Spider-Man Imagines I

Thank You, Spidey | Peter Parker [TH]

You watched the TV screen blankly as you held a cup of decaf coffee in your hands. Another rerun of a popular 90s show started, signaling that another thirty minutes had gone by. You sighed heavily, the weight of another sleepless night on your shoulders.

You knew that it wasn't healthy to stay up until three a.m. and then get up at six thirty. It often left you feeling weak and sick to survive off of just three hours and thirty minutes of sleep.

Still, you could not will yourself to just place your head down on your pillow and sleep. Anxiety took its toll when you were faced with the reality that you definitely would be thrown into another one of your nightmares again.

The nightmares came every night around three. You had no idea what you did to deserve the dreams that were tainted with fear and terror, but you knew there was no way around them. You had a decision to make every night, and you figured that staying up all night was better than waking up screaming and crying and not being able to sleep after.

You sipped on the creamy coffee, the taste of warm vanilla melting across your tongue. You had just leaned forward to place your mug on your nightstand when there was a soft but definite knock on your window.

You stood up at once, not wondering who it was. Only one person could reach a window that was nine stories off the ground.

Peter never could keep Spider-Man a secret from you, and you were glad. It brought the two of you closer. He was your best friend and you were convinced that he was the love of your life, even if he never made a move to prove you right.

You pulled back your curtains and, unable to see anything through the window but your reflection, unlocked the latches and pulled up the glass pane. His fingers hooked under the screen and lifted it up. He poked in an unmasked head with damp hair and rainwater dripping off the tip of his nose.

"Hey," he greeted, dropping his backpack to the floor. "I saw your light was on. Wanted to see if you were awake."

"Yeah, just... watching TV," you said, stepping back so he could come inside.

"Cool," he said, slightly breathless as he shut the window behind him and drew the curtains. He turned back to you, showed a lopsided smile, and shook out the water from his frizzy curls. "So what are you doing up? You know we have a Spanish quiz tomorrow morning."

"Uh..." You fidgeted and rolled your shoulders. "I don't know," you said fast. "What are you doing working so late?"

"Crime never sleeps," he said. He gazed at you accusingly. "And neither do you. I know you haven't been, ___. And I'm sorry but I can't keep watching for the teacher when you fall asleep in study hall."

You sighed. "Peter-"

"This isn't healthy," he interrupted. "You look like you've lost the strength to do anything at all!"

You pressed your lips together and grabbed your coffee mug from the nightstand. You grimaced; it was nearly lukewarm when you took a drink.

"Coffee, ___? Really?"

"It's decaf," you muttered in defense.

Peter rolled his eyes and leaned back on his heels. He looked suddenly upset with you. He was overprotective (not that you would ever complain) and you knew that he had been worrying about you a lot.

"Peter," you said softly. His eyes shifted to yours. "You have every right to worry about me, even if you don't think so. If I could sleep, I would. But... I can't. Every night I wake up at three and I have these horrible nightmares. I don't know what brings them on. But I can't fall asleep knowing I'm just going to wake up screaming in a few hours."