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It all started on a Friday evening in the penthouse of Stark Tower. Or was it still Avengers Tower? Peter couldn’t recall whether the name of the building had been officially changed when Mr. Stark had decided against selling it, but the distinct lack of the titular superhero group’s presence made the title seem inapt.
Regardless, it was there that Peter was spending his weekend, as he did biweekly at that point – a fact that never failed to baffle him when he thought about it too hard. Yet here he was, at 7:18pm on a Friday evening sitting around a table on the highest floor of one of the most expensive buildings in New York, in the company of the CEO of the largest tech conglomerate of the world.
Oh, and Tony Stark was there too.
Although somehow the genius, billionaire, ex-playboy, philanthropist superhero sitting across from him was the least foreign aspect of the situation he’d found himself in. Well, aside from the plate of lasagne in front of him.
He wasn’t sure when he began thinking of Tony Stark with the same casual air of familiarity as he would a plate of lasagne, but Peter could walk on walls so, hey, what was normal anyway?
The aforementioned pasta dish itself though was excellent; in no part due to the aforementioned genius, billionaire, ex-playboy, philanthropist superhero, but all in thanks to the strawberry-blonde powerhouse of a woman who was currently laughing as Mr. Stark regaled her with a colourful account of how Dum-E had tipped over a beaker of web fluid onto the billionaire’s foot, effectively trapping him until Peter had managed to whip up a new batch of web dissolvent.
It wasn’t often that Miss Potts was able to join them for meals when Peter was around, which usually meant that the pair of heroes would settle for eating takeaway down in the lab, much to Pepper’s chagrin.
While he’d felt awkward around her at first, he’d since grown more comfortable in her presence. And the quality of the food she made definitely made up for any awkward tension in the beginning of their acquaintanceship, because Pepper’s cooking was fantastic.
(Not that Peter’s standard were incredibly high in that department. No offense May.)
Peter was distracted from his thoughts when Miss Potts gave a short yelp across the table from him and flicked at her shoulder somewhat frantically. His attention was drawn to small dark blob that was flung onto the table in front of them.
The trio were quiet for a second.
“Pep?” Mr. Stark asked with a smug smirk. “Honey. Light of my life. Most intimidating woman I know. Did you just yelp at that tiny little spider.”
Miss Potts shot him a thoroughly unimpressed look. “It’s not tiny, Tony.”
The billionaire’s smirk grew from a small smile to a shit-eating grin. “Really? Come on, it’s practically itsy-bitsy.”
“Peter, would you please tell him that it isn’t tiny?”
“I don’t know Miss Potts.” Peter started with a smile. “As the leading authority on overgrown spiders, it does seem pretty small…”
Mr. Stark barked out a laugh that quickly rose to the level of cackling as Pepper tried to not-so-subtly elbow him, but the small quirk in the corner of her mouth betrayed her amusement.
“Alright then Mister practically-itsy-bitsy, how about you go pick the little guy up and take him to the window then?” She motioned towards the spider in question, who had strayed only a couple of feet from where it had landed.
Immediately the man’s laughter sobered, and he hesitated in his response.
“Better yet…” He muttered as he gazed at the arachnid on the table with a distrusting expression. “Underoos, as the self-proclaimed leading authority on overgrown spiders, why don’t you be the one to escort your brethren away.”
Peter almost choked on his lasagne. He pounded his chest as he managed to cough out, “my brethren?”
“I’m sure there’s a certain kinship there right?” Tony continued in amusement. “Besides if anyone here has the best chance at surviving a bite from that thing, I dare say it would be you.”
Peter let himself glare at his mentor, who was clearly grasping at straws. Kinship. “Mr. Stark, that’s a jumping spider. They’re not poisonous.”
“See? You’re already better equipped. With knowledge.”
He debated messing with the man, maybe conjuring up some post-spider bite arachnophobic trauma-related excuse, but he decided instead to show mercy. With a roll of his eyes, he gently picked up the spider, who was just over a centimetre in length.
He glanced down at the little critter as he made his away over to the window. In truth he hadn’t interacted much at all with any spiders since the bite. He’d never been particularly afraid of them in the past and he supposed that hadn’t really changed. He guessed part of what Mr. Stark said was accurate afterall – if he survived the bite of a genetically enhanced radioactive spider, what else did he have to fear from them after that?
