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Peter thinks nothing of it when May forgets the date of Ned’s birthday. After all, it wasn’t as if Ned was her nephew, like Peter was. Plus, dates were easy to forget, most of the time.
Peter thinks nothing of it when May forgets to make dinner one day. It’s not that uncommon for people to forget about dinner when they’re stressed out about work, after all.
Peter thinks nothing of it when May forgets where she put the keys. He often forgets where he puts his own keys. It’s normal to forget small things.
He thinks nothing of it when she keeps on forgetting dates, when she keeps on forgetting about meals, keeps on forgetting where she’s last put her stuff.
In hindsight, he should’ve noticed the signs.
“May? I’m home!” Peter pulls off his earbuds whilst he closes the door behind him. He throws his backpack to the side, having done his homework earlier that day.
May doesn’t respond, which, odd. He scrunches his eyebrows and makes his way through their apartment to the living room, only to find it empty. His spider-sense isn’t tingling, but even so, he feels unease walking through his own home.
“Peter? Is that you? Could you come to your room, please?” May shouts from his room. Peter instantly feels better at the sound of her voice, and swiftly gets to his room to greet May.
“What’s up?” he says as he enters, smiling slightly.
May isn’t smiling, though. She’s looking as serious as can be, a frown etched upon her face.
“What is this?” she asks him, her voice shaking slightly. She’s holding his… Spider-Man suit? She’s holding it up for him to see. The way she’s holding it, though… it seems as though she’s scared of the suit.
Peter looks at her confused, and huffs out a small laugh, “What do you mean?”
“I mean; what is this. Stop deflecting, Peter.”
She’s dead serious. Peter’s heart drops to the bottom of his stomach.
“May… you’ve known about the suit for months now… what are you talking about?”
She lets out a small hysterical laugh, “Peter, quit fucking with me and tell me the truth. What the hell is this?”
“May…”
She’s got to be pranking him, that’s all. It’s an elaborate prank, that’s all. It’s not something else. It’s not. It’s not.
Still, he can’t help but take the prank seriously.
(It’s a prank, he tells himself. It’s got to be. It has to be.)
And so, he pulls out his phone. He quickly finds what he’s looking for and shows her. What he shows her is a picture, dating to only a few weeks ago. May is holding an arm around Peter in his suit, looking as proud as can be, whilst Tony Stark looks at them with a wistful smile.
“See? You already knew about- uh, about it.”
May doesn’t say anything. She just holds his phone, holds it so hard that her knuckles turn white.
“Is- is this the part where you say surprise? Pranked you? Right? Because- this was a prank, right? Right? Aunt May?”
Then, she says three words she has only uttered once before. Words she’d uttered only after finding out about the truth about Peter’s internship.
“Call Tony Stark.”
“I’m sorry, Pete.”
Tony is the one to break the news to him.
(It should make it easier, that someone closer to him than the doctors are, is the one to tell him.)
(Somehow, it just makes it worse.)
“It’s in the early stages, still, but… May’s got Alzheimer’s disease.”
(She’s only 53)
(She’s too young for this.)
(She’s only 53)
May sits on the other side of the parting glass in a hospital gown. The dull color washes her out; it makes her look old. Older than she’s supposed to look.
(She’s only 53)
“The MRI scan… there’s little doubt about it. I’m so sorry.”
Sorry doesn’t make everything okay, Peter wants to yell. Sorry doesn’t fix anything. Instead, Peter chokes out, “Is there- is there anything we can-”
The look on Tony’s face makes him stop mid-sentence. Peter bites his lip. He doesn’t stop biting down until he draws blood, and Tony places a hand on his shoulder and says softly, “Don’t bite off your lips.”
The hand on his shoulder is the last straw. He breaks down, and when he tries to fold in on himself, he feels Tony’s arms around him.
(“That’s not a hug, I’m just grabbing the door for you.”)
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Peter chokes, hugging Tony back tightly. He feels Tony exhale.
(This one is a hug.)
“I know, kid. I know.” he whispers into his hair.
(She’s only 53)
“YOU CAN’T DO THAT!”
“Peter-"
“No. NO. I won’t allow it. I- no. We can fix this. We can fix this. We can-”
Peter feels his throat close up, feels the tears in his eyes before they fall. He swallows, tries to force the tears away. The last thing May needs is a crying teenager in her hands, Peter thinks.
“Oh, bug,” May gives him a sad smile, “Come here.”
His restraint snaps so easily, despite his efforts to keep himself together for her. For May. It snaps, just like that, like an elastic being stretched too thin. It’s not like he wants to be a sobbing mess. He doesn’t.
Peter just can’t help it. He can’t help it, when his tears fill up his eyes, blurring his eyesight, salty to the taste. He can’t help it when he clings onto May, as if he were the one dying.
Peter doesn’t want to lose his mind, his sanity. Peter doesn’t want to lose her. Peter wants to keep it together but finds that he can’t.
