Spider-Man One Shots

Dodgeball

Summary: Peter's class plays dodgeball for gym class, and Peter's too tired to remember he doesn't have to dodge.

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Six hours.

Six hours is what he told his friends he had slept. But, quoting him, the city needed Spider-Man, so Peter hadn't actually been sleeping much. Scratch that- he hadn't been sleeping at all. And it was showing.

The first day had been fine, the sleepiness hadn't been too noticeable. He continued on with his day and with school as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening- and it wasn't, it was definitely not the first (nor the last) time he had gone to school without an ounce of sleep. He said he'd sleep later.

He didn't.

The second day he was extra careful not to show any signs of tiredness, but it was beginning to get harder. He dozed off during some lectures, but he didn't think anyone noticed.

The third day, he broke his desk. Too tired to measure the strength he was applying, he dropped his books on his desk- and it looked like the desk fucking dissolved. Oops. Blame it on the bad quality of the hundred-year-old school supplies. Obviously not his fault.

Fourth day, he fucked up.

It was Friday, which meant: PE. Now, this usually wouldn't be a problem considering that, with his abilities, he could do more than any of his classmates no matter how tired he was. Now, that wasn't the problem.

The problem was that, when the coach announced they'd be playing dodgeball, he assigned Flash and Peter in opposing teams.

That would normally be a pain in the ass, as Peter would have to let himself be hit repeatedly, but that still wasn't the problem.

The problem, this time for real, was that Peter was too sleepy to remember not to follow his spidey sense. That's it, that was the problem.

No big deal, right?

No. It was a fucking giant, immense deal.

Why?

Uhm, secret identity? Ring any bell?

So, without having had a literal minute of sleep on the last four days, Peter entered the field.

"Ready to have your ass handed to you, Penis?"

And with that it started. But Peter didn't understand anything anymore.

"Huh?"

He had his eyes closed, swaying on his feet slightly. Were he conscious enough, he'd regret not having slept.

The first ball sent his way didn't cause anything big to surface, he had just stepped to the side, almost stumbling, but still with his eyes closed. A few more balls went like this, all coming in rapid succession but not enough to be unbearable. He side-stepped some until adrenaline (the only source of power for his patrols lately) kicked in, and then the fun started. Without opening his eyes, and now scowling while losing himself in the battle, Peter dodged every ball directed his way. 

He focused, making all his enhanced senses sharpen. He didn't exactly know where he was, he didn't think he needed to, he just knew his sixth sense was telling him to duck, so he did. He kept his eyes firmly closed, knowing by experience that sometimes his vision could overwhelm him. Completely neglecting his sight had been proved useful, so he was going to put that knowledge into use.

Jump!

And so Peter jumped.

Crouch!

And so Peter crouched.

To the right!

And so Peter moved to the right.

Two threats- left shoulder, right leg.

And so Peter jumped again, high enough to grab a beam on the ceiling- at least ten meters high.

He released his hold on the beam, doing a front flip while falling and landing on his own usual superhero pose as softly as a fucking ballerina.

Peter grabbed what he had in front of him, touching it and recognizing it as a ball. He ignored the reason why there'd be a ball at a fight, but he didn't care. He threw it to one of the places where the previous projectiles had been coming from, where he could hear someone breathing, successfully hitting one of the unknown opponents- and pushing them to the floor with the force of the blow.

Three threats!

Five!

Now more projectiles started being thrown his way again, each time there were more. Peter summoned all the agility, flexibility and stamina he was able to and started dodging.

Not one thing touched him.

When he didn't feel anything more coming, Peter dropped to his knees, slightly panting, and then opened his eyes to see what exactly was going on that the attacks just stopped.

Answer was that he was at school. On PE class. Playing dodgeball with his classmates. He was the only one left on his team. And the other team had no balls left to throw at him.

"Shit."

And with that, he face-planted to the floor, asleep and snoring. But hey, let's be fair, absolutely no sleep for four days would do that to anyone.