Chapter Text
Peter Parker had faced a lot of impossible things in his life. Alien invasions, multiversal collapse, death and even resurrection. But nothing quite
prepared him for the moment his spider-sense screamed at him to dodge left while simultaneously his stomach lurched violently to the right.
"Kid, you good?" Steve's voice crackled through the comm as Peter pressed himself against the cold concrete wall of the Hydra facility, one hand on his abdomen.
"Yeah, Cap, I'm—" Peter swallowed hard against the wave of nausea. "I'm fine. Just ate something weird for breakfast."
"Copy that. Bucky's got eyes on the target. We're moving in sixty seconds."
Peter took a deep breath, then immediately regretted it as the musty smell of the abandoned warehouse made his stomach flip and nauseous again.
This wasn't normal. His enhanced metabolism usually meant he could eat year-old leftovers without consequences. He'd been feeling off for weeks now—tired in a way that even his spider-stamina couldn't shake, emotional at the weirdest moments, and now this persistent nausea that had him dry-heaving in his bathroom at three in the morning.
"Spider-Man, you're up," Bucky's low voice came through, all business as usual. Peter could picture him and Steve working in perfect sync, that wordless communication they'd developed over decades together. It would be adorable if Peter wasn't currently trying not to throw up in his mask.
He shot a web and swung into the facility, landing lighter than usual—his center of balance felt off somehow. Three Hydra agents spotted him immediately, but they went down easy. Too easy. Peter pulled his punches more than normal, some instinct he couldn't name making him cautious.
The mission wrapped up cleanly. Bucky secured the intel, Steve took down the last of the agents, and Peter mostly tried not to embarrass himself. As they headed back to the Quinjet, Steve fell into step beside Bucky, their shoulders brushing in that casual intimacy that spoke of shared beds and lazy Sunday mornings. Peter felt a pang of something—loneliness, maybe, or longing for that kind of connection.
"You sure you're alright?" Steve asked once they were airborne. He'd stripped off his cowl, and his blue eyes were concerned. Beside him, Bucky leaned against his shoulder, close enough that anyone who didn't know them might think it was just battlefield camaraderie. But Peter knew better.
He'd walked in on them kissing in the compound kitchen enough times to know they were thoroughly, disgustingly in love.
"Honestly? I don't know," Peter admitted, pulling off his mask. His hair was sweat-plastered to his forehead. "I've been feeling weird lately. Really
tired, kind of sick. Maybe I caught something?"
Bucky and Steve exchanged one of those looks—the kind that contained entire conversations.
"When's the last time you saw a doctor?" Steve asked carefully.
"I mean, Dr. Cho checks us all out after missions, and I heal really fast, so—"
"Peter." Steve's Captain America voice was gentle but firm. "When we get back, you're going to the med bay. That's an order."
Peter wanted to argue, but another wave of nausea hit him, and he just nodded miserably.
The med bay was cold and sterile, and Peter sat on the examination table in his civilian clothes, swinging his legs nervously. Dr. Cho had run through the standard tests—blood pressure, temperature, the usual. Now she was looking at something on her tablet, her expression unreadable."
Peter," she said slowly, "when's the last time you were intimate with someone?"
Peter's face flamed red. "I—what? Why?"
"Just answer the question, please."
"Um." Peter's mind raced back. The Avengers party two months ago had been a blur—Tony had been experimenting with Asgardian mead mixed with something else, and Peter's enhanced metabolism meant he rarely got drunk, but that night he definitely had. He remembered dancing, laughing, and then... fragments. Someone's hands on his waist. A tower room that wasn't his. Gentle touches and whispered words he couldn't quite recall. He'd woken up alone with a headache and vague sense of satisfaction, assuming it had been a good night even if the details were fuzzy.
"About two months ago," he said quietly. "At the party after the Sokovia anniversary thing. But I don't really remember... I mean, I was pretty drunk."
Dr. Cho nodded, her expression sympathetic. "I'm going to ask you something, and I need you to stay calm. Have you noticed any other symptoms? Mood swings? Food addiction? Heightened sense of smell?"
"I mean, yeah, but I figured I was just stressed or—" Peter's spider-sense suddenly tingled, not with danger but with awareness, like his body was
trying to tell him something crucial. "Dr. Cho, what's going on?"
She turned the tablet toward him. Peter stared at the results, his brain struggling to process what he was seeing.
"That's... that's not possible."
"Your genetic structure is unique, Peter. The spider bite altered you on a fundamental level. Among other things, it seems to have made you capable of carrying a pregnancy." Dr. Cho's voice was professional but kind.
"You're approximately eight weeks along."
The world tilted. Peter gripped the edges of the examination table, his enhanced strength denting the metal.
"I'm... pregnant?" The word felt foreign in his mouth. "But I'm—I'm a guy, I can't—"
"You can. And you are." Dr. Cho pulled up another screen showing what looked like an ultrasound. There, in the grainy black and white, was a tiny blob with a flickering heartbeat. "See? Healthy heartbeat, good development for eight weeks. Whatever happened that night, this is the result."
Peter couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. His mind was a white noise of panic and disbelief.
"Who... I don't even remember who I was with," he whispered. "Dr. Cho, I don't know who the father is."
"We can run DNA tests once the baby is further along, or we can test anyone you think might be—"
"I don't know!" Peter's voice cracked. "I don't remember! There were so many people at that party, and I was so drunk, and—" He pressed his hands to his face. "Oh my God. Oh my God, what am I going to do?"
Dr. Cho moved closer, her hand on his shoulder. "First, you're going to breathe. Second, you're going to know that you have options. Whatever you decide, you'll have support. But Peter, you need to think about who else was at that party. Who you might have been with."
Peter's mind raced through foggy memories. He'd talked to Tony for a while, he remembered that—they'd been laughing about something, and Tony had touched his arm, his smile warm and fond. But Tony was with Pepper, wasn't he? Except they'd been "on a break" around that time...
And Stephen. Stephen Strange had been there, looking devastatingly handsome in his sorcerer's robes adapted for a party. Peter remembered the way Stephen's eyes had tracked him across the room, remembered a conversation about magic and responsibility that had felt charged with something more.
But there had been others too. Sam, though he'd spent most of the night with Joaquin. Thor had been there briefly before leaving for New Asgard.
Even Loki had made an appearance, though surely Peter would remember if he'd...
"I need time," Peter said, his voice small. "I need to think."
"Of course. But Peter, you should tell someone. Steve, maybe, or—"
"No!" Peter slid off the table too fast, his spider-agility making the movement jerky. "No, I can't tell anyone yet. Not until I figure this out. Please, Dr. Cho, this stays between us for now."
She looked conflicted but nodded. "Alright. But you need to come back for regular checkups. And Peter? Whatever you decide, decide soon. Time is a factor here."
Peter fled the med bay, his mind reeling. Pregnant. He was pregnant, and he had no idea who the father was, and his entire future had just been
rewritten in the space of a single conversation.
He made it to his room before the tears started.