[DISCONTINUED] Invincible ➳ Peter Parker

1 ~ In the Beginning

"Spiders in my head, spiders in my mind."

I bobbed my head along to the beat of the music as I carried a small section of machinery to my work table. I was being careful as to not jostle any of the smaller bits around.

Sliding my magnifying glass over my project, I began to line all my tools up. All I needed to do was use tiny little droppers to place minuscule amounts of chemicals into indentations in the metal, and then meld tubes and wires overtop, sealing my chemicals in.

Well, they weren't mine, they were actually my dad's. I stole them from his lab. He didn't let me use them because if I make the wrong move, I could lose my entire arm.

Just another day at the Stark residence.

"You may take my eyes, but baby I'm not blind," I sang along quietly, dropping the first liquid into it's designated spot. I quickly sealed it with it's color-coded tube and moved on to the next one.

Everything worked perfectly. I got to my third and final chemical combination and used my fingers to hold the tube in place while it set.

Immediately, I felt a strange sensation under my fingertips. It felt like popping candy, only smaller and painful. I didn't know what was going on, only that it wasn't supposed to be happening and that it couldn't be good.

"Ohh, shit shit shit shit shit," I hissed, trying to pull my fingers away. They wouldn't budge.

"Dad!" I hollered, using the rest of my fingers to pick up my project and run to the sink. "Dad! Get in here, quick!"

A second later, Dad burst into the room, wearing stained work clothes. I assumed he was in his own workshop, which was just the next room over.

His eyes searched the room and landed on me, an alarmed look on his face. He rushed over to me and examined my fingers, which were now getting warm and burning. After glancing at my table to see what I was doing, the fear melted from his expression, but the urgency was still there.

"Oh, for Christ's sake," he muttered. He grabbed the kit containing the chemicals and tools I stole from him and rummaged through it, producing a plastic squirt bottle filled with a thin, blue liquid.

He flipped the cap off and squirted a little bit onto each of my stuck fingers. My skin cooled down instantly, and I let out a breath of relief. After a moment or two, he pried the metal out of my hands, earning some wincing from me. I checked out my fingers. My index fingers got the worst of it; they were red and raw, and felt like they were on fire.

"You'd better have a good reason for taking my things. I gave you your own workshop with your own equipment," he chided, tossing the bottle onto the table.

"You have better stuff." Read: he had stuff I needed.

"Hate to break it to you, kiddo, but at the rate you're going, you won't have hands by the end of the summer," Dad warned jokingly.

I looked down at my hands sheepishly. There were numerous band-aids and healing burns from previous mishaps covering both of them. "I'm better at using tech, not building it," I mumbled.

"What are you working on so much that has you using my stash of dangerous chemicals, anyway?" He precariously set my work piece on an empty space on the table. No matter how dangerous a creation was, it should be handled with great care and respect. My dad understood that, even if he was a little mad at me.

"Nothing really," I lied. "Just bored, that's all."

I couldn't tell him what I was working on. No way. It makes me seem weak and pathetic.