So... some people ask me, "Hey, Star, how do you stay up so late at night, writing?"

And I always say, "I use coffee and chocolate!" because that is exactly how I edited this entire thing over five times tonight. XD.

So, fair warning to everyone reading this; I'm sleep deprived and hyper XD.

Anyway, let's get started; I'm posting a new story, while some people may think I typed up this chapter, I didn't. I just edited it, because it was done by Brentinator (you're the best, girl!) and is the first chapter in "The Spider Files," a collaboration project I have been working on with six other writers since September.

Originally, I was going to take this entire thing on by myself and it was just multiple one shots... but, I was too lazy (as always!) and wanted help XD.

So, I enlisted the help of six other fantastic people (I've gotten to know)—Brentinator, SenseiGrace (our newest member!), KatTheGracefulKlutz, Gummybear1178, WolfGirl3567 (on Wattpad), and MeerkatLover1 (also on Wattpad), along with EmeraldTulip (formerly)—and gave everyone a little starting point to start at.

...Which I'm now going to tell you about next.

Because, you see, this story—it has a theme. Each chapter starts with an 's' and each chapter will feature something bad happening to Peter, as well as a particular character. But the catch is that, until each author picks a plot, they don't actually know the characters they'll be writing about.

Fun, right?

*pats head or shoulder* It'll be fun, I promise!

And, before anyone asks, no, I did not plan to start off with the chapter that explains how Peter got his spider bite. The chapters will be posted in random order, by which author finishes and when, and will not be related to each other, unless specifically stated.

With that being said, the characters focused on in this chapter are Peter Parker and Ben Parker. I think you all know what the bad thing that happens it (No, it's not Ben's death!), but, if not, I'll explain; it seems like the entire Spider-Man fandom has a theory that Peter got sick, or something happened to him, when the spider bit him, right? So, working with Susz/Brentinator, we combined theories, did some research on spiders (the one mentioned in this chapter is a brown widow, and I'll never forgive her for putting me through that XD), and she typed this little thing up.

Hopefully you all like it! If you do, please PM her, or leave us a little review. I'll be sending each of the participating authors a link so they can read through whatever comments you leave.

Enjoy!

Peter loved science; everyone knew that. There was, after all, a reason why his school had practically been nicknamed "Science High." In truth, though, he just suspected it was because people were too lazy to say the full name—"Midtown High of Technology and Science." Long title, right?

Anyway, Peter loved science and everybody knew it.

But, like any "normal" kid (because, really, what was normal?), he also loved field trips.

...He just didn't necessarily like getting sick on them.

That being said, he absolutely hated it when he did get sick, right while the class was in the radioactive spider-lab.

"There's fifteen radioactive spiders behind this glass case," one of the scientists had explained earlier that day. And, of course, Peter should've been paying attention (the one day he didn't!), but he wasn't; mainly because he was helping out fellow classmate Cindy Luna-Moon, since she needed pictures for the school paper, and had been absent that afternoon.

So, when Michelle "MJ" Jones had pointed out, "there's not fifteen spiders, idiot, there's fourteen," he hadn't really been paying attention on the matter at hand.

The scientist, of course, just brushed it aside and laughed it off as if it was the funniest thing in the world. "Sorry," He apologized. "Memory issues," He excused. "Just a little miscounting, nothing's missing."

Thinking back to it now, Peter should've been paying attention. Because, maybe, if he had, he would've figured out what had happened or what was up.

"Dude, you okay?" Ned asked him later, while the two were standing outside the lab and building that belonged to Oscorp Industries. And, really, was he okay? With his stomach cramping and headache increasing, Peter wasn't really sure if he was okay or if he'd ever been.

But, then again, had he ever really been sure of anything?

Heck, he wasn't even sure of that. But, if he had to be sure of something, it was that whatever was happening to him wasn't good.

