Spider-Man Mayhem

[Third Person's PoV] 

The Next Day…

Aunt May set down a plate of eggs and bacon on the table, her brow furrowed in confusion. "That's strange… Peter's usually downstairs by now. He never misses breakfast."

Uncle Ben glanced up from his coffee with a teasing smirk. "Maybe the kid had too much fun last night."

May shot him a sharp look and gave his shoulder a light slap. "Don't be gross, Ben. Even if that were the case, Peter would still drag himself out of bed for breakfast. You know how he is."

Ben shrugged, a playful grin still on his face. "Maybe he's not home. Could be staying over at Gwen's or MJ's place. He'll probably walk through that door any second now, looking for his morning feast."

May shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. "That's not like him. Peter's weirdly punctual when it comes to breakfast, even if he's running late. But this…" Her voice trailed off as her eyes narrowed, her expression clouded with worry. "This isn't right. Something feels… off."

Ben raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "May, you do know the kid has superpowers, right? I mean, what's the worst that could happen?" 

"I probably shouldn't have said that," Uncle Ben muttered awkwardly. 

May didn't respond immediately, her gaze drifting toward the stairs. "It's not that," she murmured. "It's just… I have a bad feeling."

Ben tilted his head, puzzled by her tone. "What are you getting at?"

Ignoring him, May stepped closer to the staircase and called out, "Peter, honey! Are you up there? You're going to be late for school if you don't hurry!"

The house fell silent.

Ben started to speak again, his tone casual. "See? Like I said, he's not even—"

Clank. Clatter.

The unmistakable sound of something heavy hitting the floor and scattering echoed from upstairs. Both of them froze, their eyes widening.

"Peter!" May's voice was sharp with panic as she bolted up the stairs. Ben was on her heels, his playful demeanor gone in an instant.

They reached Peter's room, and May flung the door open. The sight inside made her gasp. Peter was sprawled on the floor, his blanket tangled beneath him. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, and his body was drenched in sweat. He wore only a pair of boxers, his pale skin glistening under the morning light.

"PETER!" They both shouted his name in unison, rushing to his side.

Together, they lifted him carefully and placed him on his bed. May pressed her hand to his forehead, wincing at the heat radiating from his skin. "He's burning up," she said, her voice tight with worry.

Ben placed his hand on Peter's forehead as well, his brows knitting together. "You're right… but how? I thought he couldn't get sick anymore."

A soft chime from Peter's watch caught their attention. "I can answer that for you," said Aria, her voice calm yet tinged with concern.

May adjusted Peter's arm so the watch faced upward. The small holographic figure of Aria flickered to life, her expression mirroring their worry.

"Aria," May said, her voice trembling, "what's happening to Peter? Why is he so sick? He's never been like this before."

Aria glanced at Peter, her digital face etched with unease. "It's likely due to the Time Lord incident. Daddy had to use an immense amount of his energy to create the trap for him. His magic is chi-based, directly tied to his life force. That effort left him weakened, which means his metabolism weakened with him, and his body couldn't recover properly. The lack of rest and worry combined with him patrolling last night while still exhausted likely caused his condition to worsen."

"Is he going to be okay?" Ben asked, his voice unusually serious.

"In theory, yes," Aria replied, though her hesitation didn't go unnoticed. "Once his energy replenishes, he should recover. But until then, his fever might persist."

Both May and Ben exhaled, their relief tempered by the uncertainty. "Thank God," May whispered, tucking the blanket around Peter's damp frame.

Ben stood and headed toward the door. "I'll call the school, let them know he's not coming in today."

Aria gave a small salute. "I'll inform the rest about his condition."

May nodded, her maternal instincts kicking in as she brushed a damp lock of hair from Peter's forehead. "I'll get something to help bring that fever down." She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his temple before heading out.

---

Across town, MJ stood in front of her mirror, securing her long red hair into a neat braid. She was just as she was about to finish tying it when her phone buzzed. Picking it up, she frowned at the notification from Aria. 'Daddy's sick with a fever.'

"What?" MJ muttered, her brow furrowing as her hands fell, the braid unraveling. She tapped her watch, summoning Aria's hologram.

"What do you mean Peter's sick?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.

Aria quickly explained the situation. MJ's expression darkened with worry. Wasting no time, she webbed her backpack over to her shoulder, and sprinted out of her room, heading straight for Peter's house.

---

Meanwhile, Gwen sat at her kitchen table, a bowl of cereal in one hand and her phone in the other, scrolling through Instagram. She smiled faintly, double-tapping a fanart of Ghost-Spider.

"What did I say about phones at the table?" her father, George, chided from across the room, sipping his coffee and glancing at his newspaper.

"Seriously, Dad? You're literally reading the news while eating," Gwen countered, rolling her eyes. "Don't be a hypocrite."

"I'm a cop," George said matter-of-factly. "Keeping up with the news is part of my job. You, on the other hand—"

"What!? How is that even possible?" Gwen suddenly shouted, cutting him off. Her phone trembled in her hand as she stared at the message from Aria.

Without another word, she rapidly consumed the rest of her cereal and drank it's content before putting the bowl into the sink, grabbed her bag, and slung it over her shoulder. "Sorry, Dad, emergency! Love you, bye!" she called, darting out the door, her voice trailing behind her.

…

Felicia stood beside her mother, her arms crossed, watching her mother adjust her earrings in the hallway mirror. Lydia, dressed impeccably in a tailored navy business suit, exuded an air of authority that was hard to argue with.

