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Ned enters the lunch room, grinning broadly. “Hey man, happy birthday! What do you—” He suddenly cuts himself off, frowning at Peter’s mouth. “Dude. What’s up with your teeth?”
Peter rubs a hand awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I dunno… just kinda woke up like this,” he admits. He runs his tongue over the sharp edges of his newly elongated canines. They had certainly been a shock to see in the bathroom mirror that morning. “Maybe it’s like, well, you know how you get your twelve-year-old molars?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe they’re like that,” Peter concludes.
Ned squints at him. “Except you’re not twelve. And those aren’t molars.”
Peter shrugs, but he’s feeling rather defensive. “Same concept, probably. I don’t know, I’m not a doctor.”
Ned huffs out a quick laugh. “Sure you didn’t get bitten by any bats recently? Any cravings to drink human blood?”
Sudden anger flashes in Peter and his eyes narrow. “Shut up, Ned!” he snaps. “I’m not a fucking vampire!”
“Whoa! Hey, calm down,” Ned says holding his hands up in surrender. “I was just joking,”
The rage dies down almost as quickly as it cropped up. “Yeah, yeah, I knew that,” Peter mutters as he opens his lunch bag. “Sorry.”
As Peter pulls out a bright red apple from his bag and takes a bite, Ned opts to just change the subject. “So, got any plans for this weekend?” he asks. “Going out with May to celebrate or anything?”
Peter feels his body flush as anger flashes back to him. He slams the apple down onto the table. “What do you mean ‘going out with May’?” he demands. “Are you saying my only date could ever be my aunt?!”
Ned blinks at him. “That’s… not what I said at all,” he says slowly. “You okay man?”
“Yeah, sorry…” Peter says as the heat flushes away. “I’m just, kinda stressed I guess? Homework or, uh, something.”
“Uh huh,” Ned says, sounding unconvinced. “Sure.” His gaze falls to Peter’s apple. “Whoa,” he mutters.
Peter glances down and suddenly realizes that right around his bite mark, the apple is now shriveling up into a dark green decaying mess. “Huh,” he remarks. “That’s… That’s weird.”
X
“Hello, is this Mr. Stark?” the voice on the other end of the line asks.
“It is,” Tony confirms. A sense of dread is already filling him. A call to his personal cell from an unknown number never means good things. “And who is this?”
“This is Sharon Byron. I’m the assistant principal from Midtown School of Science and Technology,” the caller identifies. “We have you listed as the secondary emergency contact for Peter Parker. Is this correct?”
“That’s correct,” Tony says, his heart rate quickening. “What’s going on?”
“Well, he’s been causing a bit of a scene today,” she says briskly. “He’s gotten in multiple verbal altercations, both with students and staff members, as well as nearly biting a boy in his gym class. The school security officer and two teachers actually had to escort him out of the locker room."
“Peter? ” Tony questions, flabbergasted. He’s already texting Happy to bring the car around—thankfully he’s in the city today rather than upstate. “We’re talking about Peter Parker, right?”
“Yes sir,” Ms. Byron says. “He’s not making much sense either. The school nurse has been attempting to get a read on his temperature, but every time she approaches him with a thermometer, he tries to bite her.”
“Peter Parker is doing this?” Tony asks one last time. Then, before she can answer, he shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “Never mind, know what? It’s fine. On my way. ETA forty minutes.”
He hangs up the phone.
X
“No! I don’t want to leave!” Peter snaps at his mentor, who is standing in the doorway of the principal’s office, looking flummoxed. The kid bounces up and down slightly on the cushioned office seat. “This is a really comfy chair!”
“Peter, something is clearly off with you today,” Tony tries to reason with him. “I just want to get you checked out, and maybe—”
“No!” Peter cries, leaping to his feet, suddenly alive with white-hot fury. He charges Tony, whose eyes widen as he steps backward. “I don’t want to go! I don’t wan—” He stops mid-sentence as the feeling suddenly dissipates. It’s replaced by embarrassment. “Oh. Sorry,” he mumbles. “That was weird.”