"Hmm?" He mumbled, trying to catch his breath, as he began backing up and sat down on the bench behind them. It wasn't like there was anywhere else to go, anyways; they could barely leave the building without being restricted or receiving a lecture from a tour guide or teacher. "Y-Yeah, man. I-I'm..." Stumbling and stuttering, the boy quickly shut his eyes, his vision becoming blurry and black around the edges. "I'm fine..."

At this, Ned quickly shook his head. "No," He spoke. "No, I don't think so." Glancing around the room, the future 'Guy in the Chair' had then spotted someone before he glanced back at the future spider-powered superhero, with a worried look placed on his face. "Hold on for a minute," He stated before spinning on his heels and leaving. "'Kay? Stay here, I'm gonna go get a teacher."

Peter, though, only nodded slowly with an arm wrapped around his abdomen, as he forced himself not to black out by biting his lip, so much so that it started to bleed. Saying it was hard to keep himself from crying out in pain and agony was an understatement as well, as the cramping in his stomach started to get increasingly worse, along with the nausea starting to surface. If Ned didn't hurry up and get someone soon, he swore he was gonna—

"Hey, hey Peter?" The teen jumped slightly at the sudden tapping on his sore shoulder, before seeing it was the field trip leader and his science teacher, Mr. Roger Harrington, with a nervous Ned behind him. "Ned tells me you're not feeling well," He spoke softly to his star student, like it was a secret he didn't want anyone to hear. "Wanna tell me why?" He questioned, quietly.

"I-I don't... know..." The teen groaned, his eyes snapped shut in exhaustion, as he continued to fight off a sudden bout of nausea, while also trying to remain conscious. Squeezing his arm around his abdomen, he had then opened his eyes once more and added, after a second, "Stomach h-h-hurts... F-Feels like it's g'nna b-b-burst..."

And, as he did so, the teacher put the back of his hand against his favourite student's warm forehead, before pulling it off shortly after and taking his phone out of his jacket pocket, as his eyes widened with concern and consternation at the overwhelming amount of heat coming from the high school student's head.

"Okay, well, you're obviously not feeling well, so here's what we're gonna do; I'm gonna text your uncle to come pick you up and, while I do that, you're gonna try and stay awake until one of your guardians gets here. Got it?" The science teacher told his student.

Peter, though, only nodded in response, as he held his arm tighter around his abdomen, the stirring and gurgling of it making him feel sick, as the two people beside him look even more concerned than they did before, hearing his insides complain in his ailing state. "Mhmm..." He mutters, defeatedly. "G-Got it..."

"Okay, good." Mr. Harrington smiles what Peter thinks is supposed to be reassuringly, but doesn't exactly look—or feel—like it either for that matter, as he turns to Ned, his best friend, who's sitting down beside him with cold, comforting hand on his back, as the future superhero struggles with his stomach cramps. "If he gets any worse," He speaks, gesturing to Peter. "I want you to bring him to the infirmary on the third floor, so he can get some rest, alright?"

Waiting for a moment, he then pauses as Ned nods, understanding the severity of said situation. "Alright," He states, before walking away. "Peter, I'm going to go call your uncle, okay? And I'll be back in two, maybe three, minutes."

But, although Mr. Harrington's call would take two minutes, that doesn't mean the weak feeling inside his star student's excruciatingly aching abdomen would wait for nearly that long, as it already starts acting up again, seconds after he's left.

"N-Ned?" Peter had then questioned, getting his friend's attention, as he watched his teacher walk away down the hallway. "I-I think I'm g-gonna—"

Be sick is what the teen would've wanted to finish his sentence with, if he had the chance. But, sadly, that didn't happen, as before he could even get the rest of the words out of his mouth, his stomach churned and gurgled, queasily and audibly uneasily, as the partially-digested breakfast and lunch he ate squirmed up his stomach and through his throat before hitting the ground, along with his clothes, below.

