laughed meekly, “I meant mentally,”
“That’s not how expressions work,” Wanda said, inching closer to the boy.
Peter tried to answer but his torso cramped so badly he had to grip the counter, which cracked under his hold. The pain lasted for barely a second before it subsided to an ache.
“I’m okay,” Peter said before anyone could ask.
“You don’t look okay,” Bruce commented, staring at the broken counter in Peter’s hands.
“I’m,” Peter swallowed, awkwardly placing the counter pieces on the island, “I’m gonna lay down for a minute before I go to school,”
Tony was already standing before Peter stood, “I’ll take you to the medbay,”
“No!” Peter shouted, louder than he meant, “Uhh.. I mean I don’t need Bruce to run a dozen blood tests when I just didn’t get enough sleep. Actually I’ll think I’ll just go to school, don’t wanna be late,”
Tony studied Peter for a long time. He was pale and sweaty, but he was still standing and joking around.
“If you’re still like this the next time I see you, you’re going to the medbay and will do whatever weird tests Bruce deems necessary," Tony said, wagging a finger.
Peter nodded immediately,"Deal,"
"Promise."
"I promise."
Tony studied him for another long second,"Fine,"
Peter smiled, "Thanks," before slinging his backpack over his shoulders.
As he walked toward the elevator, he didn't notice Tony watching him leave.
“He lied about being fine,” Natasha said as the door closed, and Clint nodded in agreement.
“I know,” Tony doesn’t need to be a trained spy to know when his the kid is lying.
“You think it's serious?” Steve asked Bruce and Tony.
“I don’t know,” Bruce answered truthfully.
Tony stared at the nearly untouched plate of food. He has never seen Peter walk away from food.
─────────────── 🕷 ───────────────
Entering the school was a type of torture Peter never wanted anyone to experience.
Everything was too loud, he could hear someone slurping from the water fountain on the other side of the school. He wished he couldn’t hear two people making out in the supply closet. Every sound wasn’t just louder, it felt closer, like it was being made right inside his ears.
All the smells were too much. The disinfectant, the toilet water, and the entire school’s body odour seemed to be right under his nose.
“Ow,” he muttered when he opened his locker, the metal creaking sounding deafening.
“Peter?”
He turned around to see Ned jogging towards him, his backpack bouncing on his back.
“There you are,” Ned smiled, before looking worried, “You okay?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Peter grumbled, avoiding the question because he was very much not okay.
“Because you look like you haven’t slept in three days,”
Peter forced a grin, “I appreciate your honesty,”
“I’m serious,”
“No, I’m Sirus,” MJ appeared with a book in one hand, she looked Peter up and down, “You look terrible,”
He groaned dramatically, before carefully closing his locker, “Wow you guys really know how to boost someone's confidence,"
“You’re pale,” MJ noted.
“I’ve always been pale,” Peter retorted.
“No, you’re much paler now,” Ned said, “It’s almost impressive,”
MJ didn’t smile and Peter noticed.
Great now she’s worried.
The bell rang and it basically felt like Peter was getting a lobotomy, he stifled a groan and made his way to his first class. Body odour, stinky shoes, perfume, someone eating a breakfast burrito, deodorant, freshly sharpened pencils, someone carrying oranges, floor cleaner, soap. All the scents engulfed his nose, making him feel like choking. He tried to breath in through his mouth to lessen it but Peter was able to taste the smells.
“You okay?” Ned asked.
“Fine,” Peter replied, “Just dizzy,”
“You should go home,” MJ advised.
"I have a chemistry quiz,"
"You'll survive missing one quiz,"
"I'll survive being dizzy."
MJ sighed, "You're impossible,"
"I've been told."
─────────────── 🕷 ───────────────
By second period he really regretted not going home. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, he had never noticed before, but today it felt like they were humming inside his skull.
The class was silent because they were doing the chemistry quiz but Peter was able to hear every tapping foot, every scratch of pencil on paper, every puff of air. After some very steady breathing he was able to ignore it and focus on his test.
A 12 g sample of magnesium-
Someone was clicking their pen.
Repeatedly.
Each click felt like a needle behind his eyes.
Peter clenched his jaw.
Stop clicking.
Click.
Click.
Click.
He tries to refocus.
A 12 g sample of magnesium interacts with 1.05-
Click.
Click.
Peter’s breath grew shallower.
He gripped his pencil harder. He heard the lawnmower dozens of streets away, the flag flapping in the wind, someone’s phone was vibrating three classes away, the blinds shuttered. Peter kept gripping the pencil.
Click.
Click.
Click.
SNAP.
Peter’s pencil broke into miniscule splinters.
