Chapter 1: Stow Away

This is an idea that popped into my head and I just had to write it out. It probably won't be very long, but it will have several chapters. More than 3 probably. It's based on the Savage Spider-Man episode. I can't remember if Kraven escaped being arrested at the end, but for the purposes of this story, he did. And, as what seems to be the usual for my stories, Aunt May knows about Peter being Spider-Man. Also, the focus (for now) will be on the main team.


Peter slipped through the window, threw the bundle of cloth on the floor, and collapsed on top of it.

It wasn't every day he got paired up with Wolverine and a real-life Tarzan, sent to an insane jungle, only to end up back in New York having a barbaric fight.

It was decidedly one of his tougher days.

What was unsettling was that he hardly had any memory of the jungle portion of their mission. He remembered watching Taskmaster and Kraven from the tree. He remembered being seen. He remembered getting hit by some sort of blow dart and falling. But after that, it was a blur until he woke up in the jet, his suit torn in weird places. Neither of his companions had been willing to elaborate. And when the Wolverine told you that it was better that you didn't know, you knew it was bad.

Peter was just relieved Shield always included spare suits in their JumpJets.

He pulled off his mask, taking a deep breath and relaxing further. Despite how tired he was, he really would have preferred to take a shower, but May had company downstairs. The moment she knew he was home she'd start fussing over him, and he didn't want to disturb her social life. He glanced at the Iron Man calendar on the wall, then the Captain America clock.

Yeah, even when he had now fought alongside both, he was still a fanboy at heart.

But the good news was it was May's Book Club Day. Her guests would be gone in about fifteen minutes. Peter would just wait here until then, sprawled on the floor, passing the time by ignoring the nasty bruise that was probably forming on his back and—

Eep!

Peter jumped up to a crouch, pulling his mask back on. The voice had sounded close, but small, almost like a child's. Almost, but not quite. There was something about it that was . . . odd. Peter couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Hello?" he asked quietly. He hoped it wasn't anything serious. The last thing he needed was a fight in his own home, especially when May's friends would likely ask how Spider-Man had shown up so quickly.

The biker guys in the club were very nosy. They read a lot of mystery books for a reason.

There was no further noise in his room aside from his own breathing. "Hello?" he whispered again.

Hel—Hello?

Frowning, Peter turned around and squinted at the pile of torn spider-suit he had been lying on. "Hello? Who's there?" He would guess the voice was coming from within it, but what could it be? He had only—

He had only gone to a weird jungle with nigh-impossible creatures.

Maybe it wasn't so unlikely that some strange talking critter had stowed away in his suit. Especially when it had so many holes.

Seriously, what had happened to him that had made holes in the sides of his suit? In the toe area? The mouth area of his mask?! He couldn't fathom a situation that could cause that. He didn't know if he wanted to.

When there was again no answer, Peter began to slowly examine the suit. Aside from mud, leaves, and other jungle gunk, and the obvious holes, there was nothing amiss. He held up the mask, examining the tear.

"Hello? Spider-Man?"

This voice came from the mask, but it sounded different than before. It was deeper. It reminded Peter of one of the Shield agents. He made the mask inside out, noticing he had forgotten to turn off the earpiece.

"Hey, Donahue, is that you?" Peter asked.

"The one . . . only. You all right?"

"Yeah. Did you call?"

"I . . . you called."

Donahue's voice was wavering in and out now. The communicator was probably damaged from . . . whatever had happened. That was probably what made the voice sound so different before. Peter sighed, relaxing again.

"Sorry, nope. I think this communicator is damaged from my mission today. If you don't need me, I'll just turn it off."

"Okay. Don't worry, Spidey. You're off for the rest of the night. See you tomorrow."

Peter said goodbye and switched the little gadget off. Content with his investigation, he lied back down with the bundle as his pillow. The clock said he only had ten minutes left to wait, but his eyes began to droop. He opened them every so often. Nine minutes left. Eight minutes. Seven. He didn't get to see the six-minute mark as he drifted into sleep.