“Little bit,” Tony huffs. He lowers his hand, which Peter suddenly registers has been hovering over the armor housing unit on his chest. “You feeling okay, kiddo?”
“Yeah, uh, actually it’s been a little weird all day,” Peter admits, rubbing at the back of his neck. “One second I’m fine, and the next I just wanna tear everyone to pieces, you know?”
Tony scoffs. “Sure, kid. It’s called a board meeting.”
X
Two hours later, Peter is at the compound, leaning back against a chair in Bruce’s lab as the doctor peers into his open mouth.
“So they just appeared this morning?” Bruce asks, poking at the canines with a gloved finger.
“Yeah, ‘retty ‘uch,” Peter mumbles in reply, mouth still open. “Think they’re ‘oisonous or somethin’.”
Bruce adjusts his glasses as he leans in closer. “Venomous,” he corrects absently.
Peter frowns. “Huh?”
“Your teeth would be venomous, not poisonous.”
Anger flashes through Peter again and he snaps at Bruce, who yelps and only barely manages to pull back his hand before Peter bites off the doctor’s finger. “Are you saying I’m stupid?!” Peter demands.
Bruce is taken aback. “Um… no? Of course not. It’s a common mistake, I just thought you’d want to know so that—”
“Don’t take it personally,” Tony remarks without glancing up. He’s been so quiet that Peter nearly forgot he was there, leaning against the wall on the other side of the room and tapping something into his phone. “He’s been doing that all day. The two-hour drive back to the compound was a doozy.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Peter exclaims, turning on Tony now.
“Well,” Tony says casually, “when you threatened that pigeon after he took a crap on the car windshield by screaming that next time you see him or any of his ‘idiot feathered friends’, you’d use instant kill mode, that seemed a little extreme is all I’m saying.”
The fury engulfs Peter and suddenly he can’t take it anymore. He jumps out of his seat and starts charging towards his mentor.
“Peter!” Bruce exclaims, jumping forward to grab his shoulder. Peter only whips around, rage in his eyes. Without a second’s hesitation, he sinks his fangs into the doctor’s forearm.
Bruce’s eyes go wide before he collapses to the ground in a heap.
X
“I’m fine, Tony,” Bruce insists calmly from his position on the floor. He’s lying flat on his back, his body eerily still. “This really could be worse.”
“You literally haven’t moved a muscle from the neck down in thirty minutes,” Tony argues, lowering himself down to sit on the floor beside the (hopefully) temporarily paralyzed doctor. “How is this in any way fine?”
“I think it’s starting to wear off,” Bruce says. “Look. I’m wiggling my fingers right now.”
Tony’s gaze falls to Bruce’s hand, which is not moving in the slightest. “Nope.”
“Oh.” Bruce sighs. “Well, on the bright side, the paralytic toxin in Peter’s fangs doesn’t seem to be affecting any respiratory processes or major organ functionality. All things considered, I think we lucked out.”
“Uh huh, sure, Bruce.” He glances back over his shoulder to where the kid is currently sitting on the couch in the corner of the lab, staring at the Magic Bullet blender infomercial playing on the TV with a dazed look in his eyes. “So, what’s our game plan?”
“Well, I’ve had some time to think while I’ve been down here,” Bruce begins, “and I’m pretty sure the aggression is related to the fangs.”
“No shit,” Tony scoffs.
“Logically then, the solution would be removing the fangs,” the doctor goes on.
Tony raises an eyebrow at him. “And how exactly do you suggest I do that?”
Bruce hums thoughtfully. “Yeah… that’s the part I’m still working on…”
X
“I AM NOT GOING TO THE DENTIST!”
“Which way are we going with him again?” Steve asks. The super soldier is holding onto Peter’s left arm while Tony—fully encased in his armor—holds onto the right. The two are currently escorting the struggling teenager down the hallway, Clint and Sam flanking them as back up.
“Medbay,” Tony replies wearily. “I’ve got an oral surgeon coming in from SHIELD. Should be here in thirty minutes or so.”