─────────────── 🕷 ───────────────
Peter had his head in his arms, the smell of greasy school lunches making him nauseous. MJ (he recognized her breathing pattern) poked his back, he arched his back to get away, her finger sent electric pulses down his spine, for more than one reason.
“Eat,” Ned said, placing a tray full of food in front of Peter.
It had two slices of pizza, apple slices, and milk. He would usually demolish it, sometimes even go for seconds, but today it felt like his stomach wanted to crawl out of his throat.
“I’m not hungry,”
“Did we ask?” MJ asked, sitting down next to him, their knees brushed and Peter didn’t mind, “Eat,”
Peter sighed before picking up his pizza, taking a slow bite and chewing it. It grew in his mouth and while he swallowed it felt like it was trying to crawl back out of his mouth.
“There,” He said, placing down the pizza, “I ate,”
Both his friends shared a look but he wasn’t paying attention. He was able to distinguish a scent, coming deep within the kitchen, raw meat. His started to salivate, drool dripping down his chin.
“Peter?” Ned asked timidly.
Peter snapped his head down, only noticing now that he was standing. He sat back down, trying to ignore the puddle of drool on the table. Wiping his mouth he apologized.
They both looked at each other again and Peter noticed.
"What?"
"Nothing," they both said together.
"You guys did the look,"
"What look?" Ned asked.
"The worried parent look,"
"We're worried,"
"You shouldn't be," Peter stood up holding his tray, about to make his way to the trash, “I’m fine,”
─────────────── 🕷 ───────────────
By the end of the day Peter’s entire body was in pain. His shoulders were stiff, his back ached, and the sides of his torso were on fire. It was like his entire body was fighting to be the center of attention, but his torso won. It felt like the muscles wanted to stretch but couldn’t.
Packing his things, a pen fell from his pencil case. He grabbed it from the floor but-
CRACK.
The top of the pen was in his hands but the other side rolled on the floor. He didn’t even squeeze that hard, had he?
“Peter?” MJ looked from the broken pen leaking ink to Peter and back at the pen, “Did you mean to break that?”
“I… don’t think so?”
“Dude,” Ned breathed, grabbing one half of the pen which was on the floor.
Peter could only stare. It was his super strength, obviously, but he didn’t mean to apply any pressure. It just kind of happened, like the fly during breakfast. It happened automatically, naturally.
“Dude,” Ned finally was able to gather his thoughts, “You have to tell Mr. Stark,”
“I can’t,”
“Why not?”
“Because then he’ll tell Bruce and I’ll be trapped in the medbay for a month,”
“You say like that’s worse than whatever is happening,” MJ said, waving her hand at the pen.
“I’m probably getting sick,”
“Or maybe,” Ned gasped before whisper screaming, “You’re pregnant! What if the spider that bit you was female!?”
“What, no!” Peter laughed but it was painful.
“I’ve never heard of someone break a pen because of a flu,” MJ pointed out.
“Well this is a super flu so maybe it’s normal,”
“Whatever is going on with you,” MJ said packing her stuff, “You need to tell Stark before it gets worse,”
─────────────── 🕷 ───────────────
After a loud and smelly subway ride back to his apartment, Peter opened the door and saw May.
“Hi Aunt May,” Peter greeted dropping of his bag on the couch.
“Hey Sweetie,” May said before frowning, “You look exhausted,"
Peter groaned, “Is there a club of people telling me how awful I look?”
May placed a hang on his forehead, “No fever, do you feel sick?”
“I don’t think so,”
“You want soup?”
Peter’s stomach did a roll at the idea, “Maybe later. I’m gonna take a shower first,”
May nodded and Peter went down the hallway and into the bathroom. He looked at the mirror, pale skin, dark circles under his eyes, bloodshot eyes.
Yikees.
He took of his hoodie and was about to take off his pants when he noticed something strange on his forearm.
What the…
His arms had wirey, black hair. Each individual hair was much thicker than anything growing on Peter’s body, so it definitely was not peach fuzz.
He rubbed them, hoping they would come off and made a confused sound when they didn’t. The hair was scattered up and down his arms and was very dark and coarse. It didn’t look or feel normal, it almost reminded him of animal hair.
This is weird. Okay, okay don’t freak out maybe it’s sticky dust or fibers from one of Mr. Stark’s projects.
He pinched one of the “hairs” and pulled, pain shot down his arm making him let go.
“Ow…”
The hairs were growing from his skin.
Oh fuck.
Without another thought he opened the bathroom drawer, taking out a disposable razor and shaving cream. After lathering it up and shaving, he watched the wire like hairs go down the drain.
“There,” Peter said to his reflection, “Problem solved,”
But Peter didn’t believe the problem was solved.