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In Peter’s sixteen years, this has got to be one of the worst weeks he’s ever had! Okay, well, maybe the spider bite was up there, oh, and probably the time he got stuck under a building - damn, he almost forgot about that time he was shot! - but that’s beside the point! His week has been terrible, and everything is just horrible!
So, for some reason beyond Peter’s understanding, he just could not stop getting distracted by this or that, kept having random blanks in his memory, head full of everything, sometimes full of nothing. Hell, he couldn’t keep still for even half a second. It’s just, well - please, don’t make fun of him for this. MJ has already given him shit for being twitchy.
It’s just that there was this constant… itch that was incredibly good at keeping him distracted. It made Peter’s body feel strange, like something in his body was desperate for movement, to get up and do something! But, unfortunately, his life demanded he stay still. He didn’t even really know when it started, but he knew the moment it started annoying him and basically everyone around him.
It began bright and early Monday morning. He was somehow distracted before he even sat down. The girl in the front row wore a very, very strong perfume that Peter caught on his way to the back of the class to take his seat. He couldn’t pinpoint the smell, just that it was so strong that it made his head hurt damn near immediately. And because his head hurt, Peter could barely even keep his thoughts together long enough to listen to his teacher when she entered the room talking about who-knows-what.
Ned had given him a long look, but Peter couldn’t focus on anything. That’s precisely when the tapping began. It was like the moment a pencil was set between his fingers, fresh out of his backpack, the eraser was already hitting the wood of the desk. He didn’t notice it for a while; the class was rowdier than normal today, so it was easy to mask the tap as nothing but background noise.
Then, suddenly, a test appeared in front of him.
It startled him long enough that Peter broke out of his stupor and wrote his name on the paper. And then his mind was gone again. The room was too quiet; it made the itch louder, the teen rolling his shoulder a few times as if it’d help. The words on the paper were merging, blinking out of existence, and his spidey-sense was telling him he needed to run - not in a ‘you’re in danger!’ kind of way, but more of ‘wouldn’t it be so fun to run down the hall right now?’ Which, no, it would not be fun.
Especially because he’s running out of time on a damn test that has no words.
So, Peter started tapping his pencil again, and then, like magic, the words were back! It’s just that the itch was gone! Every time his pencil hit the table, he could feel the itch ebb further and further away until it was nothing. It made his heart beat faster, which… uh, that was a bit strange, but he was choosing to ignore it. He happily answered his test, which he was grateful was easy, but he kind of forgot how annoying sounds could be for other people during tests, especially considering just how quiet the classroom was.
“Mr. Parker!” His teacher barked out from the front, his head jumping up to look at her, “If you do not cease with the pencil tapping this instant, I will be forced to send you to the principal’s office for disrupting my class!” She put her hands on her hips, her face stern.
His face flushed deep red as he apologized under his breath. When the tapping had begun, it had almost instantaneously become synonymous with background noise that he was able to tune out, riding on the ‘feel-good’ hormones coasting through him after the itch was gone. But now he had to stop. The itch was back. Peter felt his eye twitch, his body practically vibrating with the desire to move.
Peter tried his best to finish the test, but his head swam, and the desperate internal drive to move burned inside him. And it didn’t just stop there. It continued well into Tuesday night.
Tuesday evenings were always spent in the lab with Bruce. Considering his degree in biochemistry and the fact that both of their powers come from gamma rays - Peter’s was less than the Hulk’s, but it was still there in his biology by now due to the spider bite - they liked to work together at least once a week. It was also nice to come up with theories with Bruce and this or that about mutation!
Tonight was no different. Peter sat with Bruce, working on a new scientific concept they were exploring to answer a burning chemical question. But, uh, other than that, Peter couldn’t exactly remember what the man had explained at the beginning of the evening, too occupied with trying anything to will down the twitching of his fingers or the insistent tapping of his foot.
