recluse:originsrainyspiderchild

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Rating: Not Rated
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Fandom: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Characters: Original Spider-Man Characters, Original Non-Binary Character, Original Non-Human Character(s)
Additional Tags: RatSpidersona | Original Character as Spider-Man, Nonbinary Character, Violence, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Body Horror, Homelessness, Panic Attacks, Misgendering, Child Abuse, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2025-06-11, Updated: 2025-06-11, Words: 8,442, Chapters: 1/?, Kudos: 1, Hits: 1
Summary: Lacey o'Neal is a runaway trying to make it back home to New York City back where they lived before their mom died, and their life fell apart. But when they take a ride from a seemingly normal man, their life takes a weird turn. Buttons is a depressed lab rat, powerless to stop a cruel "scientist" as he experiments on innocent humans to make a spider-human super soldier. Together they travel to NYC, trying to heal and survive as homeless mutates.
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome!!(See the end of the work formore notes.)

Chapter 1: random acts of violance

Lacey huffed and watched the trees smudge into the lights of the highway. It was warm in the man's car, and in the last half hour the guy had barely talked to them, so they were happy enough. The man in question was a short 40-something with flat brown hair, wire-frame glasses, and no other remarkable features. He had picked Lacey up from the side of the road some time ago—they had stupidly thought that they could walk the 70 miles to the bus stop. Lacey had lovingly dubbed him Mr. Normal in their head.

“So what are you doing all the way out here?’’ Mr. Normal asked, eyes trained on the road in front of him. It was some of the first words he had spoken to them, other than the “Where are you headed?” he had asked when he first picked them up. Ugh.

“I'm just trying to get to the greyhound,” Lacey muttered, in a tone that hopefully conveyed how little they wanted to talk—though it was a good question. They had managed to get turned around, and now they were in the middle of nowhere. Lacey hugged their violin case to their chest.

“Right, right, of course,” Mr. Normal muttered awkwardly. Lacey went back to looking out the window, watching the lights flicker by on the highway. They were cut out of their daydreams by Mr. Normals nasally voice, “Uh would you like a drink?” he asked with a smile, drumming his fingers on the wheel to something rhythmless, bada, bum, bum. “I've got a whole case of sports drinks back here.”

Lacey's tongue stuck to the roof of their mouth like sandpaper. Their water bottle had dried up half a day ago, and they were sure their breath stunk like Spam. They thought about what a sorry sight they must have made. Clothes grungy, duct-taped sneakers, cracked glasses, hair that had been matted for days because they forgot to bring a hairbrush—though it wasn’t like they had been brushing before they ran away—and was now being hidden in their hoodie. They must’ve looked like a real charity case, they sure felt like one.

“Ok Sure.” Mr. Normal reached behind him, in a way that made Lacey think they might crash, one hand still on the wheel. He groped behind him blindly, trying to find what he was looking for without his eyes leaving the road. He eventually found it and handed it to them— one of those dark blue gatorades that Lacey had never been allowed to drink growing up because they were too sugary.

It wasn't abnormal for Lacey to be given things from people when hitchhiking. Small things, snacks, drinks, small amounts of change, and once even a poetry book they were looking at to pass the time in the back of a nice lady’s van in Pennsylvania. What they were saying was that people were usually nice to the extremely baby faced, dirty eighteen-year-old. (They were thirteen, but tall enough to get away with eighteen. Thanks mom.)

“Thanks, dude.” They tried to give him a grateful smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace. They twisted open the bottle, relieved when they heard the crack of the safety seal opening. They downed half of it in one go. It was warm, sugary, and tasted very… blue.

“Don't mention it, kid.” Mr. Normal (they needed to ask the guy's name already, jeez) was back at the wheel again, making them feel infinitely safer. Somehow, in their feverish thirst, they had managed to get their sweatshirt sleeve drenched. Drying on their skin sticky, They inspected the bottle, squinting— oh, they could see the problem now. There was a small hole in the bottle near the cap where the two pieces of plastic joined, so small you wouldn't notice if you hadn’t been looking for it.