Peter swings his legs, kicking wildly. “HE’S NOT PULLING MY FUCKING TEETH!”
Steve tuts. “Peter,” he begins. “There’s no call for that. We’re all just trying to help you here, and that’s why—”
Before anyone can react, Peter whips his head to the side and bites Captain Fucking Righteous around the wrist. With a cry of surprise, the soldier plummets to the ground in a tangle of twitching limbs.
“Move in, move in!” Sam shouts as he and Clint instantly converge on Peter, who thrashes sideways and clamps his teeth down on Clint’s bare bicep.
“Shit,” Clint manages to mutter as he collapses down beside Steve.
“I told you he was biting, Legolas!” Tony snaps. “Why the fuck did you wear a sleeveless shirt?!”
Having landed face down, Clint’s reply is muffled. ‘’Cus ‘s m’ thing…” he mumbles into the ground.
“Peter, c’mon,” Sam pleads, trying to manhandle the snapping kid away from the two men on the ground while Tony struggles to get a grip on Peter’s thrashing feet. “Let’s just calm down and have a chat about this…”
“I DON’T WANT TO CHAT!” Peter shouts. “LET ME GO!”
In one violent twist, the enraged teen sinks his teeth into the side of Sam’s neck.
“Mother fuc—” Sam yelps before dropping to the ground, causing Tony to lose his grip on Peter’s leg. The kid instantly takes advantage of this by leaping onto the wall, sticking, and scurrying up to the ceiling to camp out in the corner, hissing threateningly at his mentor.
“Oh, you are so grounded, kid!” Tony hollers.
X
“You know, this is actually kinda nice,” Steve remarks from the ground.
“I know, right?” Sam agrees. He’s lying face up on the floor about five feet away from the soldier. “You’d think paralysis would be unnerving but it’s actually weirdly relaxing.”
Clint hums thoughtfully. “Like floating,” he agrees. Tony had taken pity on the archer and flipped him to his back just before racing down the hall after the hissing spider child.
They lay there for a few more minutes, the sounds of firing repulsors, thwipping webs, and muffled crashing issuing from several rooms away.
“You know what’s really bugging me though?” Clint asks.
“What?” Steve questions.
“The fourteenth ceiling tile from the left is crooked.”
“I noticed that too!” Sam exclaims.
There’s another loud crash followed by Tony’s scream of “DO NOT BITE THE DENTIST!”
The three men lie in silence for another moment.
“... Also my nose itches,” Clint complains.
X
“Where’s the kid at now, FRI?” Tony asks wearily. He’s lying on the ground in the common area kitchen, internally kicking himself for lowering his faceplate to try to talk Peter down. Who’d have thought the kid would go for the nose?
“Peter has locked himself in your lab,” the AI reports. “Agent Romanoff is currently crawling through the air vents with a tranquilizer dart gun in an attempt to get a clear shot at Peter.”
“Wonderful,” Tony mutters sarcastically. “Keep me posted.”
From under the table, he hears the paralyzed SHIELD dentist groan something about his back and how he should have retired last year because he’s definitely getting too old for this shit. Happy’s still grumbling curses from his position on the floor just in front of the dishwasher.
A moment later the AI reports, “Agent Romanoff has just dropped into the lab and fired at the target. Peter is temporarily incapacitated.”
Tony breathes out a sigh of relief. “Oh thank god.”
“Unfortunately,” FRIDAY goes on, “Peter has managed to bite her ankle in the process. She is now incapacitated as well.”
Tony lets out a groan. “I am definitely returning this kid’s birthday presents now...”
X
When Peter finally wakes from his drug-induced sleep several hours later, he finds himself reclined in a chair in Tony’s lab. He sits up with a frown and spits out two wads of bloody cotton gauze into his open palm.
Pepper is standing on the other end of the room, pliers in one hand and a small glass jar containing two sharp teeth in the other. “Welcome back,” she greets.
“Miss ‘otts?” he mumbles. “Wha’ ‘appened?”
Pepper huffs out a quick laugh. “Nothing we couldn’t handle,” she assures. “Happy birthday, Peter.”