All evening, he’d been drumming his fingertips subconsciously, eyes boredly watching the way his fingers cascaded against the metal of the table they were working on. At the time, Peter swore the movements looked something like a spider! It was kind of cool, to be honest. The up-and-down motions of his knuckles were slow, methodical, kind of how a tarantula might walk - they were kind of similar in size, now that he thinks about it. It made his stupid itch subside, if only for a moment.
Well, until Bruce finally got fed up.
“Peter.” His voice was firm, arms crossed over his chest.
He was slow to lift his head, feeling a bit foggy. Peter blinked harshly, refocusing his eyes on the doctor. “Ah, yes, sir?” He mumbled, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Did you even hear a word I said?” Bruce questioned him, motioning his head to the board behind him. Peter’s eyes followed the movement, staring at the whiteboard with equations and words that just couldn’t stick, couldn’t jog anything in his memory.
“Uh…” He swallowed. “Yes?” Peter sheepishly smiled. He had no idea what was going on.
The other man took a deep breath before sighing. Bruce reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Peter, if this is too boring for you, we can call it quits tonight, and you can head to bed.” He said, trying to hide his irritation. Peter couldn’t argue with that, merely picking up his stuff and leaving for the night.
Tuesday ended too soon for comfort, the itch persisting even in his dreams. Wednesday came right after it, bringing another bout of discomfort. That particular discomfort came from waking up on the ceiling. He didn’t know when he’d precisely crawled up the wall and tucked himself impossibly into the corner of the room, face smooshed against the ceiling, but it happened, and Peter had no idea how he ended up there.
This damn itch was past the point of just annoying him.
It made him want to climb things or, well, at this point, anything would suffice. Peter had vaulted over the kitchen island just to get to the fridge faster. He’d jumped over a barstool because it was only a centimeter in his way, and that clearly meant it was justifiable for him to just… start jumping over shit. He’d chosen to scale the full length of the Avengers Tower just because he could and totally not because the damn itch begged him to.
School hadn’t helped one bit. The classwork was monotonous, serving no purpose other than to keep bothering his already strained attention span. It also didn’t really help that a spider had wandered into the classroom at one point. It was so small and translucent, perfect for camouflage as the little thing crawled its way onto Peter’s desk. And, oh, was it distracting. The eight-legged creature stayed with him for quite a while, drawing in his attention and keeping him stuck just… watching.
It was so beautiful. The longer Peter stared, the more he realized it wasn’t just translucent, but it was also slightly green. He watched as the little spider tapped its legs against the desk, and Peter could swear he could hear the tiny, muted noise, the sound practically screaming in his ear. It moved effortlessly all around his desk, just being alive and walking around.
Peter allowed the spider to crawl onto his hand, his sole attention on it. It stared at him equally as long, the entire world around him disappearing. He watched with rapid interest as the spider began to play with the invisible hairs on the top of his hand. The itch was rapidly growing into something darker, something that Peter didn’t really want to think about, considering just how depressing the sigh that came out of his mouth sounded when the spider crawled off his hand and disappeared under his desk.
It made him jealous.
He wanted to be like this spider, able to crawl around freely, just being alive and being a spider. But just as soon as the thought hit him, it startled him just as bad, almost enough for that damned itch that tortured him to leave. Almost.
Thursday night called for chasing down the bad guys. He’d barely convinced Tony about eight or nine months ago that he’d been responsible enough between his schooling and his crime-stopping that he should be allowed out on the streets Thursday nights as well, not just on the weekends. Before that, it took a year to convince his dad he would be fine staying out till eleven on Sunday nights. So, he’ll take what he can get, and Thursdays were no exception.
Peter hadn’t really seen that many criminals this evening, though, only having to stop a shoplifter and help an old lady get her purse back. Sure, Thursdays weren’t as bad as, say, Friday or Saturday night because everyone turned in early for the night for work or school, but it was still disappointing. First patrol of the week and it was boring as hell. At least it was a nice, warming evening, with a breeze coming in from the east that made it feel a little cold when he swung around, but overall a nice change of pace from the heat of late May.
