Chapter Text
Peter wakes up that morning feeling especially groggy.
His head is pounding already and he hasn’t even opened his eyes. He scrunches his brows in discomfort, shifting heavily to lie on his other side. His eyes squint open, just enough for a quick glance at his alarm, before snapping shut again. The alarm is set to go off for school in just a minute. And if the bold numbers at his bedside weren’t enough to go by, the blinding streaks of light pouring in from his window certainly would be.
Great.
Does he have a test today?
His brain isn’t functioning properly, thoughts dangling just out of grasp. Knowing his luck, he definitely has a test today. Might as well get up now before he can get too comfortable.
A hoarse groan escapes his lips as he pushes the blankets away from his shoulders and heaves himself into a sitting position. Blood rushes through his ears at the motion and he keeps his eyes trained on the blankets now pooled in his lap.
“C’mon Peter. Get up.” The barely audible words spur a small burst of energy that has him swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He does his best to ignore the pressure in his head as he rises to his feet.
Staggering towards the door, he hears the familiar sounds of pots and pans rattling around in the kitchen. Despite the immense ache in his body, he feels his lips tug upwards. It’s Friday, May’s day off, which means she’s attempting to cook breakfast.
They haven’t had many edible attempts just yet, but Peter could admire her persistence in the matter. And she's getting better! She is! Practice makes perfect after all. And she’s been trying a new recipe every Friday since her schedule changed. She hasn’t given up, no matter how many times they’ve ended up eating cereal or leftovers so far.
Peter can only hope she’s made something decently safe to eat this morning. His stomach is twisting around at the thought of eating cereal and he doesn’t think it’ll look pretty if he goes to school feeling like this.
He rolls his shoulders, raising his head in preparation before sauntering out of the room. The Hello Kitty pajamas Mr Stark gave him after the ferry incident ride up his ankles just slightly. A dull reminder of the shopping list that he’s been putting off for far too long.
The hall is still crowded from a week’s worth of clothes he brought out of his room the night before. May must’ve put a new load in the wash already because the rattling from the machine is deafening as he passes by. He tries to alleviate the pounding in his head by squeezing his eyes shut but it makes no difference. He reaches a hand to massage his temples and rounds the corner to the kitchen just as May does the same. There’s no stopping the collision that follows.
“Huh?” May’s holding his shoulders lightly, steadying the both of them. “Oh! Peter?”
His already reduced balance forces him to take a step back, the room spinning swiftly around him. “Ow…May. Hi, good morning.” His focus is glued to the ground as he holds his head and waits for the world to slow. He blinks a few times before sucking in a breath and meeting May’s waiting gaze.
His eyes start to water immediately in a sudden rush of emotion. A wave of distant melancholy he can’t place punches the air out of him at the sight of her worried expression.
“Peter?” She senses his distress. Of course she does. Her brows are drawn, wrinkles forming against her forehead, eyes scanning over him. “You don’t look too good. Are you feeling okay?”
He doesn’t have the chance to reply. The back of her hand is already pressed against his forehead before his brain has processed the question. “Oh dear.” She purses her lips, pulling her hand away. “You’re burning up. What’re you doing up so early?””
Peter’s mind draws blanks. “Doing up…? School starts in,” He fumbles to pull his phone out of his pocket. May’s head drops down at his words and she peers at him over her glasses.
“School? You can cross that off your list because you, Mister, have a fever.” She watches him steadily as he whips the phone out of his pocket, pressing power. “And it’s only 4 AM.” She finishes as the numbers sit boldly atop his phone’s lockscreen. He stares at the time for a long minute.
Wasn’t the sun creeping in just a moment ago?
“I thought…” He clears the thought with a shake of his head. Maybe he does have a fever. “Nevermind.”
May watches him for a beat longer before guiding him towards the kitchen. “Well, come sit down.” She pulls a chair out from the dining table as they move closer. Relief washes over his aching body as he sits in the chair, the room starting to relax in its spinning. It’s a short lived moment of peace before chills start up as May’s warm hands disappear from his shoulders.
“I was just throwing breakfast out,” The teasing lilt to her voice has a small huff of laughter escaping him. “But I’ll grab some blankets and we can make a bed on the couch. It’s the perfect day to start a Star Wars marathon, don’t you think?”
He faintly nods as she vanishes down the hall in search of blankets. She’s only gone for a minute but it feels like an eternity as Peter sits shivering in the kitchen. He doesn’t know why he’s getting all choked up again but he can feel his eyes already starting to tear up.
“Or you can catch up on sleep. I’ll call your school and let them know you won’t be in.” Her muffled voice rings down the hall as she reappears with a heap of blankets in arm, a few pillows teetering on top of the large pile. “I’d just rather you be out here so I can keep an eye on you.” She makes her way to the living room, head popping up to peer at Peter from around the blanket ball. She freezes at the couch, frown overtaking her face as she takes in Peter’s expression.
The blankets drop, “What’s wrong?”
Despite the tightness in his chest, he smiles. “Nothing. Star Wars sounds good.” His face is damp with tears now, voice quavering. “That sounds really good.” He must be pretty sick if he’s this emotional over Star Wars. When did he even start feeling bad? His mind feels the equivalent to a stone wall when he tries to draw up memories.
May is already striding towards him. “Aw, Peter. Honey. C’mere.” He’s in her arms before she’s finished speaking. His head rests on her shoulder, loosely wrapping his arms around her.
Maybe it’s the fever, or the warmth from her hug. Or maybe he can’t remember the last time he felt comforted like this, even though that’s insane because May would never let him feel alone. Whatever it is, has his shoulders shaking from the sobs he’s smothering into her shoulder. The hand rubbing his back in a soothing pattern has his chest tightening further, yet it feels so unbelievably comforting he never wants to let go.
