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Peter had only managed to sleep for fifteen minutes. He had been out all night chasing some villain called the Crow Man, a bizarre lunatic who had been turning innocent people into crows.
Luckily, Peter had caught him and somehow forced him to reverse the curse, but by the time he finally dragged himself back home, it was almost six in the morning.
So, to put it mildly, he was in an extremely bad mood. His senses felt sharper than usual, his reflexes jittery, and everyone and everything around him was irritatingly loud, bright, or just… present. Every sound from the kitchen, every scrape of a chair, felt like it was drilling straight into his skull.
“You okay, Pete?” Tony asked, his voice cutting through the haze of exhaustion as they sat across from each other at the dining table. They were eating breakfast, though Peter barely had the energy to move the spoon toward his mouth.
He grumbled something unintelligible in response, more out of habit than effort. Honestly, even that simple motion of lifting the spoon felt exhausting, his limbs heavy like lead. Tony’s sharp eyes narrowed.
“How much sleep did you get last night?” he asked, suspicion clear in his tone.
Peter mumbled, “Fifteen minutes,” barely audible, not wanting to engage in conversation.
Tony’s gaze sharpened further, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I thought we’d agreed on the 1 a.m. curfew? Or was that just my imagination?” he said, each word carefully measured to needle Peter just enough to get a reaction.
Peter’s patience was threadbare. He dropped his spoon onto the plate with a clatter and muttered, “I’m gonna find Happy and go to school early,” dragging himself up from the chair. Tony opened his mouth, probably ready to lecture or tease, but something in Peter’s posture made him pause. He likely knew this wasn’t the time.
Peter yanked his bag from its perch on the chair, slinging it over one shoulder with a sloppy swing. His feet dragged across the floor as he made his way to the elevator, his energy utterly depleted. Every step felt heavier than the last, and he honestly just wanted to drop onto the floor and sleep.
-
As Peter walked into school, the harsh fluorescent lights immediately stabbed at his eyes. The hallway was already crowded, lockers slamming shut, voices echoing off the walls, laughter bouncing far too loudly for his liking.
Every sound felt amplified, like someone had turned the volume of the world up just to spite him. His head throbbed dully, the kind of headache that settled behind his eyes and refused to leave.
He kept his head down and moved quickly, weaving through clusters of students with more urgency than usual.
His Spider-Sense hummed faintly beneath his skin. not a warning, exactly, but restless, irritated, like it knew he was running on fumes. Peter reached his locker and fumbled with the combination, his fingers clumsier than normal. He had to take a breath and try again before the lock finally clicked open.
He grabbed his math book without looking, because of course they had math this morning. Of course they did. He slammed the locker shut a bit harder than necessary and turned-
“Hey, Peter!”
The voice cut straight through his thoughts. Peter flinched before he could stop himself, shoulders tensing as he turned toward Ned.
“…Hi, Ned,” he said, sighing as he forced himself to keep his tone neutral. The last thing he wanted was to snap at Ned. Ned didn’t deserve that.
Ned, unfortunately, was already studying him closely.
“Whoa,” Ned said, stepping closer, concern written plainly across his face. “Dude, you have massive dark circles under your eyes. Are you okay?”
Peter resisted the urge to rub at his face. “I’m fine,” he said automatically. Then, because Ned knew him too well, he added, “I was just… up all night. You know. As you-know-who.”
He closed his locker and twisted the lock shut again, more forcefully than necessary.
Ned blinked. “Oh. Right. I think I heard something about that on the news this morning. Wasn’t it some guy who was, like… turning people into birds?”
“Crows,” Peter corrected tiredly as they started toward their classroom. “Specifically crows.”
“That’s… horrifying,” Ned said. “Maybe you should take a break, Peter.”
Peter shot him a look. “I’m fine, Ned.”
Ned nodded quickly, clearly aware that Peter was balancing on the very edge of his patience. They reached the classroom, and Peter’s heart sank a little when he saw that most of the seats were already filled.
And, unfortunately, Flash Thompson was there too.
Peter closed his eyes for half a second, bracing himself. He slid into his seat next to Ned and dropped his backpack to the floor. His muscles ached, his limbs heavy, exhaustion settling deep in his bones.
“…and yeah,” Flash was saying loudly to a group of kids Peter didn’t recognize, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, “me and my dad actually visited Stark Tower the other day. For free, obviously. They know the potential I have. Like, it’s basically inevitable that I’m gonna be an Avenger someday.”
Peter groaned before he could stop himself.
“Ugh.”
The sound carried. Flash immediately turned, narrowing his eyes as he locked onto Peter. “Am I bothering you, Penis?”
Peter felt something snap.
“Yeah,” he said, looking directly at Flash for the first time. His voice was flat, edged with exhaustion and something sharper underneath. “Actually, you are, Eugene. Maybe if you stopped sanctimoniously performing soliloquies all the time, I’d be less inclined to lose my mind. Because right now, I kinda want to throw myself out a window just so I don’t have to listen to you anymore.”
The room went dead silent.
You could practically hear the air stop moving.
Several students stared at Peter like he’d just grown a second head. Someone dropped a pen. Flash himself looked stunned, mouth opening and closing without sound.
Ned’s eyes went wide.
“Sorry,” Ned blurted, shoving Peter down into his chair with a nervous laugh as if that could undo what had just happened. “He’s, uh - he’s a bit tired.”
Whispers started up slowly as people turned back to their desks, though plenty of glances were still being thrown Peter’s way.
Ned leaned closer. “Peter,” he whispered urgently, “are you sure you’re okay?”