Peter’s spidey-sense went off half a second before a loud explosion resounded from just down the street. His head spun towards it, taking in the fire and smoke taking hold of Main Street not too far from where he’d been hanging upside down from a windowsill. Why he didn’t just hang out on the roof instead, he couldn’t say. But that’s neither here nor there. He had a crime to stop!
The teenager launched into action, arm outstretched to swing towards the danger, getting there in record time, if he did say so himself. It was easy to help the civilians in the area get to safety. Once they were handled and Peter felt like they wouldn’t get in the way, he turned to stare down the criminals. Staring at them suddenly made the itch he’d been growing accustomed to this week tear through his insides like the fire licking the streets was suddenly inside him.
He sucked in a breath, the itch exciting damn near every cell inside of him, sending energy pounding through his veins. Sure, maybe Peter could chalk it up to adrenaline, but the itch demanded more and more, until his arms were shaking with the desire to web up his prey- and woah! Okay, they were still people stupid brain of his; no need to call them prey!
But the word felt so right.
Looking at the criminals loading their guns and spitting their words at him, it was like Peter didn’t - couldn’t - see them as anything else but his prey. He was buzzing with adrenaline, trying not to let a smile show on his face. The warm May air was suddenly too warm inside his suit, but it didn’t make him uncomfortable. It just made the vibrating worse.
And so, he let the itch win—this time.
They were webbed up before they could say Spider-Man. In fact, Peter probably overused his webs, to be honest. But he couldn’t stop once he started. It was easy to jump around, use the wall as leverage to dodge a bullet, hang upside down on a light post, and make some witty remark that he didn’t remember saying. They were such easy prey, and it made him grin, breaths coming out in excited pants. He couldn’t get off this high feeling. The sweet sensation from using his webs was fucking euphoric, and it was making his head fuzzy.
Spider-Man left the bad guys to the cops, but that didn’t mean that he left Queens. He couldn’t.
The only stipulation Tony gave him was that, on weekdays, Peter was supposed to be home between ten and eleven o’clock. He’d always been diligent about obeying this rule, considering how long it took for his dad to even agree to it, but tonight, he forgot about the time constraint.
He simply couldn’t stop himself from using his web to slingshot himself across the city. The people of Queens listened as he’d swing by, laughing excitedly as he pulled on his webs around corners, going so fast that it’d make anyone else motion sick. Peter would land hard against the walls of large buildings, climbing them all the way to the top just because he could. The itch stopped in his excitement, allowing the boy to travel through the city as any other spider would.
It was so fun!
He should honestly be a little more considerate about how much web fluid he was wasting, considering how long it took to make a decent amount. But he didn’t care. After the week he’d had, Peter was going to let him finally get a reprieve from the annoying week he’d had, and if swinging around Queens was the fix to that, he didn’t care about the consequences.
Well, that was until he’d crawled back in through his bedroom window at the Avengers Tower.
His spidey-sense warned him that he wasn’t alone a second before a light flicked on inside his room. He spun around, still high off adrenaline and panting like a damn animal. Tony was sitting in Peter’s desk chair, propped up beside the boy’s door. His face showed clear disappointment and aggravation.
“Do you realize what time it is, young man?” He barked out, raising an eyebrow. But Peter didn’t respond, still breathing heavily and his nerves feeling like they were lighting up in a blaze. He’s standing so still, still enough that the itch cried out, clawing at his limbs and begging him to move. He’s probably giving his dad a strange, dopey look, considering Tony's sigh of exasperation. “It’s almost four in the morning, Peter! You’ve got school in two and a half hours!” He waved at his son. “What’s gotten into you?!”