“There’s a hole in the bottle,” Lacey said, mostly to make conversation. They watched out the corner of their eye as Mr. Normal shoulders tensed, knuckles white gripping the wheel. Lacey felt their heart skip in their chest, Did he think they were ungrateful? —they didn't need to be kicked out in the middle of nowhere, not again. They opened their mouth to say …something maybe apologize, But then everything lurched forward—and Lacey was left covering their mouth, trying to avoid puking in the man's car.

“Ah, Rotten luck!” Harrison said, with a smile he either didn’t notice their state or didn't care. Something about him was tense, like a rubber band about to snap. Lacey's stomach dropped. They needed to ask to be let out at the next gas station, they—they could try to make it to the bus stop again tomorrow. “Let me out here. I-I need to get out.”

They had to get a grip, but they couldn't focus nausea rolled in their stomach thinking was a struggle, and everything felt syrupy, slow and gooey. A forced calm being laid over their brain,they fumbled at the car door, but it was locked. Lacey scrambled for their pocket knife, but it was like their fingers were made of jelly.

“I thought you wanted to be left at the greyhound? I'm not going to let you off in the middle of nowhere.” his voice sounded like it was underwater. He gave them what someone could have considered a kind smile. “How about you take a nap? We still have an hour left.” “I said let me go,” Lacey repeated, brandishing the knife in a trembling grip. Even they realized that they must have looked pathetic. They drew themselves up and tried to make their face tough looking—it should have been easy. Joan always said that Lacey had “a scary resting bitch face.” They set their voice hard as a stone. “I know what you did, let me out now, and— and I won't tell anyone.”

Mr. Normal glanced back at them again and scoffed. The knife was yanked out of their hand and thrown somewhere in the back of the car. And faster than their drugged mind could keep up with, they were hit in the jaw, with what they didn’t know. The world lurched as everything went dark.

Buttons

The basement that her cage was in was dark, dreary, and smelled like blood, mold, and disinfectant. Not for the first time, she thought of her old classroom, with its loud, happy voices, curious hands— and best of all, its learning. There was no learning in the basement, only screaming and crying and the dreadful silence.

The basement was a large, square, white tiled lab-like room that Buttons hadn’t been able to see much of before the injection gave her better eyesight… among other things. The most notable thing in the room was a padded table in the middle that reeked of blood, but Buttons didn't like thinking about or looking at it too much. Other than that, there wasn't much else besides tables full of enclosures with spiders (who weren't very good conversationalists) and cupboards that she knew carried chemicals, syringes, books and the like. Her cage was okay. It was the same cage she had always had, a medium-sized tank that apparently had belonged to a pair of goldfish before their untimely death at the hands of Jacob Swartz after he put all the class’s t-82 calculators in the water. Buttons hypothesized that they either got crushed or that the germs on the ancient calculators were enough to do them in. Anyway, after the tragic deaths of Princess Skateboard and Jerry, Miss Puck had thought they needed another class pet. That's where Buttons came in! Life was good for a short while. She no longer had to deal with the lifeless, monotone Petz world. She got to learn and read as many books as she wanted after everyone went home at the end of the day. And she loved her students. Well, most of them anyway. Some refused to go near her because she was “gross” and some just weren't very radical. (Some of her students taught her that word, interesting isn't it?) But then Miss Puck retired and none of the other teachers at Langsbird wanted her, so she was given to the school's principal, Mr. Harrison. Buttons never knew a human could be as evil as Mr. Harrison. She scratched her side anxiously. An angry scab had developed there; she knew better than to keep scratching at it, but it was itchy. Her water had been empty, maybe for a day? She wouldn't know, the basement had no windows or a clock to tell the time by. She had plenty of food, but mostly because she hadn’t been eating. And her bedding hadn't been changed in weeks, so the smell of ammonia had sunken into her fur. Curling up in a ball, she resolved to go back to sleep. She was always sleeping these days—there were only so many times you could read the same few books on spiders and nonsense pseudoscientific scribbles before you got sick of it. She hated it here.