The black and white spider stayed perfectly still on his finger and Peter had to admit that its wide black eyes and short stubby legs made it pretty cute. He realised with a small amount of surprise that those large eyes seemed to be tracking him; inspecting him just as he was doing to it. After a moment or so of this acknowledgement, Peter felt something like a warm hum tingling down the back of his spine. In a way it was like his spider-sense (and oh jeez wow the irony, a literal spider sense?), though the feeling didn’t feel like an indication of danger. More like calming resonance. Even more surprising was the feeling that the spider on his hand was feeling the exact same way.
“You good there, kid?”
Peter looked with a start to realise that he’d stopped moving and had been standing still halfway to window for several moments. Mr. Stark was watching him with an eyebrow raised.
“Uh yeah…”
He thought for a second.
“I’m, um, I’m gonna take him down the elevator to place him outside. I don’t think he’d survive well on the side of a skyscraper if I just tossed him out the window.” He reasoned.
His mentor shrugged. “Sure kid, whatever. I’d hurry up though or your foods gonna get cold.”
“Won’t be long.” He muttered as the left the room, entering the hallway leading to the elevator. He stopped just shy of it however, quietly opening the door to his room instead.
The first few times he’d slept over at the tower, he’d stubbornly referred to it as ‘the guest room’ in his mind, though after several months of visits and a handful of Star Wars posters decorating the walls, it was undeniably his.
After carefully shutting the door behind him, he surveyed the room.
“Okay Itsy Bitsy, let’s find you some place to stay.”
---
If Mr. Stark found it strange that he suddenly insisted on visiting the tower more often, he never let it show. Part of Peter suspected that the man was just happy to be spending more time with him – not that he’d ever admit it.
Consistently throughout his visits, Peter would find time to slip away into his room where he’d open one of the closed off cupboard-like segments of his oversized closet and smile at the sight within.
“Wow the webs looking good Bitsy!” He said in pride as he inspected the bundle of white spider-silk present in the top corner of structure. This part of the closet had been gutted, although it wasn’t like he’d been keeping too much in it to begin with. What was left was a fairly open space that Peter had decorated with some random foliage and loose soil on the bottom.
It wasn’t like the spider knew exactly what he was saying – just like how he couldn’t exactly understand it either. It was more like roughly broadcasting their feelings to each other. On top of that, Peter found that the more time he spend with his new arachnid companion, the easy he found it to read Bitsy’s body language.
He suspected it worked somewhat both ways, as upon praising the web, he felt the spider hum in excitement.
“How are things going with the new roommate?” Peter asked, as he drew his attention to the cellar spider occupying the opposite corner of the space. Bitsy had been a bit annoyed at first when Peter had let the new spider into what she considered her home, but he’d been able to convince them to get along somewhat.
Bitsy wiggled her front legs in a show of what Peter assumed to be vague apathy and he chuckled as he withdrew a small container from his pocket. He carefully placed a small sized cricket at the bottom of the makeshift enclosure and watched in fascination as the jumping spider pounced onto the prey.
“Sure you’re not hungry yet, Leggy?”
The cellar spider ignored him somewhat indifferently, but Peter had grown used to its more reserved attitude so he simply shrugged.
“Okay buddy that’s fine by me.”
He finished off his visit by spraying a small amount of water over an unoccupied area of the enclosure before closing the door and heading back down to the lab.
---
As the next month passed by, Peter found his little spider collection growing steadily.
After Leggy came a common house spider that he found chilling next to his bed after getting back from a long fight with Doc Ock. He named the spider Otto, because why not? Arachnids and octopi: two eight legged peas in a (cephalo)pod.
Then came a grass spider that he narrowly managed to save from being squished by Dum-E in the lab. Pancake was, understandably, very annoyed at the experience and was raising his front legs in fury at the oblivious robot. Peter got the sense that if the spider could speak, Dum-E would’ve been subjected to enough colourful language to make even Mr. Stark cringe.
Aragog was a surprisingly chill wolf spider, the largest in Peter’s little spider cluster, who was more than happy to let Peter carefully clean away the tangled debris caught in the hairs around her legs.
One time, Peter was lounging in the living room during a spontaneous group movie night while Colonel Rhodes (‘Rhodey, Kid. Just call me Rhodey’) was visiting. They were about halfway through Die Hard when Peter felt a cold chill race down his spine followed by an inexplicable feeling of terror.
Not a second later, a slap sounded from across the room where Rhodey sat, a palm raised to his arm.
“Sorry, don’t mind me. Was just a spider.”
Peter refused to speak to the man for a week.
---
Of all the obscure childhood curiosities and queries that he’d pondered over the years, Peter never thought that the number of ceiling tiles in the Stark Tower lobby would be one he’d get an answer to, but hey, life works in mysterious ways.
