AN: I have been itching to do a 5 + 1 series for a while. I've also been reading a surplus of Irondad and Spiderson stories, and while Tony is not in this chapter, he will be showing up later. It has been a long time since I have written any fiction, so please feel free to leave any constructive criticism!

Sight

For as long as Peter could remember, he had terrible eye sight. He didn't really realize that his sight was bad until the first day of school, when the teacher had gone to write her name on the board and all Peter could see were fuzzy squiggles. After a few days of awkwardly squinting at the board, the teacher had realized this and notified his parents. An eye exam and $300 later, Peter was enjoying the full use of his eyes. At first, he resented his glasses since it caused the other kids teased him. But he soon realized that they would have teased him about being nerdy even if he could see properly.

It was a fact of life. Peter was as blind as a bat. So, Peter didn't know what to do when he woke up one morning with perfect 20/20 vision. The day before that, he had been on a field trip to Oscorp, and an experimental spider had bitten him. At the time he had been panicked about the teacher finding out that he had wandered off from the group and accidentally killed one of the test subjects. Heart pounding, he returned to the group and tried to ignore the itching of the spider bite. As the day wore on, he started to feel worse and worse. He managed to hold himself together for the remainder of the school day, but on the subway home he caught sight of his sweaty and pale reflection in the windows. His reflection smiled a grimace back at him, and Peter thought vaguely that he should have been worried for his health all along. What if that spider was one of those man-killer spiders like the Brazilian Wandering spider? Vomiting, diarrhea, and priapism is not how he wanted to go out. His energy was rapidly waning, but he did manage to stumble back to his apartment and collapse in to bed. Despite how well he felt now, Peter felt dread settle in to his stomach like a weight.

Peter stared at the numbers on his alarm clock, numbers which should be fuzzy. He slowly sat up and pressed a hand to his eyes. He half expected to feel his glasses under his palm, but they weren't there. In addition to this, he noticed that the skin of his palm subtly clung to his face, and he felt slight resistance when he lifted his hand away. The separating skin felt sort of like how his lips did when they sealed after not speaking for a while, only to peal apart unpleasantly when he spoke again. His heart rate picked up as panic started to sweep over him. He sprung out of bed and on to his feet with a swift agility that terrified him. His glasses rested, as they did every morning, on his desk. With shaky hands, he pulled them on to his face and gave a little yelp when the room around him became a blurry mess. What the hell was happening? He felt completely fine, but there was no way he could possibly be okay. The world around him felt more vibrant than before. Sounds were clearer, his vision was fixed, and even his sense of smell was picking up odors like slightly burnt eggs and toast. His breathing started to hitch with panic as he pulled his glasses back off of his face and the room refocused with crystal clarity. Was this permeant? Were there other affects that his body hadn't developed yet? His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock on his door. He jumped a little at the sound.

"Peter? You doin' okay?" May's concerned voice grounded him a little. He took a deep breath and replied.

"Yeah, I'm alright."

"Well, okay…" May didn't sound entirely convinced but didn't seem to want to press the issue. "Ben made breakfast, if you feel up to eating".

"Sure thing, May. I'll be right out".

Taking a few more steadying breathes, Peter felt calm enough to face his aunt and uncle… until he accidently crushed the door handle in his grip. The door hinges gave a slight groan under the pressure, and Peter released the handle as if it had burned him. He stared at the mangled handle with wide eyes and his brain short circuited.

'How…? Did I just…? There is no way… I can't even open a jar of pickles… how the hell did I-?!'

"Peter! Food is getting cold!" Ben's voice called from their kitchen.

"Uhhhh… coming!" Peter called back, his voice climbing serval octaves. With a much more cautious grip, he turned the door handle and gently shut the door behind him. He meandered in to the kitchen and plopped himself down in his chair at the table. He shook himself out of his daze when Ben placed a stack of pancakes in front of him.

"We're not having eggs and toast?" Peter asked, his voice a little sharp with panicked surprise. Ben's face creased a little with worry and his eyes flickered over his nephew's face, as if searching for some abnormality.

"No, I thought I would use up the last of the pancake mix before it reached its expiration date. Is your stomach feeling sour? I can make something else".