Lacey

Lacey woke in fragments, head buzzing in pain. The air smelled like pine needles and fresh dirt. Everything felt like it spinning, so it took them a second to realize they were moving and staring at the ground, draped over someone's shoulder in a fireman's carry. The world tilted, and they retched onto the back of whoever was carrying them. A voice swore, and Lacey sunk back into unconsciousness. They woke again, laying on something vaguely padded, the smell of disinfectant clotting in the air. A harsh light shone down on them, spiking their headache and making their eyes water. Lazily, Lacey thought about the alien abduction shows they used to watch with their mom. They winced as their cheek pulsed with pain. The left side of their face hot and tender, they tried to bring a hand up to touch their face to inspect the new bruise— but something was holding them down. Suddenly they felt a lot more awake. Their arms were splayed out in a T-shape using strong ropes, tight, rubbing their wrists raw. They tried kicking out, but there was some sort of strap holding their legs down. Lacey shivered, from fear or the cold they didn't know—their hoodie was gone and they were left in the worn thrifted t-shirt they had underneath. Pain drummed in their head, Fear was a living thing in their chest. Breaths coming out gasping, deafening in the quiet room. They couldn't see much from their vantage point on the table, mostly the ceiling, but the little they could see was white and sterile and blurry. What happened to their glasses? All of a sudden— a sound, a door opening. They must be on the lower level of a building, they could hear footsteps walking downstairs. “You're awake,” a man's voice remarked, shoes making a click-clacking noise as he walked closer. They had to crane their neck with some effort to see him. Mr. Normal was standing above them, wearing full-body scrubs, a lab coat, and a haughty expression. Maybe they should've said something more fitting for the situation, like a “What do you want with me?!” or a “You can't get away with this!” or perhaps even a tasteful scream. Instead, they slurred out, “Whuh'syer name?” Mr. Normal raised an eyebrow at this and made a humming noise. “My name is Doctor Harrison, and you, girl—” Lacey cringed at that but didn't correct him— “are my test subject.” Harrison turned and walked away, while Lacey was still processing what the fuck he just said. They felt sick with fear, they were sure that if they still had anything in their stomach, it would be on the floor by now. An IV stand rolled into view. Harrison continued without prompting. “I am a bioengineer, and you are going to be my greatest creation, the ultimate weapon.” He said all this like it was a well practiced speech, it felt like a slap to the face, and Lacey started struggling harder, the ropes biting into their wrists painfully. “One day, every police officer and US soldier will be injected with this,” he continued, holding up an IV bag. The liquid inside was an ominous dark blue. “This is a gift I'm giving you, you know. You're going to help me change the world.” At that they managed to find their tongue. “Fuck you!”. Harrison sighed, “I shouldn't have expected you to understand,” he said, and muttered something suspiciously close to “kids these days.” “You're fucking insane!”, Lacey snapped, teeth bared, straining against the ropes. Who did this fucker think he was? Harrison was quiet for a second, staring at them. They wished they had their glasses so they could see his expression. “After I administer the serum, I will get a bag of ice for your face.” Lacey spat on him, aiming for his face, but mostly getting it on his stupid lab coat. Harrison's face twisted into a snarl. “You little—” he grabbed the collar of their shirt, lifting them off the table as far as the restraints allowed face close, breathing humid coffee breath on them. He pulled back his fist, and Lacey shut their eyes and braced themself for impact.... Nothing happened, and after a while, he let them go, letting their head slam back to the table with a thunk. Lacey panted, sick from adrenaline, their ears ringing. Harrison’s footsteps echoed as he walked around the room, opening and slamming