He groaned in boredom as he laid back further in his (admittedly comfy) chair, wondering whether it would be worth it to start counting the floor tiles too, when a shout of his name caught his attention.
“Hey Parker!”
He looked up with a grin to catch sight of a sandy haired teen making his way towards him from across the lobby, a large suitcase and bag in tow.
“They don’t teach you punctuality in the south?” Peter joked, still a little miffed about his new found knowledge of ceiling tile quantities.
“Nope, ” Harley drawled, “only how to look pretty, have good manners and fish for a catfish with your bare hands.”
“I can’t account for the validity of any of those statements.”
“Ouch.” The taller kid held his hand to his chest in mock offense. “And here I was looking forward to this visit.”
Peter laughed and offered a light hug that Harley begrudgingly accepted.
“Missed you too, Keener. Tony’s ego is way too big without you here to knock him down a peg.”
“Ah yeah, I take my job very seriously. That guy thinks the sun comes up just to hear him crow. Now, wanna’ use that freaky strength for something other than getting cats out of trees and help me with my stuff?” He gestured to the luggage that he’d abandoned on the floor in favour of the hug.
Peter shook his head in faux despair. “I’m wanted only for my body…”
“Well it’s definitely not for your jokes.”
The two traded playful barbs as they made their way through the tower. They’d met several times before thanks to Tony (who definitely regretted introducing them – one sarcastic teenager was bad enough), and had fallen into an easy camaraderie shockingly fast.
It wasn’t often that either of them met someone capable of keeping up with them. Between that and the ease of having another person who he didn’t have to keep his secret from, Peter counted Harley as a very close friend.
When they finally got to the common room, Harley collapsed on the couch dramatically.
“I’m worn slap out. Hours, Peter, I’ve been travelling for hours.”
“The horror.”
“My ass is killing me.”
“Let it spare us all.”
He ducked under the oncoming pillow aimed at his head from the couch and laughed, bringing the hefty suitcase around and setting it down.
“That couch is new, by the way. Miss Potts isn’t gonna be happy with you wiping your dirty shoes all over it. Get them off before you make a mess.”
Inexplicably, Harley managed to somehow communicate an eyeroll from his place face down in the cushions. “Yeah yeah, I’m fixin’ to.” He complained, making zero effort to move.
Peter smirked, kicking the southern boy’s leg until he begrudgingly moved to kick his shoes off.
“Fine but I ain’t about to sit here with cold feet,” he grumbled, making his way over to the suitcase and rifling through the contents, “I got some house shoes in here somewher- ahah!”
With a successful flourish, he threw a pair of soft and scruffy but clean shoes onto the carpet. The other boy was just about to put his foot into the first shoe when Peter felt a race of electricity surge down his spine. Before he knew it, he was hauling Harley backwards.
“Ack- hey, what gives!?”
Peter blinked, not quite sure himself. “Uh.”
The offending piece of footwear lay abandoned on the floor, but something about it was putting him on edge – even if the sharp tingling of his spider-sense had calmed down a bit.
Cautiously, he picked up the shoe, turning it over and inspecting it. It wasn’t until he looked inside that he realised what the problem was. “Huh,” he muttered.
Harley raised an eyebrow as he took the shoe back. “Okay, you done freaking out over a slipper? Cause damn I thought- oh Jesus that’s a big spider, ” he remarked as he inspected the large tan spider tucked away on the insole. “I actually think that might be a brown recluse.” He added, all but dropping the shoe in his haste to set it down.
“Must’ve hitched a ride with you from Tennessee,” Peter agreed.
“Yikes that could’ve been bad. One of our neighbours got bit by one of those once and the bite did not look fun. Nasty little guys.”
“She only wanted to bite you out of self-defence.” He wasn’t exactly sure why he felt the need to defend the recluse, but something about the insult bothered him. “They’re generally pretty chill.”
Harley rolled his eyes. “What and all of a sudden you’re the spider whisperer? That bite give you arachnid communication powers along with sticky hands and a decreased brain cell count?”
He was about to reflexively deny the accusation, when he paused. Wasn’t that… kind of right?
“Yeah I guess.”
“Huh. Y’ know normally when I insult ya, you don’t tend to agree so easily.”
“No not the brain cell thing, the communicating with spiders part.”
Harley paused as if waiting for the punchline.
“Wait, actually??”
---
The kid was acting strange. Which, okay, yes, the pope is catholic, fish can swim and water is wet. The kid was acting stranger than usual.