He sits there for who knows how many minutes, cries eventually tapering down as May whispers soft reassurances into his hair. Once the feeling in his chest has loosened enough for him to let go, May gives his shoulders one more squeeze. Pulling away a moment later. “It’s okay honey. Let me get this couch all set up and we’ll start that marathon okay?”
He doesn’t have enough energy to speak so he nods instead. She presses a quick kiss to his hair before leaving to fix up the couch. He leans against the back of the chair, listening to her hum as she makes the couch the way she has for every movie marathon for the past ten years.
She calls him over, smoothing out the last blanket. “ Alright, don’t get too cozy if you want to stay awake through the first movie.” She winks as he crawls into the makeshift blanket nest. Despite her words, she tucks him in, pulling the covers over his shoulders so the only part of him exposed is his face. A weak smile crosses his face, “Thanks May.”
Her tender expression lasts for a long moment before her brows shoot up. “ Oh! I almost forgot.” She beelines for the kitchen and Peter can hear multiple drawers opening.
A bit more shuffling around and she’s reappearing with a thermometer in hand. He resists the urge to pull the covers over his head at the sight. “Put this under your tongue while I get the movie started.” Not one to argue with her, he defeatedly opens his mouth, the cool metal finding a seat under his tongue. “Do you want me to order soup from that place down the street?” She asks after he’s gagged by the thermometer because of course she does. He nods.
“Okay, stay here. I’ll order soup and we’ll get this movie started.” She disappears again. Peter’s lips curl upwards around the thermometer. Stay here as if he can go anywhere else right now.
Not that he’d rather be anywhere else of course. Sick or not, he and May haven’t had a relaxing day in what seems like forever. Besides, Star Wars is always a plus.
He’s just about to grab the remote from next to him when the thermometer beeps.
Peter wakes up with a gasp. His eyes squeeze shut as his hands shoot up to cup his ears. An alarm blares somewhere nearby. His head is already beginning to throb and each shriek from the alarm pierces into his skull like daggers.
He flips over and shoves his head underneath his pillow, hands only leaving his ears for a second to grasp either side of the cushion and push it further against his ears. Only once the pillow is successfully muffling the sound, pressed against his head, does he realize how sweaty he is.
His hair sticks to his forehead and rubs against the sheets uncomfortably. A barely audible whine leaves his lips as the damp feeling causes a violent shiver to wrack his frame. It’s as if the sound waves from the alarm are beating upon his skin. Everything feels tender, painful and cold.
He pulls the hand closest to the alarm away from the pillow and presses on the button against his palm. The thwip goes unheard but the blaring cuts off immediately and he’s finally able to pull the pillow away.
He opens his eyes and the offending alarm sits on the nightstand next to him, webs engulfing half of it. He glares at it for a long minute before his foggy mind takes in his surroundings.
Oh.
His chest feels tight again, only this time it’s real. His breath stutters and halts at the feeling.
He’s in his apartment.
His apartment.
The one he bought himself and can barely afford. The one he lives in alone because May isn’t here.
She’s not here in this apartment, and she’s never even seen this apartment because she wasn’t there when Peter got it. She didn’t get the chance to be there when Peter bought his first apartment.
Because she’s dead and none of Peter’s spider abilities include bringing back the dead.
The dampness of his sweaty bangs suddenly doesn't seem too prominent when his whole face is soused with warm tears. The warmth running down his face only causes his shoulders to shiver against the surrounding cold. The feeling is like a splash of cold water that has his mind shifting into gear.
He needs to get up for work. Mr Jameson doesn’t take kindly to him being late no matter the circumstances.
He needs to get up because his first alarm already went off and he definitely needs a shower before he leaves.
He needs to get up because he won’t feel better unless he gets out of bed.
He really needs to get up, but his body just won’t move.
The tears stream down his face and he stares at the ceiling. The hollow feeling that carved itself deep into his soul years ago makes itself known once again. His shallow breaths come out quiet and stuttered but he doesn’t move.The paralyzing loneliness taunting him as the minutes tick on.
Memories of the dream he’d had replay in his mind. He’d felt safe, comfortable, at home. He had been at home. What was once his home anyway. (What would always be home to him even if the world disagreed).
The luxury being ripped away in a flash was a gut punch. Even as he lies there sweaty, shivering, with his head pounding, nothing could compare to the agony of knowing it was all a dream.
Generally he’d file these dreams, the ones that leave him aching, hollow and alone, he’d file those as nightmares. But how could this have been a nightmare when he’d felt so safe? How could it have been a nightmare if he’d do anything to be in the dream again?
No.
The real nightmare had been waking up.
Waking up to a world where the only name anyone knows is the one behind a mask. To a world where anyone he ever cared about wouldn’t recognize him if he had a full conversation with them. To a world without his friends, without Ned, MJ, without Tony, without May.
Waking to a world he doesn’t belong in.
He sighs, eyes still trained on the cracked ceiling paint. The only thing he can do is keep going. He sits up slowly and the room spins around him anyway. It seems his dream was somewhat accurate, he’s definitely getting sick.
Unfortunately in this reality he doesn’t have the option to stay home and watch movies all day. Especially not with May.
He gets up off the bed and stumbles towards the bathroom, stopping every few feet to let the world find its axis.
He takes a good look at himself in the bathroom mirror. Face pale, eyes rimmed red, tear tracks in all directions, his hair plastered flat against his face. Yeah, he’s a mess alright.
“Get it together, Spidey.” He tears his eyes away from the reflection and glances at the shower. No sense in sulking over a dream. The empty feeling will fade, it always does.
Right now, he needs to shower so he can get to work and then do what he does best (or worst) help others. The thought is enough motivation for him to turn the shower on.