"Come on, Mom! A week is already more than enough punishment. I need my phone," Felicia pleaded, her tone hovering between frustration and desperation.

Lydia turned slightly, sliding the second earring into place. Her gaze met Felicia's in the mirror, calm and unyielding. "If you can give me one good counter-argument as to why you truly need your phone, I'll consider returning it."

Felicia groaned audibly, throwing her head back. "Are you seriously using lawyer tactics on your own daughter?" she deadpanned.

Lydia smirked, grabbing her leather-bound planner from the nearby table. "Is that your counter-argument?" she teased, tucking the planner neatly into her purse.

Felicia huffed, pacing a few steps before spinning on her heel. "Fine. Umm… If I don't have my phone, how am I supposed to text you that I really, really, really love you?" she asked, her voice dripping with faux sweetness as she batted her eyelashes.

Lydia turned to her daughter, her lips curling into an amused smile. "Oh, appealing to sentimentality—classic. Good tactic, but still not enough to convince me."

Felicia clicked her tongue in frustration, her mind racing for another excuse. "What if I get hungry and need food delivered?"

"We have a perfectly functional house phone," Lydia countered smoothly.

"But I have all the delivery numbers saved on my phone. I can't possibly remember them!"

"The family computer works just fine for looking them up," Lydia replied, unbothered as she adjusted her blazer.

Felicia threw up her hands, feigning exasperation. "Okay, what if I'm at school in a few minutes, and—boom!—I suddenly get my period? What then? I won't have my phone to let you know I need pads and other essentials!"

"Plan ahead, stock up, and always be prepared. You know this, Felicia."

Felicia groaned louder, her theatrics escalating. Her eyes darted to their black cat, Mr. Whiskers, lazily sprawled across the armrest of the couch. A lightbulb flickered in her mind. "What if Mr. Whiskers does something absolutely adorable and I can't record it to show you later?" she asked, her voice softening into a pout as she clasped her hands and gave Lydia her best puppy-dog eyes.

Lydia froze mid-step, her gaze flickering to Mr. Whiskers, who stretched luxuriously, completely oblivious to the drama unfolding. She let out a resigned sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Damn... You got me."

"YES!" Felicia exclaimed, thrusting her arms into the air in victory.

Lydia reached into her purse and tossed the confiscated phone to her daughter, who caught it with a triumphant grin. "By the way, you're a terrible lawyer. It took you that many tries to win your case."

"I'll be sure to practice," Felicia quipped dryly, immediately turning on her phone with a giddy expression.

Lydia adjusted her purse on her shoulder. "Anyway, you're officially ungrounded, but your curfew's still tighter than before."

"WHAT!?" Felicia's loud exclamation made Lydia flinch slightly.

"There's no need for theatrics," Lydia said, raising an eyebrow.

"Sorry, Mom! Gotta go. School awaits. If I ever want to beat you at lawyering, I'll need to get smarter!" Felicia grabbed her bag and rushed toward the door, blowing a kiss over her shoulder. "Bye, love you! Mwah!"

---

Uncle Ben opened the front door to find MJ standing awkwardly on the porch, one hand raised in a timid wave.

"Good morning, Uncle Ben," she greeted, her voice warm but tinged with concern.

"I take it you're here to see Peter?" Uncle Ben asked, a teasing smile playing on his lips as he stepped aside to let her in.

MJ rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. "Yeah… How's he doing?"

"Not great. Aunt May's upstairs with him, trying to cool him down with a wet rag," Uncle Ben explained, leading MJ up the stairs toward Peter's room.

As they approached, MJ heard soft murmurs. When Uncle Ben opened the door, she was greeted by the sight of Aunt May sitting beside Peter, gently pressing a cloth to his forehead. The thermometer in Peter's mouth wobbled slightly as he stirred.

Sensing MJ's presence, Peter suddenly sat up, his movements eerily reminiscent of the Undertaker rising from the dead. Aunt May jumped slightly, startled, as the wet rag slipped and flopped onto Peter's lap.

Peter's watery, half-closed eyes landed on MJ. He held out his hands toward her, opening and closing his fingers like a child begging to be picked up.

MJ stifled a laugh, setting her bag on his desk. "He still likes being babied when he's sick, huh?"

Aunt May chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, you have no idea. When he was younger, I thought he was faking it for attention, but nope—this is just him."

Peter gave Aunt May a pitiful look and whimpered, "Chicken soupy?"

Aunt May's expression softened immediately. She pinched his cheek affectionately, switching to a babying tone. "Alright, sweetie. I'll go make you your chicken soupy."

As Aunt May left the room, MJ took her place beside Peter, who immediately buried his face against her waist. "I hate being sick," he muttered, his voice muffled and full of misery.

MJ brushed his messy hair back gently, her fingers cool against his fevered skin. "I know, Tiger. I know," she murmured soothingly.

Peter tilted his head up to look at her, his lips forming a slight pout. MJ couldn't help but smile, her heart melting a little at his vulnerability. "Don't worry," she said softly. "Aunt May's chicken soup works wonders. You'll be back on your feet in no time."

Peter grumbled something unintelligible but kept his arms wrapped around her like a clingy child. MJ leaned back slightly, her free hand stroking his hair. "Honestly, Tiger, you're lucky you're cute when you're sick."

Peter responded with a muffled groan, clutching her a little tighter as MJ chuckled.

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