Four in the morning? Peter’s head tilted as if he didn’t hear the man’s words clearly. 4 am? “What?” He blinked in surprise, looking at the alarm clock by his bedside. Four in the morning. Oh, fuck… “I- I’m so sorry, Dad!” He rushed out, pulling his Spider-Man mask off his face, hoping the man could see the regret on his face. “I just got, you know, busy and I lost track of time because-” But he didn’t really have a good excuse, did he? What was he supposed to say? He’s been having a weird itch that makes him want to do spider things. Yeah, like that’d go over well.
“Nope, I don’t want to hear it.” Tony raised both of his hands in the air. “I gave you an inch, Peter, and you take a mile!” He exclaimed, “That’s it. You’re grounded this weekend.”
His heart fell to his stomach. “What?!” He gasped out. “Dad, I-”
“Do not shout! Other people are sleeping around here, something that you’ve neglected for yourself.” He said, narrowed eyes piercing Peter’s shaking soul. “Once you get out of school tomorrow - oh, and you will be going to school, and I’ll also be making sure that Happy picks you up - you will stay in the tower. You will not be allowed to leave, and no Spider-Man… or TV. And give me your phone too.”
“Dad!” His eyes were wide, shoulders hiked up to his ears. He can’t live without Spider-Man; he just can’t. Not now. Not when it was the only thing that kept that damn itch at bay. “No Spider-Man?” He almost whimpered, feeling the itch in his spine again, the sensation almost painful with the knowledge that he couldn’t do the one thing that made it all better
“No Spider-Man,” Tony repeated, a bit more firmly, holding out his hand for the boy’s phone. He handed it over easily. “And take off the suit, too. I’m going to lock it up in case you get any funny ideas this weekend.” Peter solemnly changed out of it and into pajamas, shaking hands, barely even able to hand it over to his dad, watching the man snatch it away quickly. It was honestly harder to give up the suit than his phone. “Good, now get some sleep.” Tony stood up, reaching for the boy’s bedroom door. “You’re not going to be late for school.”
“Yes, sir,” Peter said defeatedly, watching his father leave the room, eyes stuck like glue to the spider suit, feeling like his insides were being carved out.
He couldn’t even really say that he slept at all, what with two and a half hours before he would need to get up, get his school clothes on, and head out the door. So, he was forced to just lie in bed, feeling like the itch was burning him alive. The covers felt too constricting, limiting his range of motion and his desire to move. It was starting to get to him too. It felt like when you get sick, when you feel so bad that everything sets you off. But Peter’s not sick; he’s just… got a spider itch.
And, by now, with these two and a half hours to think, completely exhausted and restless, he’s starting to think this has something to do with the spider bite. Granted, if anyone else shared his brain, they’d probably already have this kind of thought process and likely many other kinds to go along with it, so really - if someone did share his brain - he’d be the last one to think that thought!
He’s probably more exhausted than he realizes if he’s thinking someone is sharing his brain. No one’s sharing his brain… right? Well, no one except this stupid itch!
And so, Friday came all too soon, two and a half hours disappearing with a strange whirlpool of thoughts and an itch to keep him preoccupied.
He didn’t see Tony on his way out, but FRIDAY informed him in the elevator that he’d alerted his dad that he was on his way to school, so there’s definitely no way he could’ve possibly played hooky even if he tried his best. He hated being grounded.
He barely managed to get through the school day with the bare minimum classroom distractions, but it was a Herculean feat if he does say so himself. Peter had to choose to think about every little thing he was doing or about to do, forcing his fingers to stay pin straight and completely still after the desperate urge to tap his fingernails against the desk or steeling his legs from bouncing violently underneath the cafeteria table. And the whole time the itch - that damned itch - is crying in the back of his head, begging him to move, to crawl, to climb, to spin a web.
But he couldn’t. He was grounded.
