Chapter Text
The common room kitchen was peaceful right up until Bruce Banner decided to indulge in a cup of organic peppermint tea to soothe a looming headache. The exact second the sharp, minty steam drifted into the open floor plan, Peter’s entire nervous system apparently decided it was under biochemical warfare; before anyone could even blink, the kid let out a sound that didn't sound human at all—a sharp, rattling, vibrating hiss that echoed off the stainless steel appliances—and shot off the floor like a launched rocket. He scaled the kitchen wall with a terrifying, blurred velocity, pinning himself to the absolute highest corner of the rafters, his fingers dug into the concrete ceiling as he glared down at the group. Bruce stood frozen with his mug halfway to his mouth, while Tony—who had just walked in to find his newly-discovered biological son acting like an aggressive house spider—slowly looked from the ceiling to the tea bag. "Bruce, I say this with love, but whatever you just brewed has officially broken my child," Tony remarked, completely deadpan as Peter let out another low, warning rattle from the shadows. "He's not even blinking. Peter, buddy, drop down, it’s just leaf water—and if you hiss at me again, I’m changing the compound Wi-Fi password to I_Am_An_Arachnid." Bruce slowly lowered his mug to the counter with the synchronized precision of a man defusing a bomb, his eyes never leaving the ceiling corner where Peter was currently compressed into a tight, defensive ball of limbs.
"Tony, I don't think he can help it," Bruce whispered, his voice hushed as if a loud noise might cause the kid to drop directly onto his head. "Peppermint is a natural arachnid repellent; the strong scent triggers a hyper-reactive avoidance response in certain spider species. I didn't think his DNA was... this literal." Clint, who had been lazily drifting into the kitchen to steal a bagel, stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes darting from the steam rising off Bruce's mug up to the rafters where Peter was emitting another sharp, rhythmic click of pure offense. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me. We have a literal garage-spider in the penthouse now?" Clint grinned, immediately reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. "This is going in the group chat. If Thor gets back from New Asgard and finds out the spider-kid got taken down by a celestial tea bag, he's never going to let any of us hear the end of it." Peter let out an especially loud, indignant hiss at the flash of Clint’s camera, scrambling sideways along the concrete beam with a jittery, non-human speed that made even Natasha, who had just silently slid into the room, pause and raise an eyebrow at the absolute state of the Stark family dynamics.
Steve stepped into the kitchen a moment later, entirely oblivious to the escalating arachnid crisis until he followed the team's horrified gazes up to the ceiling. "Peter? Son, what are you doing up there? Come down before you hurt yourself," Steve said, switching effortlessly into his authoritative "Team Leader" voice as he walked directly beneath the rafters and reached his long arms upward. The moment Steve’s hands brushed against the fabric of Peter’s jeans, the kid's primal defense mechanisms short-circuited entirely; with a frantic, cornered screech, Peter dropped a few inches and snapped his jaw shut right on the meat of Steve’s forearm. A collective gasp echoed through the kitchen as Peter instantly let go and scrambled backward into the shadows, his eyes wide with a sudden, horrifying clarity as two distinct, needle-sharp fangs retracted back into his gums. Steve blinked, looking down at the tiny, bleeding puncture wounds on his arm, while Peter began to hyperventilate from his perch, his voice cracking with pure terror. "Oh my god! Cap, I am so sorry! I didn't mean to—I didn't even know I had those!" Peter shrieked, clutching his head in panic. "Mr. Stark! What if I have venom? What if I just killed Captain America with a tea-induced panic attack?!" Bruce immediately rushed over to inspect Steve's arm, while Tony’s face went through three distinct stages of parental heart failure. "Okay, nobody panic! FRIDAY, run a full bio-scan on the super-soldier and the spider-gargoyle right now!" Tony shouted, pointing frantically at the ceiling. Steve just stood there, looking more confused than hurt as his advanced metabolism already began to fight off a strange, tingly numbness. "I'm fine, Peter, really," Steve called up, trying to sound soothing despite the fact that his arm was actively changing colors. "It just... stings a little. Like a really aggressive wasp."
A soft, electronic chime echoed through the tense kitchen as FRIDAY’s holographic display flickered to life over the island, mapping out two distinct biological scans in glowing blue lines. "Scans complete, Boss," the AI announced, her voice entirely untroubled by the fact that Captain America had just been bitten by a teenager. "Captain Rogers' cellular regeneration is currently processing a localized, non-lethal neurotoxin. The chemical composition mimics that of an advanced Loxosceles—or recluse spider—though it has been heavily diluted by Peter’s human biology. In layman's terms: the Captain will experience mild lethargy, a slight tingling sensation, and a strong urge to take a nap for the next two hours, but his super-soldier metabolism will completely flush the toxins out before lunch." A massive, collective sigh of relief swept through the room, though Peter still looked entirely mortified, burying his face in his hands against the concrete beam. FRIDAY wasn't finished, however, as a secondary window popped up showing Peter’s elevated heart rate. "As for the primary instigator, Peter’s adrenaline is currently at 400% due to acute olfactory distress. I would highly recommend that Dr. Banner dispose of the celestial tea bag immediately, as the ceiling-dweller is currently contemplating whether the ventilation shafts are a safer nesting ground than the common area." Tony let out a long, dramatic breath, the tight knot of panic in his chest finally unravelling as he glared pointedly at Bruce. "You heard the lady, Brucie. Dump the mint down the disposal and turn the exhaust fans up to maximum before my kid decides to permanently move into the drywall."
The high-powered exhaust fans had barely finished scrubbing the last traces of peppermint from the air when the private elevator doors slid open with a sharp, intimidating chime. Nick Fury strode into the common area, his black leather trench coat billowing behind him and a top-secret digital tablet gripped firmly in his hand, looking every bit the terrifying, no-nonsense director of global security. He stopped dead in his tracks in the center of the kitchen, his single eye tracking the absolute disaster zone before him: Bruce was guiltily scrubbing out the sink, Tony was brandishing a broom like a weapon, Clint was snickering behind a bagel, and Steve Rogers—the leader of the free world's greatest strike team—was currently slumped sideways on the sofa, heavily wrapped in a fuzzy blanket and looking deeply, aggressively sleepy. Fury slowly looked up toward the ceiling, where Peter was still tucked into a tight, miserable ball of limbs, peering over the edge of a concrete rafter with wide, incredibly apologetic brown eyes. "Stark," Fury began, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly rumble that usually meant an entire continent was in trouble. "I came here to debrief your team on a highly sensitive, cross-border Hydra cell. Instead, I walk in to find Captain America down for an enforced nap because your kid got a severe case of the zoomies and bit him." Peter let out a tiny, pathetic, and deeply embarrassed squeak from the rafters, burying his face back into his knees. Tony didn't even blink, casually leaning against the kitchen island as he waved his hand dismissively. "Technically, Nicholas, it was biochemical warfare via herbal tea. And the good news is, we just discovered Peter is entirely venomous, so if you ever need a Hydra agent mildly paralyzed and tucked neatly into a corner for a couple of hours, he’s your guy." Fury stared at Tony for three long, agonizing seconds, then slowly looked back up at the ceiling-dwelling teenager before sliding his tablet back into his coat pocket. "I don't get paid enough for this family," Fury muttered, turning right back toward the elevator. "Fix your spider, Stark. We're doing the briefing tomorrow."