Peter hugged the picture close to his chest and looked back toward the street. Quite suddenly, the cold didn't bother him. His heart pumped and his limbs buzzed with a sudden need to get far, far away.

This wasn't right.

This was all wrong.

He had the picture back, but who left it for him? How had they known?

His thoughts jumped back to Aunt May's house. It was him and the two officers in the room when he mentioned how much this picture meant to him. But had they truly been alone? Could someone else have been there the whole time?

Or, his eyes widened. Had it been one of the officers?

"You'll get it back," the male officer had said, so assuredly, "If it means that much to you," Peter thought he was just being polite. The officer consoling the concerned citizen. But was it something else? Peter didn't even know the man, didn't even remember his name, why would he be lurking outside his window?

Peter's stomach dropped at the reminder and he looked up at his apartment. They were watching him in his sleep. Something had been flashing. A quick succession of light that was familiar, somehow.

He climbed the fire escape back to his apartment and crouched in front of the window in the exact position the peeping tom had been. From here he had a perfect view of the bed. A perfect angle to watch himself sleep. His eyes flickered to the nightstand where his camera lay on its side.

He might throw up.

They were taking pictures of him. That's why the flashes of light were so familiar. It was the flash of a camera.

Someone was watching him at night and taking pictures of him in his sleep.

Someone robbed him and took his bed. Aunt May was robbed and they took her photos. Now that Peter was thinking about it, all the photos that were stolen had him in them.

Rattled, Peter locked the window behind him, something he never did. He and Wade went in and out of this window so often, it seemed ridiculous to lock it. Now, Peter didn't even feel better with the latch tightly clasped. He drew the curtains over it as well, taking care to make sure there were no cracks to peek through, and turned on the light.

His mind was still racing, blood pumping in such a rush he could hear it in his ears. This couldn't actually be happening right? There was no way. A small part of his brain was trying to rationalize its way out of it. This couldn't be what he thought it was. It had to be something else. Maybe he was mistaken.

But his gut told him this wasn't a mistake. And his gut was usually right.

He scrambled for his phone at the nightstand and punched in a number from muscle memory. He didn't even realize it was Wade's number until he heard Wade's obnoxious voicemail, "You name em' I maim em, press 1 for your friendly neighborhood Deadpool. Press 2 for your resident ass-hat Wade Wilson. And Press 3 if you wanna press my buttons, and you may only press my buttons if you're my boo. I'm probably dying in a ditch right now, so call back later ya nasty."

"Hey, Wade," Peter said after the beep, and the sound of his own rattled breathing over the server startled him. "Um, so...I think someone's been watching me. I...I just saw someone outside the window. They got away before I could see who, but...but I think they were taking pictures? I don't know, um...I guess I'm kind of freaked out," he laughed shakily, "Yeah, um...I know, it's kind of funny, right. Me, Spider-Man, freaked out over something like this. But, uh...do - do you know when you're getting back?"

Why was he doing this? This was ridiculous. He was Spider-Man, for crying out loud, he didn't go crying for help just because he was a little spooked. He's fought people worse than one stalker. Hell, he's beaten up stalkers before. This wasn't any different just because HE was the one being watched. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror next to the closet, at his pale face and wide eyes. Suddenly feeling like an idiot, he laughed again, awkwardly, "I'm...I'm sorry, I don't know why I called. It's ridiculous. I can take care of this easy-peasy lemon squeezy. I think it just rattled me a little, you know? Don't worry. Call me when you can. I'll update you when I catch this perv. Haha, okay. Bye. Love you."

He closed the phone and pinched the bridge of his nose.

He shouldn't feel as unnerved as he did. He's fought the likes of Venom, and Goblin, and even a literal demon from time to time - so why did this make his hands shake? Why did his stomach feel like it was rolling over itself? This was nothing compared to the fights he's had.

He was being ridiculous.

The phone was a small weight in his hand. He debated calling the police. That would be the first step to catching this loser, and it's what any sane person would do. He could pose as the civilian and give them a report, and actually get someone on this case.

Feeling more awake than he had all night, he paced the floor, fingers hovering over the buttons. He wasn't used to calling the police, not unless it involved someone else or because someone expected him to call them and he couldn't avoid it without looking suspicious. Calling the police wasn't a necessity for him, he could handle almost anything that stumbled into his life. Anything that he could punch at least.

His pacing brought him around the room, and in front of the closet. That's where all his Spider-Man gear was. All his extra suits and the supplies he needed for his web-shooters in a box on the top shelf. All of Wade's Deadpool gear was in there too, and it was a lot more than what Peter had. Guns, and clips, and knives, and weapons, and spare suits, and so, so many things that would get Peter arrested on the spot if it was found in his apartment - unlicensed and unregistered. They'd probably assume he was a terrorist or something.

He would need to find somewhere else to store them, but where? He didn't have the money to rent out a storage space, and Aunt May would loathe to have them in her house (although if she had a gun in her possession, it might help Peter sleep better at night). MJ might be willing to keep a hold of them, but there was the matter of transporting them, and making sure they were hidden in her apartment, and by then it might be too late to call the police.

Peter shook his head. No, it was too much of a hassle, especially for something he could handle on his own. If it got worse, he could call them. Even better, if the Avengers made it back from their mission in Wakanda, he could drop by and give Tony Stark a ring. They've met several times over their superhero career's and Tony might consider it fun tracking down a stalker with his expensive over-the-top magnifying glass.

Running a hand through his hair, Peter exhaled slowly and allowed his muscles to unwind. He was just startled, that's all. He didn't expect to wake up to that, but now that he was level-headed and calm, he wasn't as panicked. He'd just need to take extra precautions. Make sure the doors and windows were locked at all times, keep an eye out for anyone shady lurking in the building, be careful going out as Spider-Man -

His eyes widened. Oh fuck, what if they saw him go out as Spider-Man? Was that the reason he was being watched? A quick sweep of the room told him that none of his gear was in sight, but then again, just the other day hadn't he been tossing his costume around like an excited drunk?

"No," he told himself, knitting both of his hands behind his neck and pushing his head down to battle the swoop of anxiety, "Don't think about that now. Don't think about it. Don't think about it." Another succession of deep breaths calmed him. He could think about this in the morning. The stalker was gone, and he had work, and he'd think about this in the morning.

He kept the phone clutched tightly to his chest as he bundled the blankets around himself. The curtains were firmly shut and his bedroom door locked, but he didn't feel like turning off the light, so he kept it on and hid his face between the blankets and the mattress to block it out.

But as much as he tried, as much as he twisted and turned trying to get comfortable, he didn't get much sleep that night.