WHO: Ben Reilly & Peter Parker WHEN: March 18th WHERE: Tech engineering WHAT: Radioactive spider-blood + prolonged exposure to more radiation = uh oh. WARNINGS: Nothing awful!
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“Hey, pass the point-oh-five ‘driver,” Ben called out.
His head stayed bowed over the tiny piece of tech he was working on, even as his left hand raised up in the air. It was one of the nice things of working in a lab with Peter. The two of them getting into a groove, it was easy enough to become extensions of each other. Phrases and slang easily understood and not needing explanations. Thoughts easily followed and taken to the next step. Ok, the years of practice on aim and throwing things also helped. It was easy to just get swept up for hours on end of tinkering and sciencing.
So he frowned when his fingers closed around nothing after a long wait. He opened his hand and closed it a few times. Nope. Still no screwdriver. His fingers wriggled in the air a few seconds before he finally looked up.
“Point-oh-five?” he tried again.
His frown deepened in worry at the lack of response. Something had been feeling… off… Which, ok, situation normal with them. There was usually something brewing on the backbrain. That overthinking thing that Loki liked to point out with some mix of exasperation and amusement depending on the situation. But this felt different. Maybe just the whole pretending not to be sick thing to stop people from worrying. Maybe something different. He was having a hard time pinning it down fully. Balling up a rag, he tested its weight a moment before lightly tossing it at the back of Peter’s head.
“Hey, earth to Petey. Jameson wants his position as resident astronaut back.”
“Hey,” was the reply, as the rag loosened mid-flight and ended up draping over Peter’s face when it landed. He lifted a hand to tug it off, then turned to give Ben a bleary squint. “What? I’m listening. I’m…”
Peter stopped. Looking around, he realized he wasn’t really listening, given that he could account for the last, oh… five minutes? It was his sides. There was this ache, like he’d pulled something badly. That shooting pain didn’t really kick in until just today, but the ol’ Parker ignore-it-until-it-goes-away strategy was in full swing. He was fine. Fine. “I’m here now. What’s up?”
“Now,” Ben pointed out, his eyes narrowing a moment as he inspected his brother. A finger jabbed half-heartedly towards Peter’s table. “I was asking for the point-oh-five screwdriver, buuuuuuuut now...”
He blew out a sigh and his look softened. “Ok, I know, complete pot/kettle situation, but… So, there was that quarantine and everyone be super duper diligent and blah blah blah and knowing our luck with bugs of the viral kind… You ok?” His brow furrowed and his mouth set in a stern line. “If you say, I’m fine, I’m tossing more things at you.”
Peter scanned his table for the suspect screwdriver, plucking it from a pile of scrap metal and flipping it across the distance to Ben. “What about if I say peachy? Does that work?” He volleyed back, working up a grin that ended up cut short by a burning sensation running up his side. That one actually earned a scowl, though Peter recovered with a quick hand held upward in surrender.
“Ok--nrgh. Okay, so maybe I’m being haunted by the ghost of dinners past or something. I’m sure it’s no big. Either that, or I pulled something thanks to not getting in my daily lap around Manhattan. Use it or lose it, right?”
“Only if you include a keen, too,” Ben shot back out of habit. Even as he said it, the easily caught screwdriver was plunked next to his project and both were abandoned as he pushed himself up and away from the table. The quick scowl didn’t quite add up with indigestion, but… new world, new foods, right? Who knew what havoc dragon meat could do to a New York City stomach after so long? The hot dogs there could only prepare you for so much.
“What I wouldn’t give for something like that daily lap,” he puffed out. “How much bribing do you think it’d take to get infrastructure to consider all the multistory buildings once they get back into the outside homemaking business? Our unused alcohol rations should cover it, right?” Leaning against the edge of Peter’s work table, he shook his head as he rotated his arm slightly in sympathy. “Ok, yeah, yeah, use it or lose it, I hear you there. It took at least two weeks to get back into the swing of things when I came back, but geez, what could you be doing that’d pull-” He made a face and held up a hand. “Ok, no, no, I don’t want to know. I really don’t want to know. What muscle are we talking about here?”
Peter kicked back from his workspace, letting his head tip back. Not that staring at the ceiling was any easier than just looking head-on at Ben, of course. Shared habits meant sneaking around never worked. And fibbing even less. It just depended on if Ben was hiding something, too, that he might allow a pass. Today? It looked like that was a nope.
“How many unused rations we got for booze now? I wonder if it’s enough to trade in for a giant stuffed animal. I never did win one of those at Coney. Probably because the one time I almost did, Sandman attacked and I had to ditch MJ. Ah, memories,” Peter replied, knowing full well that he was just stalling for time. Whether or not it was part of the werewolf package, Ben had developed an inability to let things slide once he started in. Like a dog with a bone. Peter cringed at the mental metaphor. There were way too many dog phrases.