"No, no, its fine!" Peter insisted, not wanting to sound ungrateful. He wondered where the sent of eggs and toast had been coming from. How good was his sense of smell now? Ben took his seat at the opposite end of the table, while eyeing Peter with a concerned gaze. May, who was leaning against the counter and sipping her coffee, was also starring at him. Peter squirmed uncomfortably, as he always did when he was under the spot light, and started to nervously shovel pancakes in to his mouth.

"Maybe you should stay home today," May suggested. "You don't look as much like a zombie today as you did last night, but you still seem to be a little out of it." Peter was sorely tempted to play the sick card and stay home. The world felt so overwhelming and he had no idea how to deal with it. But then he realized, with a groan that he couldn't do that today.

"I can't. Ned and I have our presentation for Spanish class today. If I miss it, we'll both fail".

A frown tugged at May's lips as she replied, "I'm sure if I called the school-"

"No, it's fine. I don't even feel bad. I'm just a little tired is all".

"Hey, Pete," Ben cut in, "Where are your glasses?"

Peter felt as if he had been doused in cold water. He had never been a good liar, but he couldn't fess up to the truth just yet. He didn't want his aunt and uncle, the last of his family, to realize that their nephew had been mutated by a freaking spider of all things.

"Oh," His eyes cast down to the linoleum floor. "I forgot them in my room. Be right back." He rushed off down the hall before either of them could get a word in. Peter knew he would crack if they pried any more in to it. Remembering this time to grip the handle gently, he eased the door open and shut it softly behind him. He leaned against the door, his head falling back with a soft thump. What was he suppose to do? He couldn't wear his glasses anymore because his depth perception would be completely screwed up. He would probably end up stumbling around like a drunkard, which would then lead to more awkward questions from his teachers and family. Maybe he could pop the lenses out? No, it would be obvious that there were no lenses in the frames. Well, he couldn't just go without them and claim his magically improved sight was a God ordained miracle. Heaving a sigh, he slid his glasses back on to his face. He would just have to fake it. There was no other option. Everything around him was a mess of colourful blobs, so he would have to rely on his memory to remember where obstacles were. He returned to the kitchen without bumping in to anything, and hastily finished his pancakes. Despite the hindrance his glasses were causing him, he was thankful that he couldn't make out his aunt and uncle's expressions. He was sure if he could see their suspicion, he wouldn't be able to keep up the charade.

Riding the subway was too difficult to do with out seeing, so Peter decided to hold his folded up glasses in his hand while he was commuting. It's not as if strangers would notice anything amiss. But still, Peter couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. That everyone knew he was a freak now.

Peter had always enjoyed going to school, even though he wasn't popular and had kids like Flash to deal with. The shockingly lax security and inattentive faculty gave him an abundant of resources to tinker with. Plus, he did have Ned, his best friend. Staring up at the hazy school building, Peter wished more than anything that he could just leave and go home. The thought of letting Ned down gave him a mental push, and with hesitant steps he entered the building.

All of his senses were assaulted simultaneously by the chaos of the student population. Sure, Peter knew rationally that today was just a typical day, nothing out of the ordinary. But to him it felt as though everything in the world had been dialed to eleven. The pungent sent of body odor and Ax body spray was making his stomach roll. The cacophony of chatter was pounding in his head. He was continuously muttering 'sorry' to every person he bumped in to, but eventually he reached the temporary sanctuary of his locker. He had dialed the combination so many times, he could do it using only muscle memory. He stared in to the darkness of his locker and gave a shallow sigh, relishing the small moment alone. But then a hand tapped excitedly on his shoulder.

"Dude, guess what? I'm pretty sure that my Mom is giving me Fall Out 4 for Christmas! I saw a receipt for that game fall out of her coat pocket." Ned's exciting rambling was loud in Peter's ear and caused him to flinch. He turned and saw the fuzzy outline of Ned. His glasses had slid a bit down his nose, so he could see the top of Ned's head clearly. Tilting his face down slightly, Peter peered over the top of his glasses to see all of Ned's face.

"You okay, man? You don't look okay. Also, why are you looking at me like that? Your creeping me out." Ned questioned with a nervous laugh, his head cocked to the side as it always did when he was worried.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah", Peter replied, hurriedly, while straightening his head and pushing his glasses back up. "I'm just tired and got a bit of a headache. Did that receipt really fall out of her coat, or were you snooping?" The distraction worked, and Ned grinned sheepishly. At least Peter though he did. Who could tell anymore.