Peter's dreams were more forthcoming about his missing hours in the jungle than his companions had been.

Images bubbled up from his subconscious, too insane to be real, yet too detailed to be fantasy.

The scratches of a million leaves and branches as he ran and climbed through the dense jungle. The constant rustling of leaves punctuated by animalistic cries.

There was a vague invigorating feeling. A freedom that was different from the one he usually felt swinging around New York.

The shifting lights of the sun leaking through the leaves played with his vision. He jumped at shadows. Not away from them, but towards them, ready to face whatever came too close.

Then the scents leaked in. Nothing accurate, just an overwhelming variety not unlike the type he faced when he walked by a large group of perfumed girls at Midtown High. A gaggle of pleasant smells that assaulted his nose in an unpleasant nasal cacophony.

The attractive smell of prey punctuated the mess. He followed it.

The dream skipped through time the way dreams do.

The dinosaur was strong, but no more difficult to handle than the Lizard or the Goblin. This felt easier actually. He wasn't fighting to subdue. He was fighting to kill. He was fighting to eat.

Wolverine always raided the fridge in the Jump Jets first whenever they were paired up. Sam and Luke emptied it first the rest of the time. It always got on Peter's nerves, but he never said anything.

Now he didn't need to. He had his meal at his fingertips.

Why was it so hard to bite through the dinosaur's scales? They didn't feel that thick. And his new mandibles certainly felt sharp enough to—

Peter woke suddenly, hands snapping up to feel his face. No mandibles. He counted his arms next. Only two.

He took a shaky breath, shutting his eyes. That was just a dream. None of that was necessarily true. It was probably just his mind's way of imaginatively filling in the gap.

"Calm down, Pete, calm down." He took deep, gasping breaths. His hands rubbed at his sides. "Besides, what are the chances of seeing a dinosaur anyway? It's not like you've seen a gazillion other impossible things on these Shield excursions."

He knew he was mostly saying all that to make himself feel better, but it did work. His breathing slowed. His heart calmed to a steadier pace.

Calm.

Peter's breathing quickened again as he snapped to attention. Again.

He had a horrible feeling that it wasn't Donahue this time. And it probably hadn't just been him the first time either.

At least May's friends had probably left by now.

It was harder to tell where the voice had come from this time. It still felt close, but where? Peter stood, running a hand through his dirty hair.

Something skittered down his face.

"Augh!" He frantically swiped at whatever it was. Perhaps he was overreacting, but he had recently been in a jungle. Who knew what creepy crawlies were on him?

"Peter? Is that you? Are you okay?" May's concerned voice came from downstairs.

He finally swatted it, and something black was thrown onto his bed. Great. Just great. But at least it wasn't on him anymore.

"Yeah, May! I'm fine, just . . . stiff!"

Aunt May would absolutely freak if she knew he had let some huge bug into the house. And then the rest of the night would be spent cleaning. He was way too tired for that.

"All right! Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes!"

"Okay, thanks!"

Grabbing a random paper from his desk, Peter stood over his bed, ready to squash the . . . Oh . . . it wasn't a bug. It was a spider. A large spider.

That wasn't creepy at all after that dream.

Wasn't that funny? Spider-Man brought a spider home. But it was probably venomous. There was no way he was just going to leave a huge, jungle spider running around his house. He was usually more hesitant to cause this level of harm, even if it was to something as small as an arachnid. But this one was a health risk for his aunt, whether it bit her or caused a heart attack. And after the dream (and day) he just had . . . he wasn't feeling quite as accommodating.

Rolling up the paper, he brought his hand back. "Sorry, but this will only hurt for a second." Peter closed his eyes and—

Hurt?

Peter halted his hand, peeking his eyes open. The spider was right there on his sheets, fidgeting its long legs until it was standing and . . . looking at him?