(Who could, when they were losing the only parent they had left?)
She holds Peter close, like any mother would. She caresses Peter, like any mother should. She kisses Peter, like any mother could.
And then it hits him. She is his mother. His aunt might not be his mother by blood, but she is his mother in every way that counts. She’d watched him grow up. She’d taught him how to be good, how to do good. She’d shown him the good, the bad, the ugly about life. She’d told him about life; not only the great, but also the hard truths.
(The hard truths about death)
May lets him sit in her lap, cradles him like a small child. He can’t help but feel smaller than he is. He’s losing another parent, and there’s nothing he can do but feel small.
“It’s my choice.” May’s lips are on the top of his head when she speaks. He can feel her breath there, too, uneven and ragged, as if she’d been running a marathon.
“Why?” he murmurs. At this, she sits up straight. She puts two fingers under his chin, and she softly tilts his head up, so she can look Peter in the eyes.
Her eyes make her seem younger, Peter thinks.
(That thought doesn’t really help, though. After all, she’s still 53.)
“Did I ever tell you about my uncle Horace?” May asks in a soft voice. Peter shakes his head, no. He hadn’t. He’s not too sure where this conversation is going, but he’s damned if he won’t let May reminisce whenever she can.
“He used to be around a lot, when I was your age. I remember he used to be so cool. I loved it whenever he was around. And then, one day, he started to forget. Just like me. I don’t know for sure whether it was the same condition I have, or something else, but… oh, sweetie. What I do remember? He begun to change. Drastically. The man I used to know wasn’t the same, Peter, and that was only after a year… after a few more years, he’d never remember my name, or who I was, whenever I visited him.”
“I- oh.”
Oh.
“I don’t want you to go through that, Peter. I don’t want to go through that. I want to die knowing you.” She softly says and bumps her leg against his.
“But- you’ll be dead. Dead. It’s just…”
“Yes, I’ll be dead. That’s sort of the point of assisted suicide, bug,” she jokes, but the joke falls flat. May sighs, “But at least I’d die happy.”
Peter is silent for a moment whilst he lets the words she’s just said sink in. And she’s right, in her own right. She’ll die happy, Peter thinks. That’s all he’d ever wanted for them. For them both to be happy.
(Shouldn’t that be enough? Isn’t that enough? It should be enough.)
I’m selfish, Peter thinks. Selfish because he doesn’t want her to die, even if it meant her forgetting who he was.
(Selfish, selfish, selfish)
Peter breaks the silence as he tenderly asks her, “You would? Die happy, I mean?”
She smiles softly, “Of course. Having raised you, who wouldn’t?”
Peter can’t sleep.
He hasn’t slept for days, really. He just lays awake at night, tries to keep his mind blank, just so he can feel peace he hasn’t felt in a long time.
Peter tries to close his eyes, but each time they close, he sees May, dead and unhappy, dancing before his eyes. Dead and unhappy because of Peter, because he’d gone against her wishes, and made it so she’d forgotten him. He sees May, her youthful eyes and aging skin, motionless on the floor in front of him.
I need a distraction, Peter realizes one night. He sits up, not being able to fake sleep anymore. He looks around the room that was supposed to be his, back when his biggest problem was whether he’d become an Avenger or not.
(“Tony is offering us to stay at the compound for a while.” she’d told him one day, explaining that she’s too poor to afford treatments and MRI scans on her own. “That’s- that’s fine, I guess,” he’d responded, because he was not about to deny her the help she needed.
And that had been that.)
He goes to the kitchen, because he figures that he should get something to eat instead of distracting himself on an empty stomach.
(He’s still not sure what he’ll do to distract himself, but as long as he keeps himself occupied, he should be fine.)
(He’s fine.)
(He’s fine.)
As soon as he enters the kitchen, though, he sees Tony making himself some coffee. It’s easy to see that he hasn’t slept much either. There are dark circles looming under his eyes that rival even Peter’s. His stomach turns in on itself when he thinks about Tony staying up, looking for something to help Aunt May’s condition.
Tony looks up from his coffee with a surprised expression, “Peter? What are you doing up so late- wait, what time is it? FRIDAY?”
“It’s currently 4 AM, boss.”
“Yeah, just like I thought. Shouldn’t you be in bed, kiddo?” Tony says whilst he furrows his eyebrows.
“Yeah, I should probably be in bed…” Peter trails off, and he knows he wants to say something more, but he finds that he can’t bring himself to do so.
Tony, though, is luckily not only a genius when it comes to science; he’s also incredibly perceptive when it comes to people. And so, Tony says gently, “You were about to say something else. Go on.”
“I can’t sleep,” Peter mumbles under his breath.
“What? You’re gonna have to speak up, kiddo, not everyone has super-hearing.”
Peter takes a deep breath, “I can’t sleep. I can’t, not since… not since… May, and, y’know… the thing. The, uhm. Yeah. And I can’t help but feel like everything’s my fault, y’know? Because I should’ve noticed sooner, and maybe she would’ve been better off with someone else as their nephew, because I keep thinking that she shouldn’t go through with the- with the-” Peter splutters out, and he feels so embarrassed, because he can’t speak properly, and he’s a mess, he’s a burden, and he feels so small.
(It hits him, then, that he is, in fact, still a kid. He’s a kid who’s losing their fourth parent.)
“Oh, Pete.”
And in one swift motion, Peter feels a pair of arms around him, giving him warmth and softness. Peter hadn’t realized he’d been craving it on his sleepless nights, not until now. Peter sinks into the hug, shuddering slightly.
“Kid, I know there’s a lot you can do, especially since you’ve got the whole spider-power-thing going for you. But, in this situation? There’s only so much you can do. There’s only so much we can do. And none of this is your fault, it never has been. And I’m pretty damn sure that May wouldn’t want anybody else but you, because despite the fact that you can be a pain in the ass sometimes because of your lack of self-preservation, you’re a great kid. The best there is, frankly. So, don’t feel bad for not wanting her to go away – it’s what any kid would’ve wanted.”
His words are softly spoken, but it doesn’t make Peter feel like a baby. It makes him feel loved, and the warmth from Tony’s embrace makes his chest, his heart, feel that warmth.
Peter lets out a small puff of air, before he mumbles, “Thank you for being here, Tony.”
Tony doesn’t comment on the fact that he’s calling him Tony for the first time, and simply responds with, “Anything for you, kiddo.”
To lighten the mood, Peter mumbles into Tony’s neck, “Is this one a hug? Are we there yet?”
And, to Peter’s surprise, Tony huffs out a small laugh, “Yeah, this one’s a hug. I think we’re way past being there.”
Peter smiles into his neck, and although he can’t see it, he’s pretty sure Tony is smiling too.
“I’m in love with the shape of you – we push and pull like a magnet do…”
She’s lounging on the couch, listening to the radio. It’s been a long time since she’s turned on the radio.
When Peter was younger, and when Ben was still around, she’d always turn on the radio. She’d sometimes dance to the beat, happily and cheerfully. And Ben would always complain about the same songs being played over and over. But May would just laugh, and she’d tell Ben that he was only complaining because he was an 80-year-old man trapped in a 50-year olds body. And then Peter would laugh, which in turn made Ben laugh.
(Peter misses those days the most. The days when they were all happy, despite Peter’s tragic reason for staying with them.)
“Although my heart is falling too – I’m in love with your body…”
May scrunches her nose, like Ben used to do, and says, “God, will they ever stop playing that song? I swear, it’s been on the radio for more than a year. It has, hasn’t it? It should be illegal, to let a song be on the air for that long. Jesus.”
Peter is balancing a huge bowl of popcorn and two smaller bowls of ice cream; so, when he laughs slightly at May’s exasperated expression, he nearly slips up and lets it all fall to the floor.
Peter yelps, and then lets out a huff, “What’s the point of having amazing spider-powers if I’m still gonna be clumsy!”
May bursts out laughing, and after he’s put down the bowls on the coffee table, he takes one look at May’s expression before he joins in on the laughter.
And suddenly, he’s reminded of the times when he was younger, back when she used to dance and sing in on the kitchen tiles, whilst Ben watched her with an adoring expression on his face. He’s reminded of nights they’d sit together, all three of them, watching TV until one of them fell asleep.
He’s reminded of happiness, and he’s reminded of the fact that soon, it’ll all be gone.
“What’re you thinking about, bug?”
Peter blinks. He didn’t even notice that he’d stopped laughing, too far gone in a memory that used to be their everyday life.
He plops himself down on the couch next to May, “Just… us. And Ben. I was thinking about when you’d put on the radio, and he’d always complain about-”
“-about the songs being pretty much the same all the time.” May finishes his sentence for him and smiles fondly at the memory.
“God… Those were the good days, huh?” she says, holding her arm up so he can snuggle himself closer to her. Peter hums in agreement, and feels himself sink into her side, her warmth and her scent filling his heart with familiarity.
Suddenly, she lets out a small laugh, “Hey, do you remember when you used to sing? You’d always know all the words to every song on the radio.”
Embarrassed, Peter presses his face against her side, feeling himself blush, all the way from the tips of his ears to his fingertips.
“’dunno what ‘r talkin’ ‘bout” his voice is muffled when he speaks, and he can practically feel May laugh at his reaction before she actually does so.
She doesn’t laugh, though. Instead, she says matter-of-factly, “I don’t know why you’re being shy. You were actually quite good, if my memory serves me right. Ben always used to say that if you didn’t become a scientist, you’d most definitively have a shot as a singer.”
Peter slowly lifts his head from her side, “He did?”
May nods, “He did. And so did I.”
Peter doesn’t know what to respond to that, so he doesn’t. He just stays there, by her side, listening to the beat of her heart and her uneven breathing.
“What are you thinking about now?”
The ‘what are you thinking’ used to be a thing Ben always did. He’d always ask both of them. He’d say that it was the best way to get someone to talk, without them feeling pressured. He’d say that communication was the key to any good relationship – and asking about one’s thoughts was always a good way to start.
When Ben died, May had taken it upon herself to continue the sentiment. Peter hadn’t appreciated it’s worth with Ben.
He makes sure to appreciate it with May, now.
“Just that you- you’ll be gone. Just like Ben. And you won’t be here, with me. You’ll never be here with me again, and I just…”
May tilts her head slightly, “I’ll always be with you, Peter. And as long as I’m remembered by you? Well, then I’m not truly gone.”
When he doesn’t respond, May says, “Capisce?”
“I- yeah. Capisce.”
They let the songs on the radio fill their silence. After a moment, though, May breaks the silence.
“Indulge me?”
“I-” but then he casts one glance at her face, and sees her eyes shining in a way they hadn’t done for a long time. And so, he just says, “Got a song in mind?”
He sings for her, late into the night, cuddled up with her on the sofa. She hums happily along with his singing, enjoying every second for what it was worth.
They both fall asleep, head to head, to the sound of ‘Hearts don’t break around here’.
Peter’s heart breaks on a Thursday.
It begins when May walks into the kitchen, a confused look on her face when she says, “Excuse me?”
“S’up?” Peter answers sleepily, rubbing the sleep off of his eyes.
“You wouldn’t be able to tell me where I am, would you sweetie?”
Peter goes silent. Sweetie. She never calls him sweetie. It’s always Peter, Pete, bug, bug-boy, kiddo; but never sweetie.
Sweetie was reserved for young strangers.
No. No. No. This can’t be happening, this can’t be- no. Please, please, please.
“Hello?”
“…May?” he croaks. The hairs on his neck shoot straight up – he’s never had that happen around his aunt before.
(She’s only 53.)
“What- how do you know my name?”
He trembles, feels the trembling in his core, to the deep roots if his entire being. The trembling can be felt in his heart and his mind, shaking, trying to wake him up from a nightmare he’s desperate to escape from.
Except it wasn’t a nightmare. It was real. May was here, and so was Peter. May was here, and to her, Peter wasn’t. May was here, but soon, she wouldn’t be.
(“I want to die knowing you” echoes in the back of his mind. Did he fail her? He failed her. He failed May. He’d always be a failure, always fucking up his family.)
“FRIDAY- can- can you-”
“Alerting boss right now, Mr. Parker.”
Peter doesn’t let himself fall to the floor, anxiety brimming in his bones, until after he sees Tony barge into the room, help in tow.
That night, he cries himself to sleep, the words of unfamiliarity filling his head.
(She’s only 53.)
Where will I go after she’s gone?
It’s a thought that invades his mind at night, unbidden as thoughts often are. The thought slithers up there, fills up his bleak and colorless world, and it festers there. It sleeps there, sleeps even though he doesn’t.
Peter feels shitty, allowing his own brain to think such thoughts. But then again, it’s not like he can help it. He wonders, often, what will be of him once May is gone.
(Selfish, selfish, selfish)
Where will he live? Who will be his guardian? Will he still go to Midtown?
Will he still be alive?
(He’ll always be alive. He’ll live, live to see everyone he loves disappear.)
(Such is the curse of Peter Parker.)
His questions are answered one night, when he’s tiptoeing to the lab after another sleepless night.
Peter stops in his tracks when he hears his name uttered by his aunt. His interest only peaks, though, when he hears that the person she’s speaking to is Tony.
Peter’s pretty sure he isn’t supposed to be hearing this conversation, given that they’re speaking to each other on a school night at midnight, but he doesn’t care. They’re talking about him; Peter thinks he deserves to know.
Peter can’t hear them clearly from where he’s standing, so he swiftly jumps up into one of the vents, and crawls to be on top of where they are. He tries to make as little noise as possible. As he adjusts himself to make himself more comfortable, he notices the ceiling vent.
Now, not only can he hear their conversation; he can see it, too.
“- been thinking about that, actually.”
“Oh? Wait- I don’t know why I just acted like I was surprised, because of course you have been thinking about that. Christ.” Tony drags a hand down his face, and scoffs at himself.
May looks away from Tony, her gaze fixture on her own hands, “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. About who is going to take care of him after I’m gone… I want you to be his guardian.”
Silence fills the space between Tony and May. Peter’s heart is beating hard against his chest. The beats are loud, so loud he’s afraid they’ll hear it and discover him in the vents.
(A nasty voice tries slithering up in his mind, squeezing and prodding at the part of Peter’s thoughts that thinks he’ll be left alone in the world.)
“I- you want me to what?!”
May sighs, and then pats the seat on the sofa next to her, indicating for Tony to sit down. He does as he’s told, because he promptly sits down, no further questions asked.
May places her hand over his, “You might not believe it- hell, I didn’t even believe it at first. But… you’re like a father to him, Tony. He looks up to you, he listens to you, and he cares about you. And most importantly? You care about him just as much, if not more.”
Tony seems to be out of words to say, because he stays silent. He’s still looking intently at May, and Peter can hear him swallow hard. Peter can hear his heartbeat, fast and uneven, and his breathing rugged and unsteady.
(Is it beating fast because of fear? Or is it beating fast because he doesn’t want Peter?)
(At least it’s beating.)
“I’m not trying to-”
Tony cuts her off, firmly stating, “I’ll do it.”
May breathes out in relief, smiling slightly. She doesn’t let go of Tony’s hand; instead, she squeezes it lightly, and tells him in earnest, “Thank you.”
Tony coughs, “I hope you understand that I’m not gonna be a perfect guardian. I’m gonna fuck up. I’m probably gonna fuck your kid up, actually, so maybe it’s-”
May takes a deep breath, before she promptly interrupts, “Tony. I need you to listen to me, and I need you to listen closely.”
Her words manage to shut Tony up quickly. May continues, “You’re not gonna fuck my kid up. How do I know that? Because you’re already kind of like his parent, and you haven’t fucked up. At least, not majorly. As a parent, you’ll always fuck up once in a while, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to fuck him up. And, I know for a fact that you’ll always do what you believe is best for him.” she tells him with a fierce look in her eyes.
“Am I wrong?” she challenges him to say otherwise.
Tony just stares at her. He neither nods nor does he shake his head. It’s strange to Peter, that a man who is usually so loud and self-assertive is now so quiet.
And with that, she stands up from where she’s seated. Tony may get the most words in in a conversation, but May always drops the microphone. She looks at her watch and says, “It’s getting late. I think I’m gonna head to bed.”
“Right.”
“We’re gonna have to talk more about this tomorrow, just so we’re on the same page.”
“Yeah.”
“Goodnight, Tony.”
“Night, May. Don’t let the spider-bugs bite you in your sleep!”
As soon as May leaves, Tony lets out a huge breath of air. He runs his fingers through his hair and looks up at the ceiling.
“I’m so not cut up for this. I’m gonna fuck the kid up. Shit. Fuck. Fuck!” Tony says under his breath shakily. Peter scrunches up his nose. Tony fucking up Peter? Yeah, no. You can’t fuck up someone who’s already fucked up, Peter thinks.
Tony’s muttering increases, and Peter finds that he can’t stay in the vents for much longer, listening to Tony’s incoherent and incorrect muttering. He crawls to the exit and slides out of the vent with ease. He carefully walks to the doorway, and stands there for a few seconds, unsure of what to say.
In the end, all Peter says as he’s entering the room is, “She’s right, you know.”
Tony nearly jumps at the sound of his voice. He whips his head around, and still startled, Tony exclaims, “Peter? Jesus, you don’t sneak up on an old man like that!”
Peter snorts, “You’re only old when it suits you, and you know it.”
At that, Tony snorted. Then, all of a sudden, Tony narrows his eyes whilst he says “Wait… Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping? I’m pretty sure it’s way past your bedtime, kiddo. Is this becoming a habit? Am I gonna have to monitor you now? Because I will do it. In fact - FRIDAY? I want you to inform me any time Peter’s out of his room past curfew.”
“Noted. Do you want to place this protocol under the Spider-Baby Protocol?”
“Yeah, do that. And you still haven’t answered me, Spider-Baby. Babies your age need sleep, you know.”
Peter waves off his remark about bedtimes, “That’s not important right now- because I… I just wanted to let you know that… that I already see you as a father figure. Just thought you’d want to hear it from me personally, so… yeah. I’ll- I’m gonna go- uh, yeah.”
Peter doesn’t even take in Tony’s reaction to his words, before he continues, “Also, for what it’s worth? I don’t think you’d, uh, mess me up. And… and yeah.”
Peter runs off before he gets to hear what Tony has to say, spluttering out, “Goodnight, Tony! Love you!”
Before he runs off, though, he doesn’t miss the small smile that creeps up on Tony’s face.
Peter’s intrusive thoughts are quieter when he tries to sleep that night.
(He silently thanked a higher power, in which he did not believe, for the small mercy.)
Peter used to dislike Thursdays.
May had forgotten about Peter being Spider-Man on a Thursday. May had forgotten who Peter was on a Thursday.
Then, she got her appointment for her assisted suicide on a Thursday.
Now, he hates Thursdays.
(They were cursed, Thursdays. There’s a pattern there, a pattern he’s too scared to look into.)
(Parker Luck, Ben would call it.)
(Parker Luck, when your Dad dies. Parker Luck, when your Mom dies. Parker Luck, when your Uncle dies. Parker Luck, when your Aunt dies.
Parker Luck, when you’re the only one left.)
She sits there, on the hospital bed, with a peaceful expression on her face. May doesn’t seem sad in the slightest. In fact, Peter would go as far as to say that she looked slightly relieved.
(The nasty voice returns, chants in his head, ‘she’s relieved because she’s finally getting away from you’, over and over and over.)
The doctor turns to May, and tells her, “Alright, so you already probably know the process. But, it’s standard procedure to tell the patient, regardless of whether or not they know the process.”
May nods, and the doctor continues, “The process is quick and painless. It’s almost like falling asleep, really, since we’re gonna use two different injections. The first injection is a sedative. The second one is the lethal injection. You’re also free to back out of this if you want at any moment before we give you the sedative.”
The doctor watches her intently, lets her take it all in, before the doctor kindly asks her, “Any questions or last words?”
May breathes out, “Yes. Can I get a few words alone with Peter, please?”
“Of course, Mrs. Parker. Call us when you want us back inside.”
They all leave the room instantly; even Tony. He casts them a last glance before he closes the door behind him.
It’s quiet now, only the sound of a monitor and their heartbeats filling the room.
“Hug me?”
Peter all but falls into her arms, not sure what he’s supposed to say. He revels in her warmth and her embrace, trying to keep his tears at bay. He’s pretty sure they just sit there, clinging onto one another, for at least five minutes.
(Five minutes isn’t enough. It’s never gonna be enough.)
“I love you.” Peter tells her, and he doesn’t realize he’s choked up before he speaks. He doesn’t say anything else, because he knows that if he does, he’ll sob uncontrollable tears.
(I can cry later, he thinks. May needs me to stay strong for her. I can cry later, he thinks, but he’s already been crying for months.)
“I’m gonna let go of you now, bug, okay? I want to look you in the eyes when I tell you that I love you.”
May slowly disentangles herself from Peter but keeps her grip firmly on the sides of his arms. “Here goes…” she takes a deep breath.
“Peter, I love you. Even when I’m gone, I want you to remember that. I also want you to remember that you are my son. And having you in my life has been the best thing that has ever happened to me. In my wildest dreams I couldn’t even imagine that you would’ve grown up to be this good of a person.”
She smiles at him, despite the fact that she’ll soon be gone. And she speaks slowly, despite the fact that their time together is quickly running out.
“You are the best parts of your father, your mother and your uncle Ben all rolled up into one amazing person.”
Peter lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in, and tells her, “And you. I’m part of you, too.”
May’s eyes are glassy now, too. She opens up her mouth, then shuts it again. She does it several times, before she finally says, “You have such a good heart, Peter. I want you to hold onto that. And I want you to know that I’m proud of you. Not only because of Spider-Man, but also because of who you are. Do you understand me?”
Peter just nods and bites his lip. He doesn’t speak, because he knows that she’s not done speaking just yet.
She continues, “You’ve got so much power, Peter. And, like Ben used to say… with great power comes great responsibility. And I just know you’re going to do everything in your power to do the right thing. Promise me you’ll never lose sight of that, Peter. Promise me you’ll never lose sight of doing the right thing.”
“I promise. I promise.” A few tears manage to escape when he makes his promise to May, but she doesn’t comment on it. She squeezes his arm gently, and nods at his promise, satisfied.
“Now, c’mere. Hug me like you mean it, damn it!” she jokes, but Peter doesn’t laugh. He just gives her a weak smile before he does as he’s told. He wraps his arms around her, clings onto her like a newborn baby clings to its mother. He mumbles into her neck, “I wish we could stay like this forever.”
She’s got her fingers in his hair, gently detangling it, “Me too, bug. Me too.”
Not long after, May lets everyone inside the room once more. After they’re let in, everything seems to go very methodically. They ask Peter to sit in the chair next to May’s bed instead of on the bed with her and get their equipment ready.
May’s hand holds onto Peter’s, fingers intertwined.
They first inject her with the sedative. Peter’s eyes don’t leave May’s, and he watches as she mouths the words I love you for the last time.
Her eyes slowly close, and soon, they’re entirely closed. The hand that had been holding onto Peter so firmly slowly loses its grip.
The doctors wait another minute before they get the other injection ready. They tell Peter to retract his hand.
He obeys silently.
(It feels like he’s waiting for an eternity, waiting for the now inevitable death of his last living relative. It feels like he’s waiting for a heartbeat, waiting for the now inevitable death of his last living relative.
It feels like time is slowing down all around him, like he’s stood there, waiting, watching, for a century. And yet, it also feels like it’s all happening so fast, too fast.)
They inject her with her death.
Peter listens to her heartbeat. It’s slowing down, no longer uneven and fast paced like it used to be.
And then, an exhale.
The monitor flat-lines.
Peter just looks at her, his heart beating fast. Thud, thud, thud. His heart goes against his ribcage, trying to leap out of his chest.
(Her heart isn’t beating at all.)
(It’s over.)
(She’s gone.)
(Gone. Gone. GoneGoneGoneGoneGoneGone. GONEGONEGONEGONEGONEGONEGONEGONEGONEGONE.)
She looks like she’s sleeping. With her face relaxed and her eyes closed like that, she looks about ten years younger.
Peter stretches out, reaches to touch her face. Her body lays there, still and silent. His fingertips ghost her face, touching her but not really. His breath feels shallow, like he can’t get enough air into his lungs.
His stomach begins to tingle. It doesn’t tingle the way it does when he’s got butterflies in his stomach. It tingles in the way it does before he’s about to throw up. He feels sick, and the tingling spreads throughout his entire body. It spreads to his throat, closing it up, and it spreads to his skin.
It spreads to his heart, and his chest suddenly feels tight.
He feels himself shake, and he feels the world blurring at the edges. Everything sharp is suddenly blurry, and his vision is too.
“May,” he breathes out.
She doesn’t respond.
(How can she, when she’s gone? Gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone)
“May,” Peter breathes out again, “May. I- we shouldn’t have done this. We- we could’ve fixed this. We should have- no, no, no. Wake up. Wake up!”
Peter doesn’t touch her. Touching her would make it real. Touching her meant feeling her. And feeling her, meant feeling no heartbeat drumming underneath his fingertips.
So, Peter doesn’t touch her. He just says her name, over and over, like a mantra.
He doesn’t touch her. Until he does. And when he does, it’s all real, she really is gone, her heartbeat can’t be felt anymore, doesn’t beat anymore. He doesn’t know he’s hugging her, holding her close to him, before he hears Tony’s voice speak to him.
“Peter,” Tony’s voice seems distant. Tony doesn’t try to pry him away from her body. Instead, he softly holds his hand over Peter’s, and gently tells him to let her go.
“It’ll be okay,” Tony softly tells him, “Let go. It’ll be okay.”
“No,” Peter lets out a shuddering sob, “No. I can’t- I- I can’t-”
“It’ll be okay,” Tony repeats, “Let go, Peter.”
Peter lets go.
(She was only 53.)
The night before her funeral, Peter doesn’t sleep. He stays awake, looking up at the ceiling, tears streaming down his face. A few weeks ago, he would’ve sobbed, with ugly hiccups and heavy breathings. Now, though, his crying is silent.
(Silent, like the beat of her heart after she died.)
Time passes, and soon, the sun brightens up his room with soft streaks of light.
He hates it. He hates the stark contrast between the somberness he’s feeling inside, and the weather outside.
May would’ve loved the nice weather, Peter thinks. She also would’ve loved to be alive. You did this. You’re the reason she’s gone. You could’ve prevented this. You should’ve ran away when you had the chance. You’re cursed. Cursed, cursed, cursed-
His train of thoughts comes to a stop when he hears a soft knock on the door. Peter stays silent. He doesn’t need to say anything, because Tony opens the door anyways. He takes one look at Peter, and tells him, “You didn’t sleep last night.”
Peter doesn’t respond.
Tony walks over to him and sits down on the bed next to where Peter lays. He runs his fingers through Peter’s hair, ruffling it up slightly and then smoothing it down again, “You don’t have to do this today. We could postpone it until tomorrow, if you want. Pepper is already used to me rescheduling everything, so she won’t get mad. Well, she’d be mad at me, but never at you.” He tries to joke, but his tone isn’t quite there.
It’s the mention of postponing the funeral that makes Peter snap out of his silence.
He swallows hard, before he says, “No, I… I can do it. Just… it’s… you’ll be there, right? With me? I don’t think- I don’t think I can do this alone.”
Tony looks him in the eyes when he tells him, “I promise you, I’ll be there.”
And Tony keeps his promise. He handles everything with ease. He makes Peter breakfast and makes sure he eats. He helps when Peter gets dressed in his black suit, helps him with the cuffs and his tie.
(Peter tries hard not to think about May helping him with his tie, on homecoming night. He tries, and fails)
He softly asks Peter whether he’d changed his mind about a closed casket.
(He hadn’t. He doesn’t think he can handle seeing her like that, lips colorless and the warmth of her skin gone, replaced by the paleness that was death)
He lets Peter pick the vehicle they’re gonna drive in to the funeral.
(He picks the most inconspicuous one – black and sleek, like his funeral suit)
He stays close and tells him that whatever Peter wants on the somber day, he’ll get.
(Peter just wants Tony, though. He wants Tony to be there, grounding him, keeping him from floating away to somewhere far away.
Peter’s already got everything he wants that day.)
(Except May.)
The car ride is spent in silence. It’s almost as if Tony is at Peter’s wavelength about everything. Usually, he’d blast AC/DC in his car loud enough to be heard from another continent. Today, though, the only sounds that can be heard in the car are their heartbeats and their breathings.
When they arrive, they’re the first ones there. They wait for people to show up, and soon, the place is full of May’s old friends and colleagues.
People offer their condolences, telling Peter about what a wonderful person May had been. As if I didn’t know that already, Peter thought almost angrily.
And then, it’s time for his speech.
He’ll never tell anyone, but he’s been thinking about his funeral speech for years. He’d realized, after Ben was gone, that life was precious and short. And so, he’d prepared his speeches mentally for everyone around him. He’d thought out speeches for his friends, his favorite teachers, more recently his mentor – and, most importantly, his Aunt.
(He’s not proud of it. Maybe that was the reason she was gone – the universe had heard his words about her death and deemed it her faith.)
Peter took a deep breath, before he looked at the crowd. I can do this, he thought. I will do this. For Aunt May.
And so, Peter speaks.
“Aunt May once asked me what I thought life really was, not long after my Uncle Ben died. I told her, like the kid that I was – and still am, to be honest – that life was like a doughnut. I told her that with the intention to recite a joke, to make her laugh. She never let me finish that joke. Instead, she told me that life is the inevitability of hard times, which we survive only because of the moments of joy in between. And she told me that I was her joy,” Peter swallowed, feeling the tears rising in his throat, “She was my joy.”
Peter looked down at his shaking hands before he continued, “And now, I guess… now comes the inevitable. The hard times.”
(She was only 53.)
“I guess I just want to say… thank you, Aunt May. Thank you for raising me, for being the best mother I could have asked for. Thank you for teaching me kindness and love. I don’t know where or who I would be without you, and I- I-”
Peter’s breath hitched slightly as he let out a small sob, before he finished his speech, “I love you, Aunt May. Always have, always will.”
He gets off the podium in a rapid speed, ready to fall and sink into the arms of someone he trusts and loves. And luckily for Peter, Tony is right there, ready to pick up his broken pieces. And really, that’s all Peter needs for now.
After, when the casket has been lowered and people have left, Peter forces himself to look away from where his Aunt now rests, 5 feet under.
Peter looks at his mentor with tears in his eyes, and asks him softly, “Will I be alright?”
Tony looks at him intently with his prudent eyes, and sighs before he puts his arm around Peter’s shoulder. Peter leans his head on Tony and listens to his heartbeat and words.
“I think, after some time, you’ll be alright. Not perfectly so – that’s kind of impossible. Trust me, I know all about that. But you’ll be alright, yeah. You’ll learn how to deal and cope. And I’ll be there with you every step of the way, kid."
Peter casts one last glance at May’s grave, before they turn around and says, “Yeah. I think you might be right.”
I hope you’re proud of me, May. And I hope you’ll be proud of who I’ll become.
“Hey May,” Peter says, smiling softly as he sits down on the green grass. “I’m sorry it’s been a few days since I’ve been. School’s getting very busy, and Tony’s actually letting me help him more in the lab with his suits. I know you don’t mind, but I still feel like I owed you an explanation.”
He’s looking down at his hands, because it’s always sort of difficult to look at it. He takes a deep breath. You can do this, he thinks. You’ve done it a hundred times before, he thinks.
And yet, it never got easier.
Peter looks up.
May Parker
Born May 5th 1965
Died September 19th 2018
‘She taught us love’
Peter clears his throat and lets the few tears that are rimming up his eyes fall.
“I asked MJ out yesterday,” he continues speaking to her as if she were there with him.
(“I’ll always be with you, Peter. And as long as I’m remembered by you? Well, then I’m not truly gone.”)
“She flipped me off. Of course, she said yes straight afterwards. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile that much, ever.”
“Which reminds me… I heard this song yesterday - MJ showed me, actually - and it reminded me of you. I cried, when I heard it. Tony told me to turn it off, since it made me so- so emotional. But I didn’t. And I told him that sometimes you just need to cry, y’know? To let everything out. To let yourself be reminded. Because I don’t want to forget. You didn’t want to forget, and I get that now. I do.”
“You would’ve loved it. The song, I mean. You always loved Ed Sheeran. Or, at least his earlier stuff…” he takes a deep breath.
“You always loved it when I sang… so I’ll sing. For you. Don’t worry, I haven’t changed that much. I’m still shy about, uh, most things? Most things only you knew about me, that is. I’m all alone – not even Tony is here right now. Although, he’s been here for me most days. He’s only gone when he needs to be. You’d be happy about that, I think- no, actually, I know. I know you’d be happy about that. He tells me he loves me nearly every day, which I know you never told him to do – but he does it anyways, and I know you’d be happy about that. Anyways- the song- I’ll- yeah, I’ll put on the, uh, the instrumental.”
And so, Peter sings.
“Things were all good yesterday… and then the devil took your memory.”
FIN