Unfortunately for the future superhero, though, emptying his belly didn't really help the situation or condition he was in, as nearby ninth graders—naturally—began to laugh, look away, or just took out their phones to video him (with, of course, the exception of Michelle Jones, who made her way toward the two losers, before helping Ned walk the nerd to the elevator, with his arms swung over their shoulders). Which, he thought as gastric acid and spit continued spilling from his lips like string, was embarrassing and—slowly, his eyes began to close—gross...

He doesn't know what's happening when he wakes up, but he does know that, whatever it is, it isn't good.

He's in the backseat of a car (a green Toyota Corolla, he observes), with his head pressed against a window, blinking bleary eyes open as he watches the cars and scenery outside go by. He doesn't really recognize the route they're on, but thinks he does, and that's more than enough, because, as his surroundings slowly come to, so do his senses.

Voices are, of course, coming from the front seat, a phone on speaker. One of them is kinda staticky and obviously worried (probably the person who's on the other side of the line), while the other is calm and collected, yet concerned. 'And honestly,' Peter thinks. 'It's weird how people can be worried about something when he has a no clue what they're worried about.'

But, although his mind is foggy and his body is exhausted, that doesn't mean he can't make out the voices. He can, he can, he really, really can. It's just... hard with his current motion sickness.

The voices come through, anyway, though, and the person who speaks first is on the other side of the line. "Is he okay?" They ask, and Peter can only think that they mean him.

"He's... alright." The next person who speaks is his uncle and, as he does, Peter's heart almost shatters at how hesitant he is. Ben's never hesitant, he's always been kinda confident, he's the one who taught Peter how to be—and, if not that, act so. Fake it until you make it, he would say.

But, Ben isn't faking anything right now. Everything in his voice is real, as it practically seeps with unease, as he gives in to his wife's disbelieving stare, as not seeing it, but, rather, feeling it is enough to make him give it to her straight.

"Okay," He gives in, and Peter winces. "He's not okay, or, at least, I'm not sure if he is. His teacher told me he passed out before I even got there and he hasn't woken up since."

There's silence before the person on the other line speaks, their voice on speaker, and, as they do, Peter finally recognizes it as his aunt. "But...?" She asks, hopefully.

"But..." Ben takes this as his cue to continue. "I'm going to take him to the ER and hopefully we can get this cleared up there. Shouldn't take more than an hour, maybe an hour and a half."

And, wait, what? The ER? As in the emergency room? 'No, no, no,' He thinks as he blinks his eyes multiple times, because shaking his head will make it hurt and make him throw up, and he doesn't really want Ben to know he's awake yet, in case he gets more concerned than he was before. There's no way—no absolute way—that he's going to the ER. He doesn't need to, he just has the stomach flu.

He's fine, really. Or, at least, aside from the nausea that's sloshing around in his stomach, the headache he has, and his hot skin that feels like it's melting him, he thinks he is.

But, while that's just a thought he has, he knows he has to get himself out of this situation. He has to. He hasn't been to a hospital since he was six or seven, after an asthma attack. No way he's going back. He has to get out of this situation, he thinks. There's no doubt about it, it's not a choice, or a request, it's a demand. He has to. He has to.

So, to get himself out of said situation, he groans—loudly. It distracts Ben and gets him off the phone, which is more than enough, and way more of a reaction than he initially expected.

"Hold on, May," His uncle says, as he spares a glance at the semi-conscious teen in the backseat. "I think he's awake, I'll call you back, okay?" Then, there's silence for a minute, before he adds, "Yes, baby, I promise I'll keep you updated," into the phone, turning it off after he does so.

And then, all of Ben's attention is turned to him.

"Hey, you're awake," are the exact words he hears as they meet eyes in the car's interior mirror. His uncle smiles at him, something that's somewhat reassuring when his stomach is twisting and turning, but it doesn't do much or, at all, enough. His stomach's still acting like a volcano, feeling like it's gonna explode. "Feeling any better, bud?"

"Nuh," the teenager only manages in response, as his body is too busy (mentally and physically) killing him. Not only that, but his limbs (specifically his legs) feel like jelly, and his abdomen is just begging for him to empty his belly. "N-Nauseous."