Of course the one bug that stowed away in his junked suit from the jungle was a sentient spider. When did he ever bring anything normal home like a bloodsucking leech? He might have even preferred to get dysentery or something.

Scratch that, no, a foreign infection was not worth a little normalcy.

He bit his lip. "Hey there . . . little guy . . . Please tell me you're not a sentient spider. Although if you do tell me that, that would still be definite proof you actually are sentient, so . . ."

Peter waited, staring at the spider. Aside from its size, it didn't look very out of the ordinary. It had a plump, shiny thorax with short orange lines and dots. From his current distance, he could only see the larger four of its eight eyes. It didn't blink. Did spiders even have eyelids? Peter hadn't researched spiders much since the spider bite.

Senti—sentient?

Peter grimaced. Why did it sound like a kid? Why did it even know English in the first place? Why did he have a horrible feeling that he wasn't actually hearing it with his ears? He put his hands on his forehead, beginning to pace. He couldn't handle this right now. He should probably just call Shield up to take it away.

But he was a curious mind, and Shield was all about secrets. Why not just ask it a few simple questions before he never saw it again? Then he'd at least be helping Shield to identify it or something.

He came back to the edge of his bed, crouching down to be at the spider's level. Taking his cues from the childish tone of its voice, he simplified his next question. "Okay, so . . . what's your name?"

Gosh, that wasn't a very good question. Did spiders even have names? But he didn't really know any other way to start a conversation with a human kid, much less a talking spider kid.

Name? It began to crawl towards him. Peter leaned away.

"Right, so you don't know what a name is. Don't ask me to name you. You're not here to stay, and people tell me I'm not the best at naming things."

Name! it said happily.

Peter sighed. If you ignored the fact it was a spider, it sounded kind of cute. "Um, do you live in a jungle? Is jungle home?" Why was he even still talking to it? It didn't seem to really know English.

Jungle . . .?

A crisp, perfect image of vines and trees filled Peter's vision. It only lasted a second, just enough for him to recognize it as the jungle he had been in earlier. Then Peter blinked, gasping a little, and he saw his room again. He hadn't been prepared for that. He had really been hoping to ignore the inkling that it was talking to him through some telepathic link, but now . . .

Peter jerked back, noticing the spider had gotten closer, coming right to the edge of the bed.

What was he going to do? No, forget that. He was still going to call Shield and get this spider back to the jungle where it belonged. New York was a scary jungle of its own, and by far a worse place for a little spider to grow up. He didn't need to tell Shield that it had spoken to him.

God, what if it turned out that it wasn't a talking spider? Or rather, what if it turned out that he was the only one who understood it? After the day he had had, he wasn't sure if that would mean he was crazy or—

No, he hadn't developed the ability to talk to spiders. That was silly. And disconcerting. Rather disconcerting. He'd really rather not thin—

Peter squeaked in surprise as the spider leapt onto his face.

"Getoffgetoffgetoff!" He almost moved to swat it away again, but stopped himself. He couldn't bring himself to throw it across the room now. He just froze, trying not to think about how it was rubbing its head against his cheek. It really was big, about the size of his palm.

Calm. This time the word was accompanied by a wordless representation of its meaning. A sense of calm wiggled its way into his mind, just gentle and quick enough that he knew it wasn't his own feeling. Peter's shoulders relaxed a bit, but only a bit.

"Great, this is just great. Okay, give me a second. Can you hear my thoughts?" Peter would have tried to ask that mentally, but he didn't know how. And he didn't know if he wanted to know if that worked.

T—t . . .tots . . .

Peter licked his lips. "Yes, thoughts. Like, um, thoughts."He enunciated the word clearly, although why he was trying to teach the spider English was beyond him. But then . . . if he was right, did that mean he was the one who had taught it the few words it already knew? So far, it had only repeated words he had already said or thought.

Yup, this was just getting better and better.

He hoped the spider understood the sarcasm of that thought.

Better yet, he hoped the spider didn't hear that thought at all.