drawers erratically. Suddenly he was back, pinching and prodding their inner elbow they thrashed in their bindings, but all Harrison did was hold their arm down in a bruising grip. They were desperate now. After all, if that stuff is going to ‘change the world’ why wouldn't he inject it in himself? “Please stop, just-just let me go! I promise, I promise, I won't tell anyone!” Harrison didn't even look up, fiddling with a needle. “Stop!” A cord was being tied around their arm— a tourniquet, their mind helpfully supplied, and something cold swabbed at their skin. “No!” Lacey yelped, yanking against his grip with little success. He stabbed the needle in their arm, stinging, they thrashed harder, the ropes cutting into their wrists. When Lacey was a little kid, living in various apartments with their mom and grandma, they often had cockroaches—crawling through the cupboards, living in the pipes, eating their food. Mom had put down these sticky smelly pieces of paper in the kitchen, under their bed, in the bathroom, and when the bugs crawled over them, they got stuck, and the roach would get so freaked out that it would pull off its little arms and legs just for a chance to escape. Lacey felt a lot like a cockroach right now, pulling on the restraints so hard that they were sure that their shoulder would pop out of its socket, all while screaming a random stream of “no, no, no, stop, please, fuck you!” “Hold still, girl.” Harrison scowled, tightening his grip on their arm. “Go to hell!” Lacey howled, bucking wildly. He jabbed them painfully a few more times, and once satisfied he found a vein taping down the needle and tubing, at this point their arm looked like a battleground with all the puncture wounds some already starting to bruise. Somewhere underneath their panic, Lacey heard a “This will hurt,” and Blue liquid slowly made it's way through to the needle. They were still at this, time slowing down the fluid reaching the needle and reaching their veins, at first nothing happened, then, they were— They were dying. They were dying. They must have been, because they couldn’t imagine something this-this catastrophic, not being fatal. Liquid fire was being poured into their veins, it felt like someone was peeling them apart in layers, a house burning down in their bones, cells were being pulled apart and placed in the wrong direction— Someone was screaming, It took Lacey a second to realize it was them. Something fundamentally wrong was happening to them— Lacey thrashed against the ropes using whatever strength they had left, the ropes rubbing gashes in their wrists. Their vision was so blurred from tears (when had they started crying?) that they didn't see Harrison's face when it happened. The ropes snapped. They relied more on adrenaline than thought. In seconds, they had leaped from the table and shoved him to the floor. It took only a second to find a weapon, and IV stand in hand— bag still hanging from it, and still connected to their arm— Lacey raised it above their head and in one fluid motion, slammed it down on his with a loud crack. The sound echoed around the room, the force of it traveling up their arms. Lacey stood there huffing, adrenaline singing in their veins and blocking out the worst of it. Harrison lay prone on the floor, bleeding and groaning in pain. He grabbed his head, mumbling, getting to his feet. “You little sh—” When he moved towards them as if to grab, Lacey hit him again. And again. They needed to make sure he never did this to anyone else. They needed to make sure he didn't get up. By the time they were out of steam, the stand was covered in blood and whatever liquid that spilled out of the bag. The needle that connected the tube was still in their arm, so they yanked it out haphazardly, dropping it and the stand on the floor. Lacey turned away from the bloody mess that was now Harrison. Whatever courage they had had before was gone, and they felt feverish and fragile. They stumbled drunkenly up the stairs, pain radiating from every part of their body, but they were far away from it. Everything felt numb and dream-like. Finally, they reached the top, taking a few steps before collapsing. They couldn't do it anymore. They hurt too much.