“Are you gonna school nurse me? Just put some ice on it and lie down?”
“Number of days alcohol has been available times number of rations per day times two? Easy peasy. Definitely enough for that pink bear at Coney. Sheesh, Sandman and his horrible timing on boardwalks, right?” That was always the problem with stalling for time with them. Tangent given. Tangent carried on and given more options to tangent off on. Oops. Ben’s eyes tracked up to the ceiling as well, in mock thought as he blew out a breath. “There’s still some snowbanks out there.” An eyebrow quirked up. “I could toss you into one of those. Cover my bases on which muscle it is. That’s the same as some ice, yeah?”
He shrugged, still worried, especially more so with the run around. Granted, the duck and weave could be for various reasons with them. It might not be anything big at all. Or just something they didn’t want to think about for whatever reason. Still…
“Better Nurse Reilly than the others,” he pointed out before offering a reassuring smile. “Voice of experience, being stuck in medical stinks even worse than being huddled down here in under the mountain land.”
“You throw me in the snowbanks, I take you with me,” Peter tossed back, letting his head roll downwards to give his brother a look. “For moral support.” He narrowed his eyes. “And ‘cause I get stage fright if I have to do anything alone. Y’know.”
But the real fright wasn’t that, if Peter stopped to really think on this. He’d had this pain before -- the sudden onset, the fire prickling his sides. It seemed like if he just dismissed it, maybe it would go away and be nothing at all. His own mind was often his worst enemy, and what were the odds of history repeating?
“Maybe Nurse Reilly is just being a little overcautious. It’s not li--nggrgh!” Forces of nature were usually the only thing that could stop a Parker from talking, if not a tremendous amount of pain. Not that either would have been ideal, but the latter was winning out right now. Peter doubled over, one hand gripping the edge of his desk for an anchor. It all but crumbled under his strength, pieces of tech cascading off the tipped side and onto the floor.
There were counters and retorts ready. Just waiting for Ben to open his mouth to fall out. But if tremendous pain stopped a Parker from talking, family being in pain did just as good a job at halting any verbal tangenting.
“Pete!”
Pain was bad enough, but this pain was enough to short circuit the tight control they always had on their powers. Never a good sign. His perch unstable, he slid away from the work table, carefully sidestepping around the tech to get closer. Ok, worry levels skyrocketing from just low brotherly concern to something definitely wrong. Familiarly wrong, although the what was still hard to pinpoint considering he’d never been in the spectator seat for this.
He took a hold of Peter’s hand, knowing he could take whatever Peter dished out better than any of the equipment in the room. “Looks like Nurse Reilly was undercautious,” he muttered. “What did you eat? Three boulders worth of meatloaf?”
Unfortunately for Ben, with that grab came a powerful backhand purely out of reflex and response to the searing pain that was tearing up Peter’s side. With equal amounts of tenacity came a muffled cry. No, no, no. This was more than familiar now, and that wasn’t a good thing. Years ago, he’d tried to cure himself of his powers, but it backfired. Maybe it was just the radiation levels out here that triggered something, but --
Peter’s shirt shredded under the pressure as four arms grew from his sides. He had the good sense to clamp a hand over his mouth as it happened -- to try and get some ground between himself and Ben, just in case this was only the start -- but nothing about the moment sounded remotely pleasant. Even less did it look pleasant.
The lash out caught Ben by surprise. For just a second, but it was enough of a blip for the backhand to hit him before he could react. Reflexes kicked in right after the blow, twisting to avoid any more major collisions and land, well, as gracefully as he could after that. As soon as he landed, a challenging growl rumbled in his throat before he got a good idea of the situation from his new spot. Ok, yeah, he… he deserved that. He should have known better. Even if he just went by the general situation, the obviously intense pain, he should have taken a bit more care with grabbing Peter. Or at least kept a closer eye on the retaliation. He’d slunk away, snarled, and snapped at Loki enough times as soon as the moon came up. But this…
He paled and his stomach twisted uncomfortably as the sound of ripping fabric and muffled cries. Oh, he remembered this… Wanting to have a normal life. Coming up with a formula and… it doing completely the opposite of what he’d hoped… but there’d been a catalyst. Chemically induced. Even the whole freaky Spider Island thing had a catalyst, but that hadn’t affected powered people, but still, maybe you change it a bit… so how…
He shook his head, pulling himself out of the slack jawed stare. “Pete?” he started again, quieter and soothing. He crept closer to Peter, keeping on his toes this time, ready to dodge as his hand hovered over Peter’s main shoulder. “C’mon, Pete. Give me at least a miserable ‘I’m ok but not okay’ groan here.”