As soon as his uncle hears this, however, he changes his happy appearance to a concerned one, peering at the boy in the back. And Peter knows he looks bad—Heck, he probably looks like death warmed over, with his sweaty forehead and clammy hands—but that doesn't necessarily mean he needs the sympathy. It's just a stomach bug, one that'll probably be over in a few days, anyway. "Are you sure?" He asks, concerned. "Should I pull over?"

And, although Peter wants to say "no" and wants to say that he's fine and can last the rest of the ride, he can't. Mainly because, at that moment, his cramps return, making him let out a sickly burp that he struggles to keep from turning into a heave. His stomach's twisting and turning, groaning and gurgling and before he can even open his mouth, they're pulled over on the side of the highway, so he can eject his insides, as they move up and out of his gut.

It's really not all that surprising, with the fact that he's been feeling sick ever since he stepped out of the radioactive spider lab. But, as an acidic taste expels itself, dropping down on to the puddle of vomit that covers the ground and soaking his clothes, below, it's still as annoying as anything.

He's not exactly sure how long he stays like this, but knows it must be for quite a while, when a hand starts rubbing him on the back. It's refreshing, compared to the heat he's currently feeling and he's instantly grateful for it, but is unable to stutter out words to say so, with his stomach cramps continuing to expand, so the one who speaks instead is Ben.

"Think you can make it back to the car now, bud?" He questions, his voice quiet but concerned. It's obvious he's worried about him, Peter doesn't have to look back to know that, but, to be honest, he can see why. He, after all, never gets stomach bugs, so why could have suddenly set off this one? "We're about half an hour out from the emergency room."

And, then, there's that word again. "Emergency room?" He echoes, lifting his head, but then stops when he feels it setting off his unwillingness to be sick. His head's still spinning, his surroundings around him being blended together like cake batter, but his abdomen's not exactly rebelling against him—at least, not anymore—so he thinks he's up for starting for the car. (No, it's just not the freakin' emergency room, he's up for.)

That is, until he begins to get up, and, as soon as he does, his stomach starts gurgling again. It's not one of those silent, painful ones either; it's one of those ridiculously loud, excruciating and embarrassing ones, and it doesn't take much before his knees buckle out from under him and he falls back down on the ground, with his abdomen aching from the sudden motion sickness it brings.

But Ben, luckily, senses his want to either stand or lie down—because, gosh, bending over feels so bad right now—and brings him back up from under his elbows, with an "Alright, up you go," as he scoops the teen up in his arms and starts for the car, Peter's head resting against his uncle's chest.

And, once they're there, it feels amazing. Somehow, the science-obsessed teen manages to buckle himself into the passenger seat, before he slumps down in it and actually presses his head against the window, the coldness of it helping his overheating fever.

He watches from the corner of his eye as his uncle gets in on the other side, subtly casting glances at him, but it's not like there's anything he can do to help the teen, for the time being, until they get to the ER and, after that, the apartment. And, once they get back on the highway and start driving, and actually get home, after that, it's all gonna be hot water bottles and ice packs, to help with the high school student's antagonizing headache and stomach cramps.

The radio is turned on low, as the two continue making the last of the hour-long ride back, and, slowly, the teen begins to fall asleep. It starts out with his heavy lids, then the migraine adds to it, as the colours around him fade away and, before he knows it, sleep is overtaking his brain.

Three hours later, the two were back from the emergency room and, as soon as the teen and his uncle arrived at the apartment, the teen started making the tiring (even more so than usual, since he was sick and just wanted to sleep) journey up the stairs to shower and change. Hearing the two come in, his aunt appeared out from the living room, kissing her husband, but failed to see her nephew as he disappeared from view.

"How is he?" May questioned, grabbing her tea from the table and taking a sip, as she brought it to her lips.

