Chapter Text
“H-How long will that take?”
Dr. Michaels held a gun aimed at Peter’s heart, and shot with surgical accuracy. That was how Peter registered the man’s words, like a shot that pierced his sternum and flew through his heart.
“A few hours, maybe a day.”
Bang. The breath left Peter’s lungs and he couldn’t inhale or he’d sob. Spider-man didn’t know this woman, and he would have no reason to cry just for her . But Peter wanted to break down and wail. He didn’t look at Aunt May, and his voice cracked only a little. “What if we use it to cure someone right now?”
Dr. Michaels shook his head. “Then there won’t be enough to cure the others.”
Bang.
Peter glanced at the hectic mess on the ground floor of the shelter. All the people, sick and dying from the virus. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Even the constant agony of pain echoed distantly around his body. He couldn’t stop looking between the scattered mass and his Aunt. His responsibilities. He had to choose? He had to choose?!
The claw crushed him against the building; robbing Peter of his breath.
Dr. Michaels got up. “I’ll give you a few minutes,” he said as he left May’s office.
The antiserum bottle squeaked in his grip, and he had to look down and force his fingers to relax. He couldn’t break it, not now. Not after, everything he’d gone through to get it.
“I won’t let you win. This means too much to me!”
Aunt May shifted on the bed; awake then.
Spider-man-who didn’t know this woman, he had to remind himself- stepped closer, but Peter’s voice broke as he tried to comfort her. “You’re going to be okay ma’am. I’ve got the cure right here,” he said as he knelt down next to the bed.
Aunt May blinked up at him, complexion pale, skin waxen and eyes hollowed by black circles. “Take off your mask,” she said, her voice a weak rasp.
Spider-man drew back a little at that odd request, but her next words struck Peter worse than any blow Octavius had landed. Worse than the accusation of betraying the man he’d respected most.
“I want to see my nephew.”
Peter reached up and slid the mask off. He had to compose himself, before he could meet her eyes. “You knew?”
A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and she stared up at him, unblinking, as though she had to get her fill of him now or she’d never have another chance. “I’ve known for a while.”
Peter choked back a sob. He had to blink back the tears that blurred his vision. “I never wanted you to worry.”
“I did,” she said, shooting another pang through Peter’s breaking heart. “And I am so proud of you. And Ben would be too. All the people you saved.”
Peter grit his teeth, panic making his heart race. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted to her, hot tears rolling unhindered down his face.
She blinked at him and her eyes widened. Then her face softened, and she gave him the barest of smiles. “Yes, you do.” She broke into a coughing fit, turning away, clutching at her chest, and covering her mouth.
The blood that appeared on her hand drove him to action. Peter shot to his feet, fingers clenching the bottle. He stood before the bag hanging from the pole, the access port in his fist before he knew what he was doing. Then he did know what he was doing, and how could he do that to everyone? To MJ, (MJ!) who needed this vaccine or she’d be next. To Miles. Rio. Gloria. Robby. Betty. Even goddamn Jameson didn’t deserve to suffer from the Devil’s Breath virus. Save Aunt May at the cost of everyone else?
How could he do that to Aunt May? What would she think if he did that, even though it would be for her? If he saved her at the cost of everyone else in the city, would she hate him? Would it be worth it?
He ached with the need to save his only family member. Without Aunt May, why did Peter need to exist?
Spider-man wouldn’t sacrifice so many people to save one.
Only himself.
Letting go of the IV line was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Furious at the fates that laughed down at him, Peter slapped the bottle down, careful not to slam it. Careful not to break it, even in his anger.
Peter went back to his Aunt’s side. He dropped to his knees before her, clutching her hand, as he watched the life fade from her body. He sobbed then, harsh and scared. Aunt May’s EKG screeched, and it was like he was five years old again, and he’d been told that his mom and dad would never return.
What was he supposed to do now? What need was there for Peter now?
“Peter? Oh god, Peter.”
Mary Jane appeared at his side, her hands on his arm, his neck. She hugged him tight, then pulled at his shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Pete, but you can’t stay.”
He shook his head. No…
Don’t make him leave May.
“I know,” she said her words choked by her own tears. “You can’t stay, Pete. Spider-man can’t stay. Peter needs to be here. I’ll wait here for you, but you have to go.” Her head dropped to his shoulder, but she pulled him bodily away from the bed.
He let her. Let her shove his face into the mask. Let her push him toward the window. Let her shove it open. Then push him out.
“We need you here, Pete. Come back as soon as you can.”
Spider-man glanced back at her tear-stained face. At the still, lifeless body he’d left behind.
Mary Jane shut the window, pressing her hand against it, before she turned away.
Peter slipped on the wall. Spider-man never slipped. But Peter did. His fingers and feet couldn’t find purchase, and he dropped into the trash cans alongside the building.
