Chapter Text
“There’s a spider in your hair, kid.”
Peter was panting too hard to respond to Mr. Stark’s lame joke, having just run a quarter mile, up two flights of stairs, and then skidded into the the Avenger’s training room twenty minutes late for training. He did spare the effort for an exaggerated eye roll for Mr. Stark’s benefit as he dropped his backpack to the floor.
Clint was across the room giving Steve some archery lessons, and Nat and Sam were sparring in the ring. Mr. Stark had apparently chosen to wait by the door with a Starkpad for Peter to show up just to tease him.
He used the Starkpad to mime swiping something off the top of Peter’s head, fully committed to the spider joke.
“So, did you forget we had training today,” Mr. Stark said, “or did you lose track of time making out with your girlfriend?”
“I do not have a girlfriend,” Peter protested for the dozenth time since MJ had posted that picture of them studying together on Instagram. “Queens needed me.”
“It always does.” Peter narrowed his eyes, but Mr. Stark seemed to be speaking in all seriousness this time. Good.
“Really, I was on my way to the tower when I saw a drug deal going down. I caught six guys who’d been using a trucking company to smuggle drugs in from Texas. Six guys!”
His mentor’s smile was big and honest. “I’m sure Queens would send its thanks if they had any idea who you were.” The smile faded and he craned his neck to look at a spot on the top of Peter’s head before frowning. “Although I’m about to bust you for smuggling spiders. You know we have a strict no pet policy here, right? Regardless of your branding?”
“Your Spider-Man jokes are getting stale,” Peter said, pressing his hair down self-consciously. He’d pulled the suit off in a hurry in an alleyway, so he could use the public entrance to the tower without causing a stir, so his hair was probably crazy.
“Not a joke. The first one had a friend. Seriously, are you breeding them up there?”
“No, and I—”
But Peter never got to say how lame it was to keep after the spider jokes because a thin-legged, pale, honest-to-god spider rappelled down from a forward tuft of Peter’s hair, pausing an inch in front of Peter’s face, spinning and moving closer with the air current when Peter inhaled in surprise.
Then shrieked.
He jerked back, swatting the spider away before it could climb down his throat or something. He fell into a partial defensive crouch a few feet back before realizing his overreaction and standing up, but it was too late. His yell had caught the attention of the other four Avengers, who were all jogging towards them. Great. So much for slipping into training without making a scene.
Steve voiced the question clear on everyone’s faces as he caught up to them, still holding a bow and arrow awkwardly.
“What’s going on?”
“Peter saw a spider,” Tony supplied.
Peter’s glare only made Tony’s grin wider.
“No! I almost ate a spider!”
“What?”
“Why?”
Steve looked confused, but Clint standing next to him looked mischievous.
“I didn’t want to. It swung right down in front of my face.”
“Now you know how the bad guys feel when you come swooping in,” Tony ribbed. “It’s karma.”
“Seriously?” Sam added incredulously. “Spider-Man’s afraid of spiders?”
Peter couldn’t let that comment stand. Not when the high-pitched echoes of his shriek were still sounding in his memory.
“Oh, like you’d be any less scared of a falcon two inches from your face.”
“Yeah, ‘cause a falcon’s got claws.”
“Spiders have fangs!”
“To be fair,” Nat broke in, “Most spiders aren’t dangerous to humans. They're relatively harmless.”
She was right, of course. Peter had studied a lot about spiders after the bite.
She raised an eyebrow. "But that doesn't explain why you're carrying a pair around with you."
“There was a nest of spiders on the drugs bust. A few must have tagged along. Not a big deal.”
“Do spiders live in nests?”
“I say a hive,” Clint said, nodding seriously.
“Call it whatever you want. There were, like, fifty of them in this nasty giant webbed-up corner of a truck that I accidentally stuck my hand into.”
“Once again, now you know how the bad guys feel,” Sam said.
“Look, the spiders are gone now, so can we just get to training?” Peter asked, eager to put this memory behind everyone.
“We’ve been training, kid,” Sam said, turning around to head back to the ring and finishing his sentence over his retreating shoulder. “You’re the one who’s showing up late with a posse of spiders.”
“A gaggle of spiders?” Nat wondered aloud as she followed him.
“It’s a cluster of spiders,” Peter called out, but they ignored him.
Steve handed Clint back his bow. “Meet me in the sparring ring once you’ve changed, Peter. Then you can hit the obstacle course afterward.”
Peter nodded, then headed to his room down the hall to change. He didn’t see any more spiders, but he didn’t stop to check either, aware of Steve waiting for him in the gym.
Two hours later, Peter landed after his last run of the ceiling’s upper obstacle course, well and truly winded. He leaned over, hands on his knees, sucking in air like a bellows. Sweat dripped uncomfortably down the center of his back, tickling between his shoulders.
His upper back and shoulders were sore from all the swinging, sorer than they’d been in a long time. And he hadn’t even done weights with Mr. Stark today. He rubbed at them roughly as he walked over to where the other had started collecting near the exit to hear Steve’s “Good job, team!” speech he gave after every group training session.
Peter pulled off his mask, still breathing hard.
“You all right there, Peter?” Steve asked.
“Yeah, just…extra tired. Tough training.”
“Tough all around,” Steve agreed. “Good work, everyone. Hit the showers, then meet in the kitchen if you want. I’m making spaghetti for anyone who wants some.”
They dispersed, heading down the hallway to their own rooms.
Peter wasted no time heading to his room to change and shower, but once he closed the door behind him, he sat on the bed for a minute, still feeling pathetically winded. Maybe sitting for a minute would give him the energy to shower.
It didn’t work. In fact, he was feeling more tired than ever, and his shoulders were even sorer if that were possible. He was a little dizzy too, so he must be hungrier than he thought. He’d grab a protein bar from the nightstand, take a super fast shower, then count on Steve’s spaghetti to get him back to baseline.
The protein bar didn’t really help, but Peter stepped into the bathroom and loosened the spider suit to finish the plan. He peeled his arms out of the sweaty material and froze when he saw his reflection in the mirror.
A dark, bruise-colored circle the size of his palm painted the left side of his neck.
Another crept over his right shoulder. Right on a spot he felt was particularly sore.
A sick feeling dripped into his stomach as he rolled his shoulders, feeling every sore spot anew, and he turned, craning his neck to see his back reflected in the mirror.
Three, four, five more of the bruise-looking things coated his upper shoulders, a few of them overlapping each other like crooked venn diagrams.
Training had never done that to him before. He tied the spider-suit arms around his waist like a jacket as he moved back to the bedroom, all thoughts of showering before he figure out what was going on evaporated.
Was he breathing faster now because he was panicking or was it something else?
He bent over to grab the t-shirt he’d dropped on the floor earlier in his hurry to change, planning to throw it on and immediately go ask Tony for some advice.
But when he stood up, the room swirled and darkened around him, the way it sometimes did when he stood up too fast first thing in the morning.
He put a steadying hand on the wall and waited for it to clear.
And waited.
And realized too late that he’d waited too long for something that was never going to come.
He felt his face hit the carpet, vaguely aware of Friday’s voice in the distance, but the roaring in his ears drowned out the words, then the world.