T—th . . . thoughts! It finally said proudly. Yup!

More words that he had just thought. Oh Joy. Oh joyous day.

Not.

Joy?

Peter sighed. Should he continue talking to the spider? Well, he couldn't really let it go around with an incorrect grasp of English. Well, he could, but why not humor it for a little longer? "Joy doesn't mean what I meant it to mean in that sentence. I mean, it means . . ." Peter paused, trying to think of the definition of joy. Christmas cartoons made it sound so easy, but it really was a hard thing to put into words. "It means . . . like, um, happiness. Lots of pure happiness. But you don't know what happiness means either, do you?" He cringed slightly at the feel of its thin legs hugging his face. "Could you—?"

Peter was cut off by a myriad of . . . happiness. Joy. It was stronger than the calm feeling of before. He knew the emotion wasn't his, but wow! That spider knew the true meaning of happiness.

How did a spider know the true meaning of happiness?

Peter left that question for another day.

"Okay, I need you to get off my face right now," he commanded a little harshly.

The spider leapt back to the bed, turning to face him again. Peter rubbed his face, trying to get rid of the feeling of its little legs and hairs.

What was he going to do about this?

"Peter, are you in the shower yet? Dinner's almost ready!"

"Going now, May!" Peter took a deep breath, his stomach growling at the reminder of food. Okay, he needed to contain the spider while he finally took a shower and ate a meal. He'd figure everything out afterwards when his mind was clearer and not quite as freaked out by this—

Oh God, he was talking to a spider that could hear his thoughts.

No, nope, he would start thinking about it only once he was in the shower. Then maybe the running water would muffle any manic laughter or yells.

Honestly, Peter had never really been driven into any sort of mania despite the craziness of his life. But a lot of the older heroes told him there would come a day when he would.

Maybe this was it.

Stumbling just a little, Peter stood and raided his closet. It took a few minutes, but he finally found the small plastic box. He remembered it being bigger, but then he had been much smaller when he had last used it. It was a bug catcher Ben had bought him on one of their trips to Central Park. It had been a struggle to catch fireflies and other fast, flying bugs.

Would this spider just walk in if he asked nicely? It had already listened when he asked it to get off of his face.

Peter pulled the lid off the box, setting it sideways onto the bed. "Hey, can you please get into this box? I don't need you getting lost in the house."

Box? The spider stared at it for a second. Peter hoped it wasn't claustrophobic. Yup! It scuttled in.

Sighing with some relief, Peter snapped the lid on, making sure the air holes were clear. "Great! I'll . . . I'll be back, and hopefully I'll know what to do with you by then. Stay put. And don't get into trouble." He waited a second for the spider to give him another enthusiastic 'yup!' before rushing into the bathroom.

Why was he being so nice to it?

The first thing Peter did was splash cold water on his face.

Then he asked the sky above and whatever lay out there: Why me?

Then he continued with his routine.

But before he turned on the shower, his communicator buzzed. Peter let out a long sigh. He hadn't even had dinner yet! If this was a call to tackle some villain while he was supposed to be off the clock . . . He sighed again. He didn't even have a witty threat right now.

Well, at least Fury hadn't called when he was in the shower.

He accepted the call, a small image of the director popping up onto the screen.

"Parker. Have you noticed any unusually large spiders on your clothes or person since you came back? I sent you an image."

A picture that looked remarkably like the spider in his room appeared on the small screen. Peter blinked at it several times. "Uh . . . big spiders, you say? That's . . . that's rather specific." Why didn't he say yes and get it over with? He had already learned more than he really wanted to know.

"Wolverine was bitten by an exceptionally venomous species that had stowed away in his suit. Fortunately, between his metabolism and the fact that the spider wasn't fully grown, he'll be fine. But I don't need any more agents sent to the med bay. If you find a spider, kill it immediately."

Peter's face paled. "That sounds . . . bad, but . . . aren't the creatures from that jungle endangered or something? Why not send any spiders back to their natural habitat?"

