Spiderman Oneshots

Dreams?

Peter was the definition of ordinary. Or as close as you can get, anyway. He lived in an apartment, with his Mom and Dad, he went to high school, got decent grades, hung out with his friends.

So why did he feel like there was something wrong? Something missing?

"What do you fancy for supper, sweet?" His mom asked.

"Can we have takeout?"

"Takeout? Hon, we never have takeout! You know how important it is to have a proper meal."

"Oh. I thought..." Peter couldn't remember what he'd thought.

"Of course we can have takeout, hon! What do you fancy?"

It was the little things, like this. They set Peter on edge.

When the takeout arrived, they ate it together around the kitchen table.

"What's the matter Pete? You seem distracted."

Too larby? Not larby enough?

"I larb you too," Peter muttered.

"What was that, hon? You'll have to speak up."

"Nothing, Dad."

After dinner, Peter went to finish building his new Lego Death Star. He had almost finished when he realised there was a piece missing. He spotted it by his bed, and crawled across the room to retrieve it. His fingers curled around the brick.

A gasp, and a smash. The Death Star, lying on the floor in pieces.

What? Peter looked back across the room at the Lego model, still in one piece. Why could he remember it breaking? He'd never built it before - had he?

Peter shook his head and tried to forget about it.

The next day at school, he kept hearing voices.

Hurrying to class.

"Yo Parker!"

He looked around, but no-one was there.

At his locker.

"Wanna come build my Lego Death star with me?"

His perfect girlfriend Liz looked at him oddly.

At the lunch table.

"'Sup loser,"

"Are you alright Peter? You've spaced out," Eugene smiled at him from across the table.

"Uh, yeah. Sorry."

He did well in his science test, but started feeling ill about an hour before the bell.
When he got back, his Mom looked up with concern in her eyes. "Are you okay hon?"
"I don't feel too good-

-Mr Stark."
"I don't want to go!"

Pain, excruciating pain lanced through Peter. His knees buckled and he collapsed on the kitchen floor. Above the physical pain, which was already retreating like some fleeting memory of a bad dream, he felt a phantom ache in his chest, like his heart had been crushed.

"Honey! Are you alright? Here, it's okay. You go to bed and rest- Ah! No excuses! - and I'll make some chicken soup."

Peter's Mom helped him to his room, and he insisted he could make it to his bed by himself. However, halfway across the room, the pain gripped him again, and he collapsed. He stayed lying on his back until the pain was long gone, then he tilted his head to look around the room.
Seeing the wall upside down felt oddly familiar, almost like-