I break everything i touch (and it's terrifying)
Peter woke up feeling like he’d been body-slammed by a Minotaur.
His limbs were sore, his skin felt off, and his head pounded like a Cyclops was using it for drum practice. He groaned, burying his face in his pillow, willing himself to sink back to sleep. Maybe if he just ignored whatever fresh nightmare his body was cooking up, it would go away.
That was a lie, obviously. Nothing in his life had ever worked that way.
Still, he lay there, staring at the ceiling, pretending everything was fine. Pretending was easier.
Then his alarm went off.
The stupid little digital clock on his nightstand buzzed like an angry hellhound. Peter smacked it without looking.
CRACK.
Silence.
Peter blinked, slowly turning his head. His alarm clock was in pieces—shattered plastic, broken buttons, exposed wiring. He stared, brain still booting up.
Okay.
That was weird.
Maybe he was just groggy. Maybe his demigod instincts had decided the clock was an enemy. Or maybe—just maybe—the horror spider from Oscorp had done something seriously messed up to him.
Fantastic.
Shoving aside his definitely-not-a-problem super strength, Peter dragged himself out of bed and shuffled toward the bathroom, muscles aching in ways they definitely shouldn’t. His reflection in the mirror did not help his mood.
His hair was a mess, sticking up like he’d spent all night fighting monsters in his sleep. His skin looked too clear, like his metabolism had gone into overdrive overnight and purged every blemish from existence. And his eyes—he leaned in closer—looked sharper. Brighter.
He scowled.
“Great. Now I’m glowing.”
With a sigh, he turned on the faucet to splash his face—
SHHNK.
His fingers stuck.
To the sink.
Peter’s stomach dropped. He tried to pull away, but his skin wouldn’t budge—like someone had slathered his fingertips in industrial-strength glue.
Panic rising, he yanked harder.
CRACK!
A chunk of this sink came off in his hand.
Peter froze. The bathroom faucet hissed, now bent at a very wrong angle.
“Oh, come on!” he whisper-yelled.
This was not happening. No way. He had survived way too many ridiculous godly disasters to get taken out by a genetically engineered spider. He dropped the broken sink, breathing hard.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
Maybe May wouldn’t notice. Maybe she—
“Peter, hurry up! You’re gonna be late for school!”
Peter groaned, dragging a hand down his face—then quickly checked to make sure that didn’t stick, too.
By the time he made it downstairs, May was already at the table, sipping her coffee and scrolling through her phone. The news was playing in the background—something about Stark Industries, something about Oscorp.
She glanced up when he walked in. “Morning, Pete. You okay? You look kinda pale.”
Peter grunted. “I’m fine.”
May raised an eyebrow. “You, sure? You look like you just had a vision from the Oracle.”
Peter definitely did not flinch at that. “Nope. Just tired.”
She hummed, unimpressed, and took another sip of coffee. “Uh-huh. Try not to burn yourself out, Pete. You’re allowed to rest, y’know.”
Peter nodded, only half-listening as he grabbed the fridge handle—
And immediately felt it happen.
His fingers stuck.
Panic set in faster this time. He swallowed hard, trying to casually pull away. Nothing. His hand might as well have been fused to the metal.
Okay. Act normal. Stay calm.
He yanked harder.
RIP!
The entire fridge door tore off its hinges.
Peter stared at it. May started at him.
The fridge hummed, doorless and exposed.
Peter cleared his throat. “...Oops?”
May took a very long sip of coffee. “Peter.”
“Yes?”
“Why are you holding the fridge door?”
“Great question. So, funny story—”
May exhaled slowly and nodded like this was just another Tuesday. “Alright. New rule: No touching appliances until we figure out what’s happening to you.”
Peter winced. “... So you noticed?”
“No, Peter, I just think you suddenly developed the strength of a Greek god overnight for no reason.” She gave him a look. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”
He hesitated. Technically, he had no idea what was going on. But “I got bitten by a science experiment and now I’m breaking the house” sounded way too much like something he’d say before getting grounded.
So, naturally, he did what any responsible demigod would do.
He grabbed a Pop-Tart, waving her off as he bolted for the door. “Love you, don’t sell my stuff!”
“No promises!”
—
School was a nightmare.
Peter spent the whole day flinching at his own movements, trying—and failing—to act normal. When he went to open his locker, his fingers dented the metal like it was made of tinfoil. When he pulled out his chair in class, he nearly sent it flying across the room. And when he tried to write, he snapped three pencils in a row before switching to a pen and praying it wouldn’t explode.
He kept his head down, avoided eye contact, and hoped nobody noticed.
MJ noticed.
She always did.
She sat next to him during lunch, casually biting into an apple while staring him down.
Peter tried to ignore it.
That all lasted all of five seconds.