"I thought I might become a detective after we graduate high school. Solving the mystery of the hidden Christmas presents is more like a training exercise!" Ned had turned and started to walk towards their Spanish class. Peter walked beside him while trying to avoid any figure moving towards him.

"Oh so, your giving up on coding to pursue detective work? I'll be sure to get you a pipe and a tweed coat and hat to help you start up your agency. Gotta look the part, or your clients won't take you seriously." Peter's teasing caused Ned to mock gasp.

"I think you're forget the most important tool of all. How can clients take me seriously without a magnifying glass?"

"Hey Penis Parker!" Flash's voice boomed from directly ahead of them, and Peter wondered vaguely how he hadn't realized he was there until just now. "You and your boyfriend better hurry your asses up! If you're late, Senor Renwick is gonna be in a crappy mood when he judges our presentations! The rest of us don't need you guys dragging our marks down!" Typical Flash. Of course, he needed someone to blame for when he inevitably got his low grades. Peter and Ned picked up the pace anyways, not wanting to deal with Flash's mood.

Peter stumbled his way over to his seat, hitting his shin on the corner of a desk. The class laughed and he could feel his face reddening. He slumped in his seat and tried to tune out the chatter around him. It was impossible feat, but he tried anyways. His head was really starting to throb and his eyes ached from the constant strain. As Senor Renwick began the class, Peter wondered ruefully if this was how life would be from now on. Constantly smacking his shins and jumping at loud noises. That was no way to live. There had to be a solution. Maybe he could use the shop at school to forge normal glass lenses for his glasses? The school taught glass work, right? But then again, he had no idea how to make lenses that would fit properly. Or how to use any of the machinery in the shop. He wasn't even 100% sure the school would have the stuff he needed to make lenses.

"Senor Parker, Senor Leeds, your up next!" Senor Renwick's voice jarred Peter out of his half-baked plan. He stood and hurried up to the front of the class. He just wanted to get this over with. His headache was becoming unbearable and he doubted that he could last for the rest of the day. After Spanish class, he would probably skip the rest of the day and go home. And lie in his room. In the dark. With a cold cloth on his eyes. The thought filled him with a strong sense of relief that suppress the feeling of guilt for skipping school.

Despite his agonizing headache, Peter thought that he and Ned gave a decent presentation. When they were finished the class applauded politely, and he and Ned went to take their seats. As he moved between a row of desks, a tingling sensation ran down his spine and a sense of dread filled him. Half a second later, he tripped over a student's backpack and fell to the ground. He felt his head crack painfully on the floor, and for a moment he saw stars. He could hear gasps and laughter fill the room, Flash laughing hardest of all.

"Oh my God! Dude, you okay?!" Ned's panicky tone cleared Peter's head a little.

"Move out of the way!" Senor Renwick's voice called as he weaved through the students crowding Peter. A hand reached out to grip Peter's shoulder as he heaved himself up to a sitting position. "Peter, are you alright?"

"Yeah," Peter mumbled while rubbing his head a little, the humiliation pressing down on him like a thick blanket. "I just tripped…" he trailed off when he realized he was just stating the obvious.

"Let's get you down to the nurse's office-"

"I'll take him!" Ned called out, and Peter felt Ned hook his arm under his and helped him up to his feet. The room was wobbling a little, so Peter pulled his glasses off. This helped a little. At least now the room was wobbling in clear definition. Ned left his side for a moment so that he could collect Peter's bag and then they walked in silence until they were near the nurse's office.

"Are you really okay? You weren't just saying that so that Senor Renwick would leave you alone?"

Peter pulled open the door to the office while reassuring Ned that he was fine. Even as the words left his mouth, he could tell that Ned wasn't buying it. Nurse Hansen ushered Peter on to the table, while Ned told her what had happened. She shined a light in his eyes, and asked him the basic nurse questions. Was he sore anywhere? Did his head hurt? Did he have any neck pain or stiffness? Peter answered no to all of the questions and realized with some surprise that he wasn't really lying at all. After a fall like that, he knew that he should be more hurt than he was. Already his headache was starting to fade. Nurse Hansen seemed to be satisfied with his answers, but she still insisted on calling his uncle to come and pick him up. Peter begged that she not call him. He hated the thought that Ben would have to close up his garage early and loose money because of him. But apparently, he didn't get a say in the matter.