And he was very much reminded of that fact when Happy pulled up to the school the minute he stepped out of the building. The car ride home was torture. The constricting seatbelt, the claustrophobic interior, the way the backseat cushion sat so close to the back of his head, keeping him in one position. It almost made Peter sick. He barely heard Happy comment that he looked a little green. It’s a good thing the drive home isn’t too long, or Peter was sure he might’ve cried from the horrible itch inside his body.
It was easy to tell once he walked through the elevator that no one was home. They were probably at some meeting with SHIELD or… well, hopefully they weren’t in some big Avengers fight while he was grounded. Peter was sure he’d combust if that were the case.
Peter sighed helplessly, throwing his backpack somewhere near the couch. He followed the path his backpack made, vaulting himself over the couch and landing on its plush cushions if only to relieve the itch somewhat. He curled in a ball, holding a nearby pillow tight against his chest. A hand snaked into his hair, digging his nails into his scalp. The burning itch continued, practically a violent storm brewing inside him.
He couldn’t figure out why it was there, but if his hypothesis about this being related to the spider bite was anything to go off on, the itch wanted him to be Spider-Man, not Peter Parker. It wanted him to climb walls and web up the bad guys just like a spider. It was as if he’d somehow been granted spider instincts that were forcibly changing his personality to fit that of a spider, craving the exact things only a spider would want.
Peter froze, realization dawning on him, and really, he probably should’ve seen this coming by Wednesday. What if this was yet another side effect of the spider bite and it was only just affecting him now? But why now? Being seventeen isn’t really a hitting milestone for a mutation, you know? He didn’t know, and the itch inside him didn’t care.
There wasn’t really any kind of plausible deniability he could think of - the churning of excitement boiling in his stomach when he swung from buildings or when he stuck to the walls, scaling them easily. It could all be explained by, well, a mutation. The instinct wanted Spider-Man, wanted him so badly that it hurt to be regular ol’ Peter Parker.
He needed to be Spider-Man.
He needed to be a spider for once.
Maybe just this once, he mused. Maybe he’d allow his instincts to do as they pleased.
Peter swallowed, shakily standing up and making a beeline for Tony’s lab. His spider suit still had his web-shooters on them, and he needed them like he needed air to breathe. It was easy to get into the lab, temporarily hacking the door open since FRIDAY was still trying to remind him he was grounded. But he wasn’t the Tony Stark’s son if he couldn’t hack a fucking door!
And there they were, his web-shooters. Peter almost tripped on his desperate run to them, fingers grazing the mechanism like one would hold their firstborn child. His itch cried with relief when it slipped over his wrists like they were the same as his skin. The cool metal easily erased all the tension Peter had felt all week long against him and the desperate need to stretch his fingers and use the web-shooters as if he had the biological ability to.
Grounded be damned. He felt at peace.
And three hours later, when the Avengers returned, it was hard not to want to extend Peter’s grounding for another week more.
The elevator chimed in the quiet living room, the Avengers walking out into what could only be described as pure white. It covered everything and anything, just a complete mess of the living room and kitchen area. It took them longer than necessary to realize that the whiteness all around them was webs. And only one culprit could do that.
“What the hell?!” Tony could already feel his blood pressure rising, eyes wide, staring at the carnage of their home. Web contraptions covered most of the room, some limply hanging from the ceiling as if no thought went into them, while others were thick and hardened for stability. It lingered on the floor and tried sticking to the Avengers’ shoes.
It didn’t take long before Clint started howling with laughter right beside the father, getting an ‘eat-shit-and-die’ look from Tony. “Oh boy!” He wheezed, “This is too good!”
“Seems like Peter had something to do with this, huh?” Steve furrowed his eyebrows, lifting his shoe where a thick glob of web was pulled.
Tony whirled around to glare at the other man, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Of course, he had something to do with this!” He groaned out, turning back around to stare at the mess. “My kid’s the only one who’d create webs like this to spite me!”
“Seems like that grounding you gave Petey sure did help!” Clint snickered behind the man. The sarcasm was thick today, it seemed.