Fury's picture came back and raised an eyebrow at him. "I know you're not a fan of killing, but I'm not wasting a Jump Jet on a few spiders."

"You fly me around."

"You're useful. These spiders are just dangerous. Have you seen any? I understand one of your suits was ruined. Check it."

Peter's head shook back and forth before he even came to a conscious decision of how to answer. "Well, so far, the only big spider around here is me. I'll check the suit though."

"Good. I'm sending a cleaning crew just in case, though. They should arrive within the hour. Fury out."

The moment the screen became blank, Peter leaned against the wall, putting his hands to his head. What was he thinking? That thing was venomous! Another one just like it had sent Wolverine to the med bay! Wolverine! The guy who could usually handle pretty much anything! Why hadn't he told Fury he had spoken to a spider matching that description?

Because he had spoken to a spider matching that description. That's why.

Judging from the whole conversation, these spiders were not known to be sentient. Fury would have definitely mentioned if they could talk. That could mean that the only scientists to study this species so far were deaf. Or, probably more likely, it meant that Peter was the only one who could actually understand it.

Why was it that whenever the better reason was less likely, it never happened? There were plenty of times that the least likely worst-case scenario had happened. Why couldn't improbably good things happen too?

But, setting all that aside, what was he going to do? On one hand, he had his orders. If he didn't want to be the one to squish the spider, there was still a whole cleaning crew coming soon. They could take care of everything.

Except . . . they wouldn't take care of it. They would kill it, probably squishing it as if it were an ordinary bug.

It wasn't an ordinary bug. At least, not to him.

Peter softly hit his head with a fist.

He was going to do it, wasn't he? Or really, not do it. Curse his kind and caring nature! He had just exchanged a few measly words with the darn thing!

Correction: He had taught a baby spider its first words.

He knew there was no going back.

But what about Aunt May? He couldn't have a venomous spider in the house! It could bite her if it didn't give her a heart attack first! He couldn't endanger his aunt like that.

Peter groaned as finally turned on the shower. What was he going to do?


May was not happy, to say the least, when she was informed of where her nephew had been today. The moment the cleaning crew arrived, she pulled one of the agents aside to have a talk about how he was supposed to be the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

Peter didn't mind too much. Fury would call her later and they would probably work out a deal. So he just sat on their back steps, working on some homework.

What May did appreciate was that her house got a full deep clean. Not a shelf was left undusted, and she didn't have to lift a finger. Of course, that didn't stop her from trying to help. Once she was done arguing with the first agent, she hovered over the others. Despite their protests, each of the cleaners had a water bottle and a handful of homemade cookies by the time they left.

Peter relaxed once they were gone. It was over. He had made his decision and now he had to deal with it.

"Are you coming in, Peter?"

He looked up from his laptop. "I might stay out a bit longer. The charge should last a little longer and it's a warm night."

May nodded, kneeling next to him to be at his eye level. "All right. I'm sorry if I made a big deal about the jungle thing. But I saw the bruises, and really, you have enough on your plate with bad guys. You shouldn't need to worry about saber-toothed tigers on top of that."

Peter smiled. "I understand. But the saber-toothed tiger was friendly. He was actually the damsel in distress today." He refrained from mentioning the dinosaur. He hardly remembered it, and he really hoped he had imagined that part anyway.

"Well, I guess it's like they say: man is the greatest beast of all."

"Who says that? It sounds familiar."

"I honestly don't know. I feel like it's from something I read or watched, but I can't put my finger on it." May looked up at the sky, eyes clouded as she tried remember. "Oh well, it sounds like somebody said it." She rubbed her nephew's shoulder. "Did you eat enough at dinner? I imagine a jungle adventure is exhausting."

Peter rolled his eyes. "You gave me at least three 'Aunt May size' servings. I'm good."

"Okay, just be in by the time the sun sets. The spider bite fixed your eyes. I don't think you want to get glasses again."