Peter exhaled through his nose and dropped his math book onto the desk with a loud thump. “I’m just sick of Flash,” he muttered.
“Maybe you should go home,” Ned said quietly. “I’m sure Mr. Stark could-”
“I’m fine, Ned,” Peter snapped, then immediately winced. He ran a hand through his hair and looked away. “Sorry. I’m just… tired.”
Ned studied him for another second, then reluctantly opened his own book as Mr. Harrington walked in.
Mr. Harrington looked way too cheerful for a Monday morning.
“Good morning, class!” he said brightly, setting his mug down and wiping the chalkboard clean. “Please turn to page 135.”
Peter stared down at his desk, jaw clenched.
“So,” Mr. Harrington continued, scribbling numbers on the board, “can anyone tell me the square root of seventy-two?”
Peter’s stomach dropped.
“Mr. Parker?”
Peter froze.
Slowly, he looked up, exhaustion and irritation crashing together in a spectacularly bad mix. “Piss off,” he muttered.
The silence that followed was even worse than before.
Mr. Harrington turned, blinking like he’d misheard. “E-excuse me, Mr. Parker?”
“I said,” Peter repeated, his voice louder this time, sharper, “piss. off.”
Several students gasped. Ned’s face drained of color.
“Mr. Parker,” Mr. Harrington said stiffly, “that language is absolutely unacceptable. Please go to the principal’s office right-”
The words were cut off by a loud bang.
Peter was on his feet before he consciously registered it. His Spider-Sense flared violently, screaming danger. His heart slammed into his ribs, adrenaline flooding his system.
Then the floor was gone.
Suddenly, Peter was upside down, his feet pressed against the ceiling tiles, and for a second, the world tilted with him. His heart pounded like a drum, echoing in his ears and nearly drowning out the gasps of his shocked classmates.
“What the hell!” Flash screamed, spinning around so violently he tumbled out of his chair and landed with a thud on the floor. Peter couldn’t help the tiny smirk that tugged at his lips - honestly, that part of the morning was going way better than expected.
“Shit,” Peter muttered, groaning as he realized exactly where he was dangling: precariously above the classroom like some kind of tired, upside-down bat.
“Holy… holy shit! You’re Spider-Man!” Betty blurted, eyes wide enough to suggest she might have spontaneously gained superpowers herself.
Peter rolled his eyes behind his mask, though the exhaustion made the gesture half-hearted. “No, no! I’m just tired,” he said, immediately regretting it.
“…I don’t think you gain spider powers because you’re tired,” Brad piped up from his desk, looking like he’d just uncovered the mystery of the universe.
“Right, right… just shut up for a second,” Peter muttered, voice flat and dripping with exhaustion. This time, the class seemed to catch the memo: Peter was very, very tired, and not in the mood for chatter.
“Karen,” he muttered, dragging himself along the ceiling tiles, using his hands and feet to crawl with exhausting precision toward the loft’s walkways. “Call Mr. Stark.”
Several students whispered among themselves, their voices small, anxious, like they were all witnessing history in real time. Mr. Harrington, meanwhile, was frozen in the corner, chalk still in hand, looking like someone had just told him he was actually a prop in a Marvel movie.
Peter swung himself down gracefully, or as gracefully as someone who had fifteen minutes of sleep could manage, and landed on the floor with a soft thud.
There was a brief silence. Then, from the corner of the room, a familiar voice crackled over the phone.
“Hey Pete, aren’t you in school right now?” Tony asked. Peter could almost hear the amusement in his voice.
Multiple students gasped, like Peter had just pulled a rabbit out of a Stark Industries-themed hat. Honestly, it was more shocking to them than the fact that he could crawl on ceilings.
“…I accidentally jumped onto the ceiling,” Peter said with a sigh, as if the ceiling itself might judge him for his incompetence. He rubbed his eyes. “I’m tired. Fifteen minutes of sleep, Tony. Fifteen. Minutes.”
Tony was silent for a moment, clearly not expecting that confession. “…I’ll get Pepper to whip up some NDAs. I’ll be there in ten,” he said, the faintest hint of exasperation in his voice. Then the line went dead.
“Right… I’m sure he’ll pay you some money and threaten you to keep quiet. So, that’s… nice, I guess,” he muttered to no one in particular. Some classmates seemed slightly nervous, eyes darting between Peter and the ceiling, as if they expected him to swing back up at any moment.
Flash was still on the floor, cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. Peter’s smirk returned briefly. Honestly? That was the best part of the day so far.
Betty was still staring, mouth slightly open, a mix of awe and horror on her face. “You… you really are Spider-Man,” she said quietly, like it was a revelation she wasn’t sure she wanted to process.
Peter groaned and flopped onto the floor, letting gravity do what it wanted. “Yes. I’m Spider-Man. Yes, I’m tired. And no, I do not want to talk about it right now.”
Ned leaned over, eyes wide with concern. “Pete… do you want to, you know, maybe sit down? Or get some water?”
Peter waved a hand dismissively, which caused him to almost topple over again. “I’m fine, Ned. Really. Just… maybe don’t touch me. Or look at me too closely. Or breathe in my general direction.”
Brad, still staring up like he’d never seen a person do anything remotely human before, whispered, “How… how do you… do that?”
Peter flopped onto his side dramatically. “How do I what? Crawl on ceilings? Hang upside down? Survive in school on fifteen minutes of sleep? I’m… really not sure. Honestly, I’m questioning a lot of life choices right now.”
Flash groaned. “Ugh. I just… I can’t. I-”
Peter raised a single finger. “No. Just stop. Save it. Trust me, you’re making me want to crawl back up there and never come down.”