"Not too bad," Ben answered as he wrapped a arm around his wife. "But not too good either. He passed out before I was even called to come get him and when I did, he was with his friend—Ned—in the infirmary."

"Hmm," May mused. "And the drive home?"

"Completely out of it. He woke up once, when I was driving him to the hospital, and got sick, but other than the high fever and headache he probably has, that's it. I continued driving and we were back on the highway."

"How did he get so sick so fast?" She asked. "We would've noticed if he wasn't feeling well, right?" Ambling into the kitchen, May had then went to put her cup in the sink and winced when she heard her nephew retching from the room above the two. "Poor thing."

"I don't know." Ben sighed. "And I'm sure we would have, baby, but I took him to the emergency room and the doctor said it was just a severe case of the stomach flu, so it's probably just something from school. Nothing to worry about," Her husband insisted, placing his hand on her shoulder and kissing her cheek.

"I sure hope so..." May trailed off, as she turned off the sink and wiped her hands on a rag, finished with the dishes. Peter hadn't gotten sick since he was nine and, even then, it was for such a short time. "But, can you go check on him? He isn't making any noise and I'm just praying that he's getting some rest."

"Sure." Ben smiled in response, as he grabbed a few bottles of Excedrin, Pepto-Bismol, and a granola bar out of the kitchen cupboards. Then, grabbing a thermometer, a trashcan, and a glass of water, he walked out of the room, and took the extensive amount of stairs to where—he hoped—his nephew was currently resting in bed.

And, as predicted, he was. Not that it was a surprise, of course, with how Peter was feeling and how much his kid was struggling to keep what was coming out of his stomach in it. But, knowing Peter's personality, it was logical to expect the opposite (as the kid couldn't sit still for more than five minutes).

When he went into the room, however, it looked exactly as it had that very morning; the curtains were closed, with clothes scattered across the room, like a typical teenage boy's bedroom. But, the bed was also made (May, he figured, must've cleaned up a bit when the two were at the emergency room) and the only difference besides that was that the frail figure lying in it was shivering uncontrollably, unlike that morning, as the blankets piled overtop of him shuddered back and forth.

It wasn't a very pretty sight, to put it lightly.

"Light..." A pained groan emerged from the bed on the corner of the room as he stepped in it and, after he did, he pushed the door closed with his foot. Then, setting the medicines for stomach pains and headaches, along with the water glass, on the small nightstand, he placed the trashcan on the floor, before sitting on the edge of the bed, as he laid a hand on his nephew's ankle and started rubbing it and the blue duvet.

"Open," He told him. The teen opened his eyes before opening his mouth, and, when he did, the small plastic stick was placed in it. "Feeling any better yet?" He asked, gently brushing his kid's sweaty bangs away from his unusually pale face.

The teen shook his head, laying an arm over his eyes as he whispered a painful yet pitiful little whimper of "I feel sick..." with the thermometer almost falling out of his mouth as he did.

"I know," Ben had then commented. "But, I want you to try and keep that medication down, and I want you to get some fluids in your system. There's also a trashcan beside your bed, if you still feel like you're going to throw up, and your aunt and I are downstairs if you need us, alright?" He questioned quietly, making sure to keep his voice low because of his nephew's threatening headache.

Peter nodded just as the thermometer beeped, and was taken out of his mouth, earning an exasperated expression from his uncle.

"Geez, kid," He muttered, glancing at the small machine he held in his hands. "You're really running a high one, huh?"

"W-What's—" Taking a moment to stop and pause, the teen coughed, as he covered his sore throat with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "What's it at?" He rasped.

"...You sure you want to know, kiddo?" The adult asked back.

"Mhm..." Peter nodded, but quickly stopped and winced once the room spun, winding him. "P-Posit've."

"103.4." The older man answered, as he frowned at the numbers on the machine's screen. How the hell did his nephew's temperature get so high in so little time? He swore he was fine earlier that day, when he dropped him off at school late.

