Spider-Son & Iron Dad two shots

Lab Rules

Spooktober 22: Sensory Loss

a/n: my little sister told me to write this one!! once again this was going to be angst but she turned the tides just for u guys 

In the quiet of Avengers Compound, Peter sat alone at a desk in a clean lab. Tony had been there with him when the afternoon began, but about halfway through pondering formulas, FRIDAY reminded him of a video call meeting he had to attend.

It was funny to see any semblance of nonchalance leave Tony's face. He was suddenly struck with an eyes-wide expression as he jolted up from his chair, fleeing towards the doors as he rambled about how Pepper was gonna creatively turn his chest hair into an art display, or something...

Anyways, Peter was left to his own devices to finish his new web formula. Which was totally fine, because he was incredibly capable of doing so— he literally did this under the public shelter of a highschool chemistry lab drawer. He was only tweaking some of the reactants, moving some numbers around for what should be a web fluid that could cover more surface area. Easy.

"Okay," Peter muttered to himself. "And then I just..."

He slowly tipped the beaker of chemicals into the flask. It bubbled. That was unfortunately the only warning he got before it quite literally  blew up in his face.

He could not see.

"Oh," Peter said. He let out a disbelieving laugh. "Oh no."

He reached up, and— yeah. Yeah. There's web making a sticky mess all over his hair, it's covering his eyes. He sent a prayer to his past self, thanking him for not making his webs toxic to human skin.

"It seems you're in quite a conundrum," FRIDAY spoke up.

Peter sighed, half caught up in his own amusement, just from the sheer ridiculousness of how he got into the situation. "I guess this is why we're supposed to wear goggles in chemistry, huh?"

"Yes, Peter. This is definitely a good example of why that rule is applied. Should I call Boss?"

"No," Peter said quickly, waving off blindly into the air. "No, no. I'm good, it's all good! My senses, they can just— they'll direct me where to go, I don't need to see."

Famous last words.

Peter turned, he began walking, relying solely on his so-called sixth sense. He knew it existed. How else was he able to dodge punches without looking? He couldn't just spin around dark alleyways without getting hit on luck.

The thing was, punches were not chairs, and his sixth sense seemed to agree with that particular sentiment, because he immediately tripped on his and went tumbling to the floor.

"Oh my god," Peter said, reaching his hands out, fumbling for the edge of a desk to help pull himself up. He didn't find one. "FRIDAY, you didn't see that. Close your eyes."

"My 'eyes' cannot close, Peter," FRIDAY said— and it was almost offensive how amused she sounded.

"Ugh," Peter said uselessly. He scooted across the floor, then finally took reach of the chair he had tripped on. He pulled himself up carefully and sat down. "I'll just sit here, then. They'll dissolve in a few hours. It'll be fine, Mr. Stark will be back before that!"

"Yes. His meeting will be done in thirty-two minutes."

"Yeah," Peter agreed cheerfully. "Thirty-two minutes. I can sit quietly for thirty-two minutes."

Peter Parker could not sit quietly for thirty-two minutes.

It's about three minutes in when he's spinning around aimlessly in the chair, mumbling the digits of Pi under his breath, when he suddenly can feel the way boredom is prickling under his skin.