Just Kids | Peter Parker

5 | I Hate Spiders

Y/N

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What the hell was I doing in Queens?

Due to my "dad's" instructions, I had to move from my Avengers facility room to Peter's house. Peter Parker. A stranger. I was supposed to live with a stranger for a whole entire week. Literally everything I hated was happening to me at this very moment.

"So, this is my house," Peter said nervously, staring at his apartment door, "welcome in."

He unlocked the door and pushed it open for me. I didn't respond, but brushed past him and began to scan the area. It was pretty neat for a high schooler's house, but some things were scattered about on the dining room table. It seemed as if they weren't expecting a guest so soon, since Peter seemed nervous about what I thought.

I didn't really care, to be honest.

"Your room is over there," he said finally, breaking the silence, "it's my old room, so it's pretty small."

I grunted, "I've stayed in smaller places."

"You have?"

"I lived in a single-unit cryo-chamber for seventy years. I'll be fine."

"Cool..." he mumbled, his eyes still stuck on me in anxiousness, "I'll show you around."

Peter slid across the apartment floor, pressing open his old bedroom door to show me inside. It was pretty quaint, and also pretty plain. There was a small bed on the farthest corner, a couple of old fashion technology bits lying around, and tiny posters of math competitions hung up. On the desk, a small photo was framed, showing two boys with sheepish grins on their faces.

The boy on the left was Peter, obviously, and the boy on the right was wearing a fashionable hat. I usually wouldn't care for things like that, but the hat was undeniably exceptional.

"Who's that?" I questioned, picking the frame up, "your boyfriend?"

He blushed, "that's Ned."

"How long have you been together?"

"Oh, no, I'm not dating him. We're just best friends."

I diverted my attention elsewhere, already bored of the conversation. After living in isolation for so long, I lost the appreciation for social contact. In fact, a conversation that lasts for more than five minutes will probably start to annoy me. I plopped down the bed, crossing my arms to examine the room from a different perspective. Peter just stood there awkwardly.

"So you're a spider," I said bluntly, lowering my eyebrows.

The boy nodded, "yeah, kind of."

"I hate spiders."

"Me too."

Well, that was unexpected. I didn't mean to be rude, I just thought I'd enlighten him on the fact that I hated spiders with every bone in my body. When I was twelve, Bucky took me to see a movie down at the cinema, and I found a spider in my popcorn.

I'll never forgive that arachnid for ruining the movie and my food. I've despised them ever since.

"You hate spiders?" I repeated for him, "aren't you a spider?"

"It's weird, I know," Peter said, pursing his lips and scratching the back of his neck, "since I look human, I guess it's different."

"But are you still a human?"

"Yeah."

I stood back onto my feet, striding out of the room and into the living area. It wasn't anything particularly special, but it reminded me of my old house. In a not so modern way. Nevertheless, I didn't want to stay here anyways.

As soon as the week was over, I planned to move back into the avengers facility, get a bat, and beat up Steve and Bucky for making me do this.

Grr.

"So yeah," Peter said, coming up from behind me, "that's pretty much all there is here."

"Unless you had a hidden trap door, I could tell."

"Oh," he blinked, turning towards the kitchen, "I'll make you some snacks."

Before he went to walk away, he placed his left hand on my back, patting it gently. It was a small action, but it made me angry. Out of unconscious habit, I grabbed his wrist and pinned him onto the ground, my pocket knife pressed up against his throat. His body hit the floor with a loud thud, and he widened his eyes.

"Touch me again," I growled, "and I'll snap your arms off."

Great.

It happened again.

I was hovering over him, everything suddenly coming back to life. When I felt him touch my back, it was like the other side of me took over, and suddenly I ended up sitting on his chest and threatening his life.

I didn't mean to do it.

I didn't mean to do any of it, it was just that I wasn't used to strangers touching me. The last time it happened, my life was ruined. 

"I'm sorry," Peter choked out, "please don't kill me."

Before I had a chance to figure out how to apologize, the front door swung open and a woman walked in. She was holding two paper grocery bags in her hands, her brown hair tied back into a ponytail, and had a shocked look on her face.

It was probably because she saw me pinning her nephew to the ground with a knife.

Oh.

"Oh my god..." she mumbled, the bags starting to slip out of her hands, "hey-uh, hello, you must be [y/n]?"

It was probably best for me to leave. This clearly wasn't going to work out, because Peter was deathly afraid of me now, and so was his aunt. Without saying another word, I hopped back onto my feet and rushed into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

I guess adjusting was going to be harder than I thought.