Too often in the past couple of months or so Tony had caught the kid sneaking away to his room - only to return several minutes later giving no indication as to why he’d left. Tony didn’t question it though; he was used to Peter’s strange antics every now and then and as long as he wasn’t hiding injuries (which he wasn’t – Tony made sure that FRIDAY read his vitals whenever he entered the building) then he was more or less content to let the kid get up to whatever mischief he wanted.
His easy-going attitude to the situation wavered somewhat when the kid started ordering deliveries of edible insects to the tower.
Sure, when Tony had tried to convince him to feel more comfortable around the place he had suggested that Peter should use FRIDAY to order anything that he could need from online. He’d expected the kid might buy some new clothes or maybe even room décor, but insects?
He could only hope this wasn’t some sort of spider mutation related craving, but honestly, he’d rather just not know.
He’d managed to mostly put the thought out of his head. That was until one particularly cold Saturday.
“Pep?” Tony called, as he rifled through his drawers a second time. “Have you seen my MIT hoodie anywhere?” He closed the drawer in defeat as Pepper made her way into the room.
“The grey one?”
“Yup, you seen it?”
“Pretty sure I saw Peter wearing last Sunday.”
“Of course.” He rolled his eyes. “Kid’s a magpie, I swear.”
“Don’t try and pretend you don’t like seeing him wearing it. Your face does that thing where it goes all soft.” Pepper mocked. “You might as well just let him keep it.”
“Probably,” he admitted, “but I’m pretty sure he gets some sort of satisfaction out of stealing it.”
“Is that it? Or would you just be too embarrassed to tell him that you want him to have it?”
“Ridiculous. That hoodie’s just far too comfortable to spare. Besides, wouldn’t want him growing an ego.”
“Course not. There’s no room for a second narcissistic genius with a head as big as yours.”
“Exactly. Glad we’re on the same page.” He chuckled.
It didn’t take him long to track down the kid with FRIDAY’s assistance; he soon found him sprawled out in the common room watching an episode of Brooklyn 99.
“Alright Underoos’ spill it. Where’s my hoodie?”
Peter looked up, unsurprised to find him there having likely already heard him enter. His mouth quirked up a bit at the question. “My room probably. If it’s not on the floor, try the closet.”
Tony headed off, grumbling about teenagers and hoodie thieves under his breath until he was opening the kids door and taking in the room. Admittedly, it wasn’t terribly messy – at least not for a teenager. Several articles of clothes littered the floor, but none were the tell-tale grey of a certain comfy hoodie.
He did a quick check of the room before moving over to the closet. The first compartment he tried was fairly crowded with jackets and shirts, but still – no hoodie.
He opened the door of a separate compartment and froze.
It took his mind a second to compute that his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, but when the sight fully registered, he stumbled backwards hastily.
“Holy sh-, Jesus what the fuck??”
In front of him, decorating the space of the cupboard, were a dozen or so spiders; some rested on twigs and leaves, whilst others clung to webs or the walls of the makeshift enclosure. They ranged in size from fairly tiny to some that were a few inches long. One beefy looking grey spider in particular raised its front legs at him and hissed.
Vaguely he heard the sound of the elevator opening down the hall and then the rapid footsteps of someone racing out.
“Mr. Stark!” Peter gasp, panting as he rounded the corner into the room. “Don’t open the…” He trailed off as he saw the closet door wide open and a shell shocked Tony Stark standing in front. “…closet,” he finished weakly.
“Kid,” Tony said, sounding much more normal than he felt, “why do you have a closet full of spiders.”
“So, um. It’s a funny story actually.”
“A funny story?”
“Yeah.”
“To do with hording spiders.”
“Yup.”
He breathed in slowly like his therapist had taught him before releasing it with a controlled exhale. “…Do I wanna know?”
Peter tilted his head considering his answer. “You’re, uh, not mad right?”
“No I’m not mad. Just very very confused and definitely in need of a strong cup of coffee before I hear any explanation.”
He patted the kid on his shoulder just to prove that he wasn’t angry and watched as the tension left them.
“Sounds good Mr. Stark. Though I’ll be honest, I don’t think Aragog likes you.” The kid gestured to the grey spider who, while was no longer hissing at him, seemed to be watching the pair intently.”
“I think I’ll survive.” Tony muttered.
It was a testament to how bizarre his life was that this wasn’t the weirdest experience he’d had. Probably not even in the top five.
At least this explained the insects.
He was about to say as much when a brown spider with distinctive markings on its body caught his attention.
“Wait is that a fucking brown recluse???”