Buttons

Now, buttons didn't like to curse— Miss Puck had said that cursing just showed to people that you have a bad vocabulary— but she thought that Miss Puck would forgive her just this once. Holy fucking dickfuck shitass!! The kid that Mr. Harrison had brought in had to be the youngest of all his ‘test subjects.’ Probably even young enough to be one of Miss Puck’s students. (And didn’t that make her blood boil?) Buttons couldn't tell the gender of the kid—she had never been good at that. She had always had a hard time telling humans’ faces apart. She mostly just relied on scent, even now with her improved vision. Buttons couldn't waste any more time. She climbed up the side of the tank, before the injection, she would have had to do a complicated amount of jumps to reach the top of the cage. But now she could just walk up the side of the glass wall, Easy-peasy. There are a good deal of perks to being half spider,

The lid clattered to the floor with a bang, buttons hopped down to the table, scenting the air for predators—an instinctual habit she never quite shook off, the coppery smell of blood was overpowering, she shoved aside papers and pens to scurry down the leg of the table. Buttons reached the cold floor and looked at Mr. Harrison, who was dead. A large pool of blood leaking from his head, There was no need to worry about him now She needed to be quick. She hopped up the stairs, racing to the top, where the kid was crumpled in a heap at the entrance. This was the first time she got a good look at them. The kid was honey-blonde, with hair that looked like a rat's nest. And a face with a healthy spattering of acne that was scrunched in pain, they looked pretty banged up jaw swollen and bruised, their wrists were red blistered and oozing blood, arms covered in bruises and needle marks. The kid whimpered in pain, curling in a ball, buttons panicked, the kid was hurt she needs to do something, she was the only thing here that could do something! Medicine the kid needs medicine! Medicine cabinets are in bathrooms, right? She’ll look there first. She ran to the hallway, nails clicking on the hardwood. She made her way past the kitchen, and to the nearest open door, and peeked inside. She had never been out of the basement, and now she was starting to regret it. Yes, a bathroom! Lady luck was on her side! The room was wall-to-wall wood paneled, like most of the walls she had seen so far. On one side was a toilet, on the other, a sink, along with a cabinet and a glass shower. The toilet had a quote about divorce above it… Who the heck has a divorce themed bathroom? She scurried to the cabinet, opening it with some difficulty. Shampoos, soaps, and medicine greeted her. She found the pain reliever and, frustratingly enough, had to chew through the bottle to open it When she got back, the kid was still on the ground drenched in sweat, hair sticking to their face, a fever, could their body be trying to fight off the foreign DNA in the serum? “Hey, hey kid, come on, wake up, I have medicine,” she said, though to the kid it probably sounded like “squeak squeak squeak”. Buttons didn't really know why she “spoke” to humans—she knows, logically they can’t understand her, But there was just something about humans, they thought so alike, buttons just couldn't help herself, when humans spoke she understood them, so why not vise versa? Once Miss. Puck was doing her yearly presentation on the intelligence of rats, using Buttons as an example of course, showing the class the trick she “taught” her, sorting balls with little symbols on them to their cups, when one of the kids—she couldn't remember who— asked a question. “Miss puck, do you think that we could teach rats to read?” some of the kids giggled as if it was a stupid question—it wasn't, she could read! Besides, there are no stupid questions in science! But even Miss puck talked to them like it was, using the voice she uses when a student asks to go to the bathroom without saying may or please, clicking her tongue. “No” she said, shaking her head, “rat's brains are simply too small for any sort of real language understanding” she turned back to the whiteboard question apparently answered, “now who can tell me—” it was the first time buttons ever felt angry at miss puck. Buttons tried shaking the kid awake the best she could, Nothing, no response. Her ears drooped. Okay, okay, she would put the medicine plan on hold, it was stupid anyway, you can’t take pills if you're passed out. She tried to think of what happened when one of the students got sick—but usually they just get sent to the nurse's office out of her view, plus this wasn’t just some flu virus, this was… more. Ok, plain B bring their fever down, fever is just the bodies way of fighting off infections and viruses raising the bodies internal temperature so high that illness can’t survive, the problem is that humans also can’t survive too long at that temperature. She ran back into the bathroom, scaling up the sink and finding a hand towel, turning the knob cool water sprayed into the basin. And Buttons was suddenly reminded of how little water she's had in the last few days, she got her fill while the towel was wetted. Turning the water off she tried to wring out the wet towel as best she could, getting soaked with cold water in the process, then pushed it off the edge of the sink. Making a wet slap as it hit the floor. She scaled down, biting the edge of the towel, and dragged it back to the kid, making a wet trail as she went “I'm back, kiddo,” she squeaked out. “You’re going to feel awesome in a few seconds.” When Buttons dragged the towel over their forehead, the kid gave an audible sigh of relief, so at least she knows she's helping, not hurting. The kid was doing better than the last victims who got injected, their skin wasn’t peeling off, they weren’t throwing up blood or losing hair or turning into a writhing mass of spider legs and eyes or—the kid made a whimpering sound again, tentatively she placed a paw on the kid's cheek trying to provide an iota of comfort. Now all she needed to do was wait and……hope the kid didn’t die.