He lay there, unable to move through the haze of pain all throughout his body. Everything ached, he couldn’t breathe without gasping. He couldn’t breathe without crying.
Aunt May was dead.
Peter sobbed into his arms lying among trash; body curled over his broken ribs, and the sharp pains in his gut. He couldn’t breathe.
He couldn’t stay.
What would they do to Aunt May if Peter didn’t return. Toss her into a mass grave with other unclaimed bodies?
No no. Not his Aunt May.
He couldn’t let that happen. Not to his Aunt May.
Even though he knew MJ would never allow that. He knew. But it wasn’t her responsibility, was it?
It was Peter’s. It was his.
Spider-man pushed himself to his feet, clutching at his aching ribs as they crackled inside him. His clothes were on the roof at the F.E.A.S.T. Center. He just had to get up there. Peter set his fingers against the walls, and climbed up. His shoulder ached where Octavius’s claw had impaled him, and the arm didn’t respond as it should. He ached everywhere. So much. So tired...
‘You look tired, Parker’
Spider-man’s chest heaved, despite the slicing pain it sent through him. He clung to the side of the building, as though it was the only thing holding him up.
The arms came after him, snatching him off Otto’s back and slamming him into the Oscorp building. He barely held the pincers away from crushing his face, and he strained in spite of the agony that spread through his chest. The metal was wet, slick, slippery fr om the pouring rain. He’d only just caught himself when they tumbled off the roof. He couldn’t keep a grip on the-
He screamed. Pain seared through him as one of the demonic claws bit through the shattered armor.
Octavius lifted himself into view, sneer on his face. “Oh, Parker. If you want to change the world. You have to be the kind of man to make the hardest decisions.”Octavius waved the antiserum in Peter’s face, sneer never leaving his lips.
Peter always had to make the hard decisions, though, right? This was no different.
Peter came to, with his face pressed against the soaked bricks of the shelter. Laying down. He didn’t remember climbing to the top of the building. He shook, the aftershock of his remembered battle pumping adrenaline through his battered body. The mask clung to Peter’s wet face, and he couldn’t breath through the clinging material.
Should have been faster. Maybe if he hadn’t fallen asleep after fighting the Vulture and Electro he could have made it in time. Oh god, why had he allowed that to happen? He shouldn’t have closed his eyes, not even for a second.
He could have been in time, if he hadn’t been an idiot.
Peter sobbed where he lay, unable to push himself up from the weight that rested on his shoulders..
Aunt May was dead, and it was all Peter’s fault.
He should have saved her. Let the world burn.
Oh god, no. Not that.
May would have hated him, if he’d made that decision for her.
Peter made all the hard decisions. Never in his favor.
He couldn’t breathe, his throat closed around every breath.
‘Peter, I saw you as a son. I should’ve known you’d turn on me. Just like all the others.’
Peter dug his fingers into the concrete surface of the rooftop. He needed to go back to Aunt May. He couldn’t let them toss her like yesterday’s trash. Not MJ’s responsibility. His.
His.
He didn’t know how he made it to the steps, but he knew he had reached them. Knew, because he crashed into the concrete, slamming into the jagged edges and sending a fresh wave of agony through his broken ribs. He couldn’t move any farther. Couldn’t rise to his feet. His body just, couldn’t.
He couldn’t make it to May. He’d failed her again.
Typical Parker luck. Can never save the ones I love. Not even as Spider-man.
Peter kept losing time. He knew someone had carried him inside, he caught flashes of Mary Jane leaning over him. He grabbed at her, had to make sure she was real. She was the only thing he had left, even if he couldn’t keep her. Keep her safe.
She didn’t want him to keep her safe.
But he could hold onto her now. It was all he had, after all.
~*~*~*~*~
Flames roared at Peter’s feet. He crouched on the pole, his shirt and pants clinging to him and leaving him freezing in the stinging rain. Not freezing. Burning. The rain burned through his mask and spider suit, erasing Spider-man.
Words roared in Peter’s ears, but he couldn’t make sense of their meaning. Instead they reverberated in the air pinging off the rain like a badly designed auditorium.
A monster clung to the side of the tower, roaring at Peter, as the tentacles writhed in rage.
The tentacles snapped at him, pincers sharp, and yanked Peter off his perch.
Peter was flying toward the tentacled monster (Not as much as it means to me!) His momentum threw the monster off the tower.
Except it was Aunt May who fell. Aunt May who landed broken and limp. Unresponsive to his screams.
Peter woke in a panic. And he couldn’t breathe.
He couldn’t breathe.
“Shhh, shh. It’s okay, Pete.” Mary Jane’s soft voice was the only thing that kept him from jolting upright.
Mary Jane meant he was safe. The vice on his chest relaxed, and Peter could breