Keeping his composure after the near-electric shock that Aunt May's touch had sent ricocheting down his spine was no easy task. Peter had been contending with his spider-sense for years, and never, not once, had being around his aunt elicited so much as a twinge. It was as if all of his senses had kicked into high gear, and the sounds were deafening -- the scrape of his daughters fork as she tried to push her peas into the center of the plate, the gentle clinking of the ice against the side of MJ's water glass as she brought it to her lips to take a sip. All the while, he could feel Aunt May's green eyes fixed on him over his shoulder, glinting with a hint of concern as she cut the chicken breast that had been placed in front of her.
It was MJ's voice that broke him out of his daze, the cacophony of sound that was arising from the table lowering to a tolerable din. Once more, she was his light at the end of the tunnel - the beacon to bring him back to reality. Something about champagne. It was fitting - he had closed a gargantuan deal with Oscorp earlier that would set their family up for life. May's college tuition would be paid for in full before she even graduated from pre-K. Peter allowed himself to sink into his chair, raising his hands up to rest at the back of his neck for a moment as he pressed his thumbs against the base of his skull where a dull headache had begun to take hold. Eyes curiously watched as Mary Jane floated back into the room, bottle in hand. "The hard stuff," he commented with a small smile, allowing his arms to drift back to his sides as he watched her pour a small amount into his daughter's cup. "Careful there, Mayday, you have class in the morning."
Any other day, he probably would have caught on faster. The wheels in his mind were already turning as he watched her pour the cider from the bottle into the glasses, the small bubbles popping to the surface as his daughter clapped her hands at being included. No alcohol. No champagne. The extensive math and science background that he had under his belt completely failed him at that moment, and MJ uttered the words before he had time to react. This was everything that he ever wanted. Every piece of every dream he had ever had, all compacted into one perfect moment. The second the words fell from her lips, the room began to throb with an unseen energy. "I..." he began, pushing his chair away from the table as his fingers raised to his temples. The headache that had begun to take hold had just cranked to an eleven and his body was on fire, every nerve from his scalp to his toes was firing at once. While his spider-sense had gone haywire before, this was on an entirely different level.
It was wrong. This was wrong. The picture of his daughter, the deal with Oscorp, his Aunt, his wife. And then it began to click. Small details that he had let slide in hopes that maybe, just maybe, he had everything he had ever wished for. Peter had never driven a Civic. His wife's hair smelled like lilacs, not lavender. And Aunt May - her eyes were brown, not green.
"This is wrong. This isn't real." Wide eyes were shut tight, fingers pressing against his lids in an attempt to wake himself up. "Is this a dream? This is a dream. Wake up, Pete."