Twenty minutes later, Uncle Ben was walking through the door and made a bee line for Peter, who was sitting, slouched over in one of the waiting room chairs. Rough, calloused hands gripped Peter's cheeks lightly. Ben crouched in front of Peter, and peered into his eyes with concerned scrutiny. Peter could hear Nurse Hansen's assurances that he was just fine, but Ben ignored her and continued to check Peter over. That was just the way it was with Ben. Peter felt an exasperated smile tease his lips. Ben was the kind of guy who could never be mollified by the assurances of a professional. He would never believe that something was alright unless he had checked on it himself. He turned Peter's head lightly from side to side, and seemed to be content with what he saw. Heaving a sigh, Ben straightened up and approached the Nurse's desk to sign the forms to release Peter. Peter rose to his feet, and went to walk beside his Uncle. He clapped an arm around his shoulders and lead him towards the parking lot. Sitting in passenger seat of their beat-up little car, Peter waited for Ben to get in the driver side. For a moment they sat in tense silence.

"Hey, Pete. Where are your glasses?" Ben asked him this for the second time that day, and this time around Peter felt that there was much more weight to the question.

"I put them in my backpack." Peter responded simply. The silence stretched on for a few more moments. Peter picked nervously at the cuticles of his nails. He could feel Ben's gaze on him, but couldn't turn to meet his eyes.

"What's going on with you? You've been acting weird all day. Is someone bothering you?" Peter couldn't stand the distress in Ben's voice, knowing that he was the cause of it. He also knew that there was no way he could stand another day like today, so he decided to tell the truth quickly before he could lose his courage.

"I don't need my glasses anymore." The words tumbled out of Peter's mouth in a rush. Ben's brow furrowed and before he could ask another question Peter pressed on. "I mean, I noticed that my sight has been improving gradually, and now my glasses make everything blurry. That's why I tripped. I didn't see the bag."

Ben seemed to be taking a moment to contemplate his explanation. He drummed his fingers softly on the steering wheel, his gazed still fixed on Peter. His eyes had a glazed look, and Peter got the impression that he wasn't really looking at him. Maybe he could see the honesty written on his face, because after a moment Ben's brow smoothed out.

"I didn't know that sight could improve like that. Maybe we should have you see an optometrist."

"No!" Peter blurted out, a little louder than he had intended. Doctors would verify whatever it was now that made him different. He had watched enough movies with Ben to know that no good ever came from Doctor's recognizing a mutant. Before you know it, he would be in some creepy secret lab, being cut open like that frog he had to dissect in eighth grade biology. Ben rose an eyebrow at his panicked tone. "I just mean…" Peter struggled for a moment to think of a reason not to go to the doctors. "You're always saying that you shouldn't waste money on something that works. Why waste 200 bucks on this?"

Ben looked unimpressed to have his own words twisted and thrown back at him. "I was talking about machines, Peter. Cars specifically. If your eyes change in anyway, you're supposed to see a doctor".

"But we can't afford the exam and another pair of glasses!" Peter insisted.

"Don't you worry about money." Ben replied, but his statement lacked conviction. It was just the go-to response for when Peter became concerned with the family's finances. Peter knew from Ben's tone that he had won the argument. They really couldn't afford this right now, and they both knew it. Ben's gaze became resigned.

"Do your eyes hurt at all?"

"No."

"You'll let me or your aunt know if anything feels wrong?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah" Peter replied while nodding his head quickly like a bobble head. Ben turned to look out the wind shield, and turned his keys in the ignition. The car roared to life as he backed out of the parking space. Peter could see how this decision weighed heavily on Ben, and a stab of guilt twisted in his stomach. He hated how he made his uncle feel as if he couldn't provide for him. But there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't stand to think of what Ben or May would say if they knew what had happened to him. Would they leave him? He tried to push the thought out of his head. He knew that it was ridiculous, but uncertainty nagged at his mind. Glancing sideways at Ben's somber expression, Peter decided that he would make it up to him. He wasn't sure how. Maybe, given time, Ben would see that Peter really was fine and he could stop worrying. The thought cheered Peter up a little. After all, they had plenty of time.