“Who knew taking the spider suit from Peter would result in this?” Natasha added, her words also sarcastic.
The archer stepped around the angry father, picking at the webs stuck to the wall. “I’m always amazed at how sticky this stuff is, kinda like a real spider, you know?” He said aloud.
“Yeah, and it’s also all over my house!” Tony grumbled out, fuming at the sight all around him. “When I get my hands on him, I’ll…” His words dissolved into something unintelligible. “First, he goes against the one rule I put for Thursdays, and now he’s covered my house in a winter wonderland of webs!”
Steve chuckled. “Probably had fun doing it, too.”
“More like a little too much fun.” Bruce offered, but there was a devious smile spreading across his face. He stepped over the webs and tried to find a spot where he could set his bag down on some of the untampered ground.
“FRIDAY.” Tony called up to the ceiling, “Where is Peter?” He asked, ready to give the boy the scolding of a lifetime.
“Peter is currently occupying the same room you all are currently in.” She stated with ease.
“What?!” A wave of confusion spread through them as they eyed each other, then scanned the large room. Not that they could’ve possibly seen anything. When they said it was pure white, it meant that it was pure white. There were webs on the walls, the windows, on the electronics in the room, all over every counter and couch. It was a mess, and apparently Peter was hiding somewhere in here.
Tony huffed in aggravation, wagging a finger up at her, “FRIDAY, you better not be lying to me or else I’ll-”
Steve laid a hand on the father’s shoulder, getting the man’s attention before pointing to an innocuous corner. “Tony, he’s right there.” He said. And sure enough, there he was.
Peter was lying on what looked like a very uncomfortable web hammock, mouth hanging open like it was the best sleep he’d ever had. The Avengers took quite a long time just staring at the kid. They could see a line of drool trailing down his chin, beyond exhausted if the bags under his eyes were anything to go by. The boy’s hammock was tucked impossibly between the ceiling and the corner of the room, barely leaving an inch of space from where he was snoozing without a care in the world to the ceiling. They probably wouldn’t have noticed Peter unless Steve pointed him out.
Tony cupped his hands to his mouth. “Peter, you get down from there this instant!” He called out.
No response.
His eye twitched. “Peter!”
“Pretty sure he’s dead to the world,” Natasha commented, amused by what the other little spider had gotten up to in their absence.
Clint stepped up, raising his hands. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this!” He walked over to an adjacent closet and pulled out a broom.
“What’s that for?” Bruce raised a brow.
“You’ll see.” He grinned, carefully making his way over to the partially cocooned teenager. He lifted the broom high into the air, poking Peter in the side a few too many times. It wasn’t until Clint accidentally got Peter’s hip with a particularly hard poke that the boy’s eyes flew open. It was a flurry of limbs all at once, hands clambering up to the ceiling and scrambling a few feet away from his web hammock in record time.
Peter looked down, looking like a scared animal, but immediately calmed down upon seeing the Avengers upside-down. His face flushed red, either from the weird position of his head or from embarrassment. Probably both, everyone mused. “Um…” He swallowed. “Hi?” He managed to get out weakly.
“Yeah, hi. Why is the house a mess?” Tony got straight to the point, arms crossed over his chest, aura promising a much more extensive punishment if he didn’t like his son’s reasoning.
“I…” Peter paused, looking around the living room and kitchen area, taking in everything he’d done in his suppressed-itch headspace, seeing webs everywhere. He honestly couldn’t really remember doing any of this, just that it felt so good in the moment. Looking at it now, well, he might’ve gone a little crazy on the webs. “I, uh…” He didn’t have a good excuse. “I forgot?” He tried.
Tony’s eyes got real wide. “You forgot?!” His face was turning a bit red. “You forgot that you trashed my house!” The man threw his hands up. “Do you know how long this is going to take to clean up?! You know your webs don’t start disintegrating for another several hours!” His voice was starting to sound a bit high-pitched.