"Yes, May," he said somewhat exasperatedly.

She smirked before entering the house. Peter went back to looking at his screen, but he didn't continue the homework. He took the time alone to think about what he had just done. Even in his short superhero career, he felt like he had never made such a hard decision before in his life. Usually, the right decision was much clearer. Usually, only one path led to saving lives. But then, when was there ever anything usual about his life?

He lamented his loss for a moment.

Then, taking a deep breath, he lifted his laptop, peeking at the small plastic box concealed underneath. The spider turned to look at him.

Hello!

Peter sighed. He had only just gotten used to a relatively normal teenage superhero lifestyle.

He was going to miss it.

Because if normal pets were already a big responsibility, then a secret, talking spider was bound to seriously complicate his life.

But looking into those shiny black eyes, Peter couldn't properly regret his decision. Besides, the long-term plan was to get it back in the jungle. That was its home, and Spider-Man was bound to end up on another mission there at some point no matter what May said. And if he didn't, it wouldn't be the first time he commandeered a Shield Jump Jet.

Unfortunately, it would probably still be a while before he could get back to that jungle. Peter understood it was a secret or something, so it would probably take special clearance to get the GPS coordinates. Waiting for another mission there or planning his own trip would both take a while to happen.

So in the meantime . . .

"You're going to need a name now, huh?"

Name!

"Well, Spider-Spider is too redundant. And . . . I've got nothing aside from that. We'll figure it out later. For now, let's look up spider-care. There are plenty of people who own tarantulas, so there are bound to be at least a few sites, right?"

S—sp . . . spy . . .

"Spider. That's what you are. You're a spider."

Spy . . . spide—spry . . .

"Wow, you are really tongue-tied with that one. But you'll get it eventually." Peter lowered the laptop and began a Google search. For once, luck was on his side. There were, in fact, a bunch of spider-care websites. At least the little guy's physical care wouldn't be too difficult.

But it's mental care? It sounded like a kid, and he was already treating it like one. He was probably going to end up teaching it for whatever amount of time they were together. But what did it need to know? Morals and English would definitely be on the syllabus, but what else? Human culture? History? Calculus?

Hm, a spider that could look over his math homework would actually be quite helpful. The spider had certainly proven itself to be a fast learner so far.

Peter lifted his computer again. "Since I'm the one who got you into this mess, I'm going to do my best help you get home."

Home?

Another crisp image of the jungle appeared in Peter's mind's eye. But this time, the little spider was clearly visible on a leaf, front and center.

"That's right." Peter nodded. "Home."


To Kraven the Hunter, this crummy basement apartment was home. It wasn't fancy. It was hardly furnished at all. A polar bear fur was the bed. A buffalo's skin was the sofa. A table covered in crocodile scales was where he ate, and a table with tiger skin was where he plotted.

And there was the stuffed rhino hide punching bag where he vented his anger.

But Kraven wasn't very angry today, despite the failure of his plan. It should have upset him. He had worked with the notorious Taskmaster after all. That man was supposed to be unbeatable. And sure, Kraven was, in fact, quite angry that Taskmaster hadn't been nearly as unstoppable as he claimed, but there was something else that made the entire day worth it.

In the jungle, in the moment before he and Taskmaster had made their getaway, he had seen it. He had seen the beast that rose from where the hero fell.

He had seen the savage Spider-Man.

Now Kraven's mind whirled with the possibilities. He still had some of that poison left over. And he definitely planned on using it. In that vicious state, Spider-Man had delayed the other two heroes for several hours. Imagine the possibilities in New York, where the antidote wasn't flowering every few feet!

Kraven rubbed his hands, approaching the tiger skin table. He pushed aside all of his notes regarding White Tiger and her amulet, pulling out sheets of fresh paper.

The hunter had found a new prey.


Honestly, I'm as stumped as Pete when it comes to naming the spider. I'll be happy to take suggestions!