Peter woke up at 3 again. As he did every night. 

He sat up in bed and stared out his window. He tried not to think about the nightmare again. He tried, but failed. It was always the same one. He tried to forget about it. To think of something else, but he'd always get back to that thought. He told himself there was nothing he could do, but he still thought about it. 

Looking at New York from his bedroom window was boring now. He reached over to his bedside table and grabbed his phone. He went on to his camera roll and stared at the picture. A tear started to roll down his cheek. This happend every night. It was almost like a routine. He turned the phone off and lay back down in bed. He sobbed hard into his pillow, trying not to wake Aunt May.

 It didn't work though. It never did. She'd always come running in. Most nights she'd sit with him for a while, until he fell asleep again, and then she'd go back to bed. But not this night. May came in as usual, she didn't want him to be alone tonight. He had to start back at school tomorrow. She went over to his bed and hugged him close. 

Peter leaned into her embrace as she slid her hands under his back and legs. She picked him up with ease, he weighed very little and was very easy to carry. She carried him to her room and they lay on the bed together. She stroked his hair and told him it would be alright. He lay on top of her chest, his head buried in her shoulder, legs wrapped around hers. He didn't want to go back to school tomorrow. He didn't want to wake up tomorrow. She knew that too, but they both had to move on.