Lacey

They were back in their room at the group home, with its creaky floors and cracked white walls, Jesus was glaring down on them from his cross over their bed. Lacey tried to take it down once, and got put in “the box” for three hours because of it, the thing creeped them out more than a cross has a right to. Someone was in their bed, did they get a new roommate? Wasn't someone supposed to tell them if that happened? They felt their face twist into something sour, and they yanked the scratchy covers off to yell at the person to go sleep in the bed that wasn't clearly taken. The body looked almost like a wax sculpture, skin pallid and waxy her lips blue, she laid there rigid like a board, wearing the purple teddy bear shift she always wore to bed. Her blond hair was greasy and tangled, blue eyes were open glossed over staring up at nothing. “Mom?” they whispered, stumbling back. Without warning, her bony arm shot out to grip their shirt, shaking them, she screeched out something wordless, the noise knocking around in their head, the floor gave way under them, and they were falling—— Lacey woke with a full body flinch that had them crying out in pain. They were on the floor if the stiff wood digging into their side was anything to go by. Pain sweeping over them in waves burning, but something cool and wet was dripping on their forehead, soothing their smoldering fever. “Are you ok?” someone asked, voice dripping concern. “Whaa?” Lacey squinted, their eyes stung too much to see clearly, not to mention their lack of glasses, so all they could see was a small white blob on the floor in front of them. “Here drink this” the white blob held a water bottle out to them, which was impressive since the bottle was as big as it was, they were sitting up and downing the bottle before they had time to think, water so cool it made their teeth hurt. The white blob stared at them from the floor, Lacey squinted trying to clear their vision, but everything was still blurred together—just shapes and colors. Now, Lacey isn't a religious person—they were 75% sure that god wasn’t real and the only reason they ever went to church as a kid was because it made Grandma Lacey (yes they shared a first name) happy, that and the fact that the choir was pretty fun to sing in. But their delirious mind had only one logical explanation for what this thing was. “Are you an angel?” Lacey gasped out in between gulps of water. The angel paused for a second then muttered, “Okay, they definitely still have a fever” then louder “Here take these” the angel placed two pills in front of them aspirin by the looks of it. Lacey popped them in their mouth blindly—who were they to question an angel? And laid back down on the floor, suddenly dizzy, why did everything hurt again? “Hey, hey! Don't fall asleep on me!” They felt something hit their cheek, they groaned and swatted at it. “C’mon, don't you want to move to the couch?” “I’m tired” “Did—did you just understand me?” “Yeah, why wouldn't I?” Lacey shivered, and curled into a ball. Everything was hot and cold and sweaty and hurt so bad. The angel was silent for a moment before going, “Do you want a blanket?” Before they blacked out, Lacey mumbled a barely audible “Yes, please.” After that, Lacey woke up in bursts, foggy and barely there one moment the next scarfing down whatever is put in front of them and scratching at their face tearing off scabs to get to the itchy skin underneath while the angel tried to stop them (to little success) before blacking out, starting the process all over again. The first thing they noticed when they woke up lucidly for the first time was that a blanket had been draped over them. The second was a surprising lack of pain— don't get them wrong, they still hurt a lot. But it was more “I just got forced to exercise every part of my body, including my face and eyes” than “someone poured acid in my veins.” Groaning, they rolled over and stared at the ceiling. The wood grain on the banisters curled in patterns above them, Lacey squinted— Details like that have always been lost on them, even with glasses. But now everything seemed so detailed and vibrant and just plain beautiful, who knew a ceiling could be beautiful? Lacey sat up with some difficulty, clutching the itchy blanket tight around themselves. They were in a cabin apparently, the wood walls covered in tacky taxidermy and hunting paraphernalia, a musty smell lingered in the air, everything felt eerie and stilted in a way that Lacey couldn’t put a finger on. A voice cut them out of their muggy thoughts, “Are you feeling better?” Lacey whipped their head forward, stiff muscles protesting and heart pounding, but faltered. There standing in the doorway of the kitchen was a rat, and only a rat, no sign of a human life. It looked… weird and a little sickly, ribs faintly visible and white fur missing and thinned out in some places some parts scabbed over, staring at them with six blue beady eyes three on each side—so very strange, “uh hi little guy?” “My name is buttons” the rat stared straight at them, “it's nice to meet you?” The rat, said that the rat, said that. Lacey blinked and said stupidly, “You can talk.” Well, talking wasn't quite the word for it, its mouth wasn't moving, but it was still talking, its words just sort of appearing in their head. “And you can understand me! That's