It felt like eternity before the burning cut down enough that Peter could think again. The world came back into view as he opened his eyes -- though he just stayed draped atop the floor for few more seconds. It was hard to regret something that you have no control over, but that exact thing was washing over him in those seconds. Somehow he should’ve known this was possible, but he was too busy dismissing it. And now?
Now what?
Ben’s voice tugged his attention back out of the stupor. “Wha-- ye… yeah. I’m…” Finally, slowly, he ducked his head down to get a look. A cool drop of sweat rolled down his face and dropped on a hand that was nestled beneath him. One hand. One of the six that were currently within his sight.
“Tell me I’m tripping right now. Bad mushrooms in tonight’s dinner. Please.”
Ben let out a shaky laugh, his hand closing the distance to actually rest on Peter’s shoulder. “Only if they’re the Nintendo type… Which one’s supposed to give you the raccoon ears and tail? Was that a mushroom or a feather?”
Yeah, just keep talking. That was better than admitting that… well… he had a better vantage point than Peter. He might not be able to see all the arms in their entirety, but he could see enough of the jumble of limbs to have to work real hard at not just staring and freaking out. Peter would be freaking out plenty for the both of them considering, well, his body.
“Can you get up? Or… is sinking into the floor forever more the option you want right now?”
They were both crappy actors, and Peter could hear that nervous tic in Ben’s laugh. It just made him want to toss his cookies, as if things weren’t crazy enough as they currently stood. This was for real. This was happening. And...
“Oh, man.” Ben. That momentary lapse in control -- he’d hit Ben. It was enough to get Peter scrambling to make sense of so many arms, trying to push himself up and around. “Sorry, I clipped you, didn’t I?” He blurted out, reaching for Ben’s arm and mistakenly letting two right hands take up the task. He stopped short upon realizing it, then once again looked down in a muted panic.
Ben waved his hand dismissively, even as he got distracted by the two arms reaching at the same time. Oh that was eerie… Even eerie-er in that it made his sides itch with old memories. Aiming with one hand and a complete other answering the call. It certainly made gesturing wildly an interesting experience…
One that might happen soon again judging by the look on Peter’s face. To break the stare, he nudged his shoulder under one of the reaching right hands and took the other in his own hand. “It’s ok, Pete. I’ve had worse. It’s nothing.” The truth for the moment, but he was sure he’d be feeling the bumps and bruises once the adrenaline wore off tomorrow. One more ache to his body though was nothing compared to, well… “I goofed. I really should’ve known better and expected it, but…” He shook his head. “Worry doing a brain short circuit. Y’know how that goes.”
Peter snapped out of it. Really, of all the weird days he’d had, this wasn’t the worst. It wasn’t even close to the worst. It wasn’t even anything brand new in terms of freaky stuff in his life. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. From an outsider’s perspective, this must have been some scene. All of the hands save for the one Ben was holding relaxed to their respective sides.
“You and me…” Peter’s tone was calmer this time. That Spider-Man switch flipped to the on position, and that meant using his smarts rather than letting his wounded ego call the shots. “We’re both going to the doctors. Unless someone’s got a Connors in their back pocket for emergencies, we’re… we need to get to the lab, okay?” Unspoken was the reason why, and was because Peter knew Ben had already guessed at the same: this mutation wouldn’t just stop because you asked it nicely, and they shared the same genetic makeup. It didn’t have to be contagious for an encore. They were wired for it.
“Sorry, I left him in my other costume,” Ben offered with a small smile. “And my speed dial coverage is practically stuck in the stone age.” He gave the captured hand another reassuring squeeze before moving it to pat Peter gently on the shoulder. The list of things to worry about was still long and could easily get longer if he let himself think about it, but for now… There was a game plan. Or well, the start of a game plan that they could bury themselves in easily.
“Yeah, let’s get you to the lab,” he puffed out with a nod. “Draw some samples, do some tests. Between the two of us, we should be able to piece together a way to fix this.” Hopefully. It’d be tougher without a straightforward stimulus to counter, but they could do this. They had to. “Hey, they don’t happen to have an x-ray machine here, do they? Because I always wondered…” He moved his free arm up and down. “How even is that working inside? Other than… uh… painfully…”
“That…” Peter spared another glance down, then shook his head. “Bottom of the list, honestly.” He swallowed, willing himself to stay on his current thought path and not veer back into possible futures.
He started for the door, hooking the jacket he’d had draped over his chair. It wasn’t going to do much, but it was at least a little cover. For now. “Let’s you and me find out how to fix this and fast so I don’t gotta have a hard talk with MJ, okay?”