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Peter got home to Aunt May exhausted, not only from being Spider-Man but because of all the exams he probably failed today. Seriously, can’t the crime take a break long enough for him to study for his chemistry midterm? Apparently not.
He skipped dinner, opting to flop face-first onto his bed. He was so tired that a shower didn’t even seem appealing. He didn’t change, sleeping in the Spider-man suit as if it were some glorified (and bloody) onesie.
When he woke up it was still late at night, the crackling of the radio he had on his nightstand that he tuned into the police station started up again, some nights it would never stop. Sometimes it’s little things, a shoplifter or just general crime updates in Queens — sometimes even just a couple cops using the radio to make breakfast plans. They didn’t need a vigilante for that. When it came to the car chases or some new villain on the news though? That’s when Peter had to pull himself out of bed and go be a hero.
Tonight was one of the nights it didn’t seem to stop. Peter was so fed up he almost threw the radio out his window and webbed it to the building over but that probably wouldn’t have helped since then he’d just be down a radio and he wasn’t about to ask Tony for hand-me-outs even though the billionaire would likely jump at the chance to help him.
Just as Peter was starting to close his eyes again, letting sleep wash over him, the radio crackled to life again like it was deliberately out to get Peter and guarantee he couldn’t get a good night’s sleep. The teen pulled a pillow over his face and slung a web at the device, effectively muffling it enough to actually drift off.
—
Peter woke up to the sun attacking his face. Whoever said a ray of sunshine was a good thing obviously never had to listen to radio static all night long.
It was when Peter actually sat up in bed that he contemplated whether or not — with enough willpower — if he could fight the sun, and win. He didn’t entertain the idea for long though since his stomach quickly reminded him he didn’t have dinner last night. Peter groaned and reluctantly hauled himself out of bed, thankfully his brain was working just barely enough to remind him: you’re not supposed to be Spider-man! So, Peter had to change into clothes that made it seem like he actually slept for more than three hours — a white tee with ‘I heart NYC’ on it (Tony got it) and a pair of pajama pants with his (or rather spider-man’s) face on them copied multiple times on the fabric (aunt May got it).
Aunt May already had breakfast prepared and Peter had never loved her more than when he was digging into a plate of scrambled eggs and toast as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks — with his enhanced metabolism he might as well have.
“You’re hungry.” May commented as she served herself.
“Mhm.” Came Peter’s muffled response through his mouthful of food. “Didn’t eat last night.” He reminded as he stabbed through another bit of egg to shovel into his mouth.
“Oh yeah, you just went straight to your room. Those exams must’ve really tired you out, huh?” She asked, patting his shoulder as she came to sit down beside him with her own plate of food.
“Yeah, they were difficult… Do we have any more?” Peter asked, looking over to the stove now that his plate was empty.
“Egg? No, I didn’t cook any more, kiddo. If you’re still hungry though, there's Pop Tarts.”
Peter nodded, putting his plate in the sink and finding the box of Pop Tarts before putting them in the toaster, not hungry enough to eat them cold.
After a few minutes they were ready and Peter took them up in a paper towel before going back to sit at the table.
“You seem tired, did you sleep last night?”
“Mh? Oh,” Peter swallowed his bite of strawberry Pop Tart. “Yeah, uhm, no, not really.”
May cupped his face with one hand and brushed her thumb against his cheek, looking concerned. “You should try to take a nap after breakfast.”
Peter nodded, a nap sounded good. It was a Wednesday, nothing happened on a Wednesday, right? Surely crime could take a break just long enough for Spider-man to face-plant onto his bed.
—
Peter went back to his room with a full stomach and heavy eyelids.
He was dead on his feet, frankly it was a miracle he made it to his bed before collapsing. Of course New York was designed to be Parker’s personal hell, however, so any semblance of rest was quickly shot down just a few minutes after he finished counting sheep. Radio static buzzed and a few frantic police radios told Peter that Spider-man needed to throw himself out the window as soon as spiderly possible. So he did.
Peter actually rushed so quickly to dive out his bedroom window that he nearly forgot his web shooters. Once he got his mask and the shooters he did a quick pat down to make sure he was good and dove out his window to go meet his next headache.
The vigilante was already downtown. He was getting stares and pictures but that was normal for him— he was Spider-Man after all. Still, something about this seemed off. It wasn’t until he got to the villain-of-the-week did he figure out why.
“Spider-Man!” Called out Peter’s current issue. “So you finally decided to sho—“ He gave Spider-Man a puzzled look.
Peter looked down at himself and suddenly realized why he’d gotten so many odd looks. He was still in pajamas. White tee with ‘I heart NYC’ right in the middle like some tourist and dark blue pajama pants with his face plastered on it in bulk.
“I had a whole speech planned and- and what? You show up in your PJ’s? Am I a joke to you?”
Peter pinched the bridge of his nose through the mask. “Look, I’m sorry. No, you’re not a joke, I just forgot the suit.”
“Forgot the suit? Man, I thought I was gonna get the full Spider-Man experience.”
Pete was now confused. “I’m sorry, what? The ‘Spider-Man experience’?”
“Yeah. Like in those badass videos man! Where you take down them guys with your webs n’ stuff!” The guy said enthusiastically, doing a mock version of it by mimicking Spidy’s handshape when he shoots webs and doing action poses like this was an elaborate game of charades
Peter was bewildered. “…wait, wait, wait. Did you rob a bank and drive into the streets of New York just because you wanted the ‘full Spider-Man experience’?”
“Yeah, man! And you went and forgot the damn suit.”
Bewildered was now an understatement. “You realize you’re going to jail, right?”
“Yeah but I was gonna be turned in by Spider-Man. Not some corrupt guy with a stupid badge. Now I just got some kid in pajamas.”
“I’m still Spider-Man.”
“It’s not the same without the suit.”
“That doesn’t— Y’know what, sure. I’m gonna ask you to come quietly, please.”
“No way! Just because you ain’t got the suit don’t mean I ain’t breaking out the big guns!”
Peter thought he was being metaphorical.
He was not.
Out of the top of the truck came out a gun so large it would make Punisher proud. Peter was seriously regretting getting out of bed.
—
“Can’t we talk this out!?” Spidey called out desperately as he was running from his third wave of bullets, or rather swinging from them straight into a building.
The response was manic laughter.
Of course it was.
Why would Peter ever think someone would be reasonable with him? That’s ridiculous.
He was able to plug the barrel of the gun with enough webs, making the chamber explode with the next shot. The man looked shocked, genuinely surprised that he was outwitted by a teen with his own face plastered on his pants.
After webbing the guy to a street lamp, Peter went back home, deciding to leave the rest to law enforcement.
—
He climbed up the fire escape and crawled across his floor into his bed, pulling down the blinds and tearing off his mask and web shooters.
When the radio went off again Parker hit it so hard it busted into pieces, little gears flying every which way.
He’ll fix it later. Or ask Tony for a new one. At this point he didn’t care.
He just wanted to sleep.