But, he supposed he should just forget it, as it didn't matter, and all that did was the sick kid. He just really, really hoped that the teen's fever wouldn't grow, though, since he didn't really want to drive him to a hospital—or see him in one—three weeks before Christmas Eve.

"Ugh..." Sinking further down into the sheets, the teenager groaned, as waves of nausea rolled over him, with his cramps coming back. Pawing at his abdomen, the teen winced and grimaced as sickening sounds and gross little gurgles erupted from his stomach, and sat up suddenly, as a long, queasy burp forced its way out from his mouth. A hand then went to his sensitive belly, as his cramps increased, and the fourteen year old could only burp out another belch before he let out a little moan of "N-N-No..."

"But I promise it's gonna go down soon," the uncle soothed, as he, unfortunately, earned an doubtful look from his nephew. "Now, need anything else before you head to bed?" He questioned.

"A-Aunt May," The future superhero choked out in a dry and raspy voice, as his eyes were still covered with one arm, while the other continued squeezing itself uncomfortably around his abdomen.

"I'll try to get her, but we both know how she is about germs." Ben chuckled, imagining his wife disinfecting the entire house in fear of possibly getting sick and having to spend a week or two in bed. "Anyway, I want you to take something to settle your stomachache, while I'm gone, okay? And I expect all the water in that glass—" He gestured to the one on the nightstand. "—To be gone by the time I'm back."

"Yes, sir." Peter weakly saluted with his other hand (the one shielding his eyes from the light), as he rasped due to dehydration and the excessive spitty feeling in between his teeth.

"Good. Now, eat, and get some sleep," Ben had then said, with a smile placed on his face. Placing the granola bar in his nephew's lap, he had then patted the teenager's ankle twice, before standing up, walking out of the room, and closing the door, knowing that the light would only hurt his nephew's eyes more.

Peter went back into the bathroom to shower once more after sweating through the sheets during his hour and a half nap, when Aunt May finally came up to his room and asked he'd shower again, before proceeding to spray Lysol in his room and placing the sheets in a laundry basket, so they would be ready to be washed later on.

He had no idea where he was gonna sleep after he had showered.

He only hoped it wouldn't be the couch.

Unfortunately, since they only had two places to sleep in and one was out of commission, that seemed to be the only option—which kinda sucked, since he was still running a high fever (heck, he felt like it just spiked), felt absolutely deprived of all strength, as he couldn't stop shaking, and every little thing tinged with sore stinging.

Not only that, but the light hurt his eyes every time he opened them, every little noise made his ears ring (when he went downstairs to get another glass of water, he almost screamed at the sound of the TV), and the scent of the tea his aunt made two hours ago hit his nose like it had just been freshly steamed, which, was the weirdest part, in his opinion.

Whilst his uncle had occasional sensitivity involving his senses when sick, he wasn't his son, and this was over the top, as he could barely look out a window for more than six seconds without feeling like his eyes were on fire.

He choose to ignore it, though, thinking it was just a sick thing, as he turned on the hot water in the shower, and steam slowly filled the room, clearing out his nose, as it did so.

When he had started to take off his shirt, however, he noticed a large, rash-like patch of skin going from the back of his hand and wrapping around his entire wrist—which, would've freaked him out, but it was the large, red bump covering almost half of the back of his hand, with little bloody bumps going down, that he was worried about.

"What the hell...?" He muttered to himself, turning off the water and leaving the washroom.

He started walking down the stairs (running made him feel kind of faint), calling for his aunt and uncle, gripping the rail for dear life before he came to a halt in the living room, where his guardians had gathered.

"What's wrong, kiddo?" Ben asked, running a hand through his hair whilst May placed a gloved hand on his back.

Peter rolled up the pajama sleeve to show them the large rash, and while Aunt May flipped through a book full of bug bites, Uncle Ben gently lead him back up the stairs and to his room to get some rest. The future super powered teen, however, was exhausted and felt his eyes beginning to flutter shut, as he started slumping against the stairs, before the two were even halfway up.

