Spider-Son & Iron Dad one shots

Arachnid

Spooktober.15

⚠️TW: vomit, sickness in general⚠️

Peter rushes into the bathroom of the apartment, shutting the door behind him with a loud click.

His vision was too clear, everything much more distinct and sharp than any well-seeing person would even see, and that was coming from somebody with glasses. His breathing was fast, and he swears he can hear his heart pounding, and his own blood rushing through his veins.

This wasn't normal. This wasn't normal at all.

He sinks to the floor with his back against the bathroom and pulls up his sweater sleeve, wincing as the fabric scratched his skin. The spider bite was still there, present as ever.

Peter was just over fourteen. He had a life to live, and here he was, about to die from a spider bite. Tears fall down his face in thick lines, making his face splotchy red and white.

He could call Ben, but he was working. Ben's boss is a stingy man, and one who most certainly wouldn't give him the paycheck if Ben left midway through the day. Peter knew they needed the extra money, so he knew Ben was out of the picture.

He could call May, but she was working too. Nurse hours were long and hard, and Peter wasn't as close to May anyways.

In the end, it all came down to worrying. He didn't want to worry anybody. But he was worried himself. The skin around the spider bite was blue, which couldn't be good if the medical shows Peter has watched before had anything to say about it.

His stomach turns and he lurches for the toilet bowl. Bile starts in the back of his throat, making the insides of cheeks go uncomfortably hot and his mouth start to water unpleasantly. He throws up twice, but it doesn't end there.

If he were able to count through his mess of a brain, he would have counted eight times where he retched into the bowl. After it all, he's shivering and shaking with his teeth chattering and knocking into one another. He clutches his knees to his chest as his cheek rests against the wall.

"What's wrong with me?" He sobs. Peter doesn't remember when the tears had started, but they don't seem to end. "Stupid spider bite."

Rationally, he knows that he should be calling a hospital. But ambulances are expensive, and lack of funds is why Peter chose to suffer alone in the first place. He shoves his glasses further up his nose, sniffling and sobbing harder.

Everything is too hot. His sweater continued to scratch at his skin, and it got to be so uncomfortable that Peter just rips it off. The lights are very bright, but he makes no energetic movement to turn them off.

He was not going to die in the dark.

And, he could die. He truly believes that.

Peter could die right here. He could die, sitting next to the toilet with the taste of acid on his teeth, and a bite mark on his wrist from a field trip that he was so excited to go on. He thinks distantly that this kind of irony must be the definition of Parker luck.

His laughable attempts at calming breaths come out more as pitiful shuddered sobs, so he gives up and gets his phone out.

He finds himself scrolling to Ned's contact without much thought. He's still shaking like a leaf in the wind, with some of the more violent convulsions happening every few seconds, but he tries to send Ned a text anyways.

[peter: Ned]

The response is almost immediate.

[Ned: dude!! Are you okay? You ran out so fast]

[Ned: People are looking for you still]

Peter's face crumples like it's forcing an even more intense frown. He whimpers as he tries to keep the sobs at bay.

[peter: Youre a good best friend]

[Ned: Uh??? Dude???? Thanks but seriously are you okay?]

[Ned: Peter???!]

[Ned: dude answer your phone]

[Ned: Peter please answer your phone you're scaring me]

Peter wasn't looking at his phone, and he flinched at every notification sound, every phone ring, because it seemed to reverberate and bounce of every wall much louder than he remembered it to be.

His vision blurs, the patterns on the floor and the wallpaper mixing into the same colour like paint on a palette.

Peter is exhausted, he can feel it in the way his muscles long to relax, despite being draped on the floor in a sad way with his limbs twisted in and even more upsetting fetal position from when he had finishing throwing up.

As he stares at the blank grey in front of him, he thinks to himself.

'Maybe I can die in my sleep, peacefully.'

'Maybe...'

He wakes up to frantic knocking on the bathroom door.

Peter sits up and blinks. He felt perfectly fine; amazing, even, like nothing ever happened.

"Peter?!" Ben shouts. "Peter, answer the door!"

Peter jolts and quickly stands up, opening the door awkwardly. "Uncle Ben, don't worry, I'm okay!"

Ben hugs the boy tightly. "Ned called me. He told me you ran out from the trip and that he was worried. You worried us all half to death, Peter."

"I'm sorry." Peter hugs him back wholeheartedly. "I didn't mean to. I just got a little freaked out."

Ben pulls away. "That's okay. That's..."

He trails off, and looks at Peter in confusion. "When did you start going to the gym?"

Peter looks down at his sweater-less chest, and sees the faint outline of some abdominal muscles that he's never seen on himself before. He furrows his eyebrows. "Uh..."

He looks at his wrist, and sure enough, there isn't even the slightest hint of the spider bite.

Peter sees the abandoned pair of glasses on the floor where he fell asleep, too. It's then that he realizes he can see just fine without them.

"...I just started recently," Peter lies. It sits uncomfortably on his tongue to lie to Uncle Ben, or to lie to anybody for that matter. Something under his skin seems to tell him that this won't be the last lie, though.

He frowns at the thought, and silently insists not to think about what his future could possibly have in store that would cause such deceit.

Perhaps it was for the best not to think about what tragedies lie ahead for himself, because he had all he really wanted for the time being right in front of him.

"Wait—Did I just stick to the wall?!"

"What'd you say?"

"...Nothing, May!"