“Okay,” she finally said, voice flat. “What’s up with you?”
Peter blinked. “What? Nothing.”
MJ didn’t even blink. “Peter. You just caught a falling tray. Behind your back. Without looking.”
Peter winced.
Some kid had knocked over their lunch, and Peter—without thinking—had snatched the tray out of midair before it hit the ground.
Way too fast. Way too precise. Way too impossible.
He forced a laugh, waving a hand like it was no big deal. “Lucky reflexes?”
MJ didn’t even blink. “Uh-huh. And I’m the Queen of England.”
Peter choked on his soda. “What?!”
MJ smirked, taking another bite of her apple. “Look, if you wanna pretend you didn’t just defy the laws of physics, fine. But I’m not buying it. She tilted her head. “So. Spill.”
Peter swallowed hard and shoved another bite of food in his mouth to avoid answering.
She knew.
Maybe not the full story, but MJ wasn’t stupid. She could tell something was up. And if she was already suspicious, it was only a matter of time before she dragged the truth out of him.
Which meant Peter needed to get himself under control. Fast.
—
Peter managed to hold himself for the rest of the day.
Right up until Ned dropped his phone.
It slipped out of his hoodie pocket, tumbling toward the floor, and Peter reacted before his brain could catch up—his foot snapped out, caught the phone on the back of his heel, flicked it up into the air, and he grabbed it with one hand like he’d been trained to do it.
Silence.
Peter froze.
Ned and MJ stared.
MJ had been mid-sentence, but now she just stared, words forgotten. Ned’s jaw hung open.
Peter blinked. “...What?”
Ned slowly pointed. “Dude. you just nina-tricked my phone like some demi— I mean, uh, superhuman.”
Peter forced a laugh—too loud, too forced—and set the phone down. “Hah! Weird. Must be—uh—good instincts?”
MJ squinted. “Good instincts.”
Peter nodded. “Yup.”
Ned tilted his head. “The kind of ‘good instincts’ that let you catch something behind your back without looking? Or the kind that makes you superglue yourself to random objects?”
Peter stiffened. “I—I don’t—”
MJ set her hands flat on the table. “Peter.”
Oh no.
She only used that tone when she was about to rip apart his argument piece by piece.
“You’ve been weird all week. Weirder than normal weird,” she said, tapping a finger against the table. “You’ve been flinching every time you touch something, you keep reacting too fast, and—oh yeah—you ripped a fridge off its hinges.”
Ned yelped, his head snapping toward Peter. “You what?”
Peter groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “It was an accident—”
“An accident,” MJ repeated flatly. “Like catching a tray behind your back was an accident. Or bending your locker handle was an accident. Or—”
“Okay, okay, I get it!” Peter threw up his hands, then immediately regretted it because MJ and Ned flinched like he was about to break the table. He sighed, shoulders slumping. “Look. It’s… complicated.”
MJ uncrossed her arms, the sharpness in her gaze never leaving him. “Everything about you is complicated, Peter. But if something’s wrong, you need to tell us.” She didn’t ask, she demanded, and her voice had the weight of someone who knew exactly how to deal with stubborn people.
Peter hesitated, opening his mouth to argue, then stopped. He knew she wasn’t going to back down.
Ned tilted his head, looking at Peter like he was trying to solve a riddle. “You can tell us. We’re your friends. We’ve got your back.”
MJ nodded firmly. “Don’t be stupid. We’ll figure it out, even if you won’t tell us.”
Peter felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He couldn’t keep lying to them. He exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. But not here.”
MJ’s eyes narrowed with the slightest suspicion. “Why? You scared Oscorp is listening in?”
Peter’s jaw tightened. “I wasn’t before, but now I definitely am.”
Ned threw his hands up. “What if they are?! What if they put a tracker in you? Or injected you with nanobots? Dude, what if you’re a sleeper agent?!”
Peter let his head fall onto the table with a loud groan.
MJ rolled her eyes. “You’ve got one theory, Ned, but I think Peter’s got more important things to deal with right now.” She turned back to Peter, leaning closer. “Look, we’re not going to judge you, okay? But we need to know what’s really going on.”
Peter sighed, shoulders slumping. This wasn’t going to be easy. But it was going to be harder if he kept trying to push them away.
Ned winced, his voice softening a little. “You’re our friend, Pete. Just… talk to us.”
Peter looked up at both of them. They weren’t going anywhere. And deep down, he knew he didn’t want them to.
With a reluctant exhale, Peter nodded. “Okay, but we need to go somewhere else.”
MJ raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
Peter swallowed. “Because right now, the only thing I know for sure is that I’m not the only thing out there that’s messed up.”
Ned blinked. “That sounds ominous.”
Peter groaned. “This is going to be a long conversation.”