His uncle sighed, before gently lifting the teen into his arms and up to his room, along with May's, (because, if he even tried to walk, Ben knew there was a good chance his nephew would place his foot wrong and fall, and they did not need a trip to the hospital) but, unfortunately, it seemed as if a bed wasn't needed, as Peter had fallen asleep before they even started climbing up the stairs once more, nevermind reaching Ben and May's bedroom door.

It was a month later and Peter was feeling a lot better. In fact, the only thing that really was remaining was a slight fever (of 99.9, but he swore he was fine!), practically being on the verge of a sensory overload all the time, and that freaking rash, that, actually, turned out to be a spider bite (though that was probably from the trip to Oscorp Industries). And, while it was fading, he also wasn't helping by constantly pawing at the gauze, but it was itchy!

He was snapped out of his thoughts by a knock on the door frame, and, when he looked up, he saw his uncle leaning against it.

"Hey kiddo. Think you'll be able to go back to school tomorrow?"

"Probably," Peter answered immediately, as he used the sleeve of his sweatshirt to hide his hand. After all, he had told both his aunt and uncle that it had faded (though they'd both been insistent and debated on calling the doctor from the hospital to examine his wrist, along with his stupid sickness).

His uncle placed a hand on his forehead, feeling for a temperature, before looking him in the eyes and scruffing up his hair.

"Your fever's pretty much gone, so I think you should be fine."

Peter nodded, looking back down at the computer he had been trying to fix this whole time.

"I've gotta go run some errands for your aunt though, so I'll be back in an hour."

Peter stood up, putting the tools down, before hugging his uncle, because for some reason, he felt like something bad was gonna happen, and that it would be that night.

"Be safe," Peter told him, hugging him very tightly.

"Alright, kiddo," Ben squeaked, patting him on the back, causing Peter to let go him.

"Sorry," He apologized.

"It's alright, I'm fine. Maybe you should learn your own strength though, kiddo."

"Got it." Peter gave him a thumbs up, chuckling. "Bye."

Ben left the room with a smile, closing the door behind him, and, as soon as he did, Peter went back to the computer he'd been trying to fix. However, even though he was doing pretty well with the small electronic, what he wasn't doing well with was the nagging feeling he had. And, maybe it was just the rash on the wrist that was bothering him, but he couldn't help it and couldn't stop glancing out the window from the corner of his eye. He just had a feeling that something was about to happen and, whatever it was, wasn't good.

Three hours later and both of them were given the news that Ben was dead.

Peter was numb, and not like he was void of emotion, but because he knew he could do something, and that guilt was much stronger than the large hole in his heart.

That, though, was also why he was holding his aunt in his arms, as she shook with sobs, while tears ran down her face like a river.

The worst part was, he was about ninety nine percent sure, at this point, that he had powers, with the heightened senses, the strength, and his newfound flexibility. Actually, he was pretty much a hundred percent sure he was a spider at this point. But, if his superpowers ever mattered, they didn't now, and were taken over by the fact that his uncle was dead.

And he knew—despite how much he didn't want to—that it was him, who was the cause of it.

*wiggles eyebrows* So, what'cha think? Did y'all like it? If you didn't, that's okay, but please tell us (specifically Susz/Brentinator) if you did! We're a large group of writers and are each looking for criticism and tips to improve, whether it be good or bad.

And, also something I wanted to acknowledge, because I don't think any of us have asked this question yet and, if we did, I haven't mentioned it; we're open to requests. Just type up a little plot you'd like to see, list some characters (optional) and—this is also optional—list the writer you want to write it. Otherwise, if nothing is just specifically stated, I'll just add it to the list of ideas we have (it's twenty four, so far!) and whoever picks your request will be the one writing it.

Anyway... *claps hands* I hope you all enjoyed this one shot by Brentinator! I don't know who's chapter will be posted next, but I'm planning to update this every month or two, so we'll see what happens.

Please let us know what you think in the reviews! :)

~Star