Peter shied away, enough so that the other Avengers actually started feeling a bit bad. “I know, I just-”
His dad raised a hand, cutting him off. “And get down from the ceiling when I’m talking to you!” He was beyond pissed by now. However, instead of dropping to the ground like the Avengers assumed he would, Peter simply used his webs to slide down until he was at eye level with his dad. But, of course, he was still upside-down.
“Are you playing like some extreme game of ‘the floor is lava’ or what?” Clint couldn’t help but ask.
“What?” Peter blinked before looking up - or, for him, down - at his position. He flushed red at the realization. “No! I- I, um, I just- you know…” The desire to move was enough to send him flinging towards a wall that he could cling to. He squatted against it for a moment before moving to stand, walking along the length of the wall as if it wasn’t fucking weird.
“Peter.” Steve’s voice was full of concern, gathering the teen’s rather distracted attention span. It took him a while to look at the man. “Are you… okay? You haven’t touched the floor once. Is there something we don’t know?”
By now, he was redder than a tomato. “No, it’s j-just, you know… I just…” He started laughing, the tone sharp and nervous. “I just feel like climbing a-and, um…” He was so itchy. Peter’s fingers began drumming against the wall, where his hand held it for support.
Tony took a deep breath, dragging his hand down his face. “Kid,” He started, “just tell us. Nothing can be worse than the state of my living room right now.”
Peter’s face looked constipated. And, for a moment, the Avengers thought he wasn’t going to tell them what was up, but a second later the boy dissolved, hanging his head in defeat. He peeked through his bangs. “Okay, fine, I’ll tell you, but… but you have to promise me that you won’t make f-fun of me!” He got a few nods, enough to convince him to keep talking. “Well, you see, lately I’ve been like… kind of wanting to do spider things, I guess.”
“Spider things?” Natasha questioned.
He nodded erratically. “Yeah, like I’ve got these new, uh, instincts or something that just- they’ve really been all over the place this last week, and it was bothering me for a while before I figured out what helps.” Peter’s words were starting to speed up. “I just can’t stop this exciting feeling that comes over me. Like whenever I make webs or when I’m swinging around Queens or climb walls, it’s like there’s this itch to do more and more spider stuff. I can’t stop it, and it makes me feel like I’m burning up from the inside out!”
It was quiet for a long while before Tony barked out a laugh. “So, that’s why you decided to destroy my house?” He chuckled.
Peter hid his face in his hands. “I- I’m sorry! I genuinely can’t remember doing anything of this!” He mumbled in shame.
“Is that even possible?” Clint muttered, more to himself, but he was still heard.
Bruce stepped in, a smile of pure amusement on his face. “Well, mutants do tend to get new mutations as they get older. They have the gene for it, so a mutant might continue mutating the older they get.” He tried to explain, all eyes on him. “So, getting urges like what Peter is describing isn’t so far-fetched. Plus, I sometimes get… certain urges myself.”
Natasha’s brow quirked. “What kind?” She asked.
He laughed. “Oh, you know, just wanting to turn into the big green guy sometimes and let loose.” Everyone stared at him. “I’m not actually going to do it.” Bruce rolled his eyes, and everyone sighed in relief. “I have some semblance of self-control. However,” He began, “Peter’s only a teenager, so he wouldn’t have the same type of self-control I’ve had to learn to curb my own instincts. So, it would probably be virtually impossible for Peter to go against his… spider instincts like I can with the big green guy.”
The room fell silent.
“...are you guys like… really mad about the house?” Peter questioned quietly from his position on the wall.
“Get down here and clean up this mess,” Tony said immediately, already heading toward his lab; if his kid was mutating, he wanted to know exactly what kind of mutation it was.
“But are you mad?”
He snorted. “Start cleaning, Peter, or I’m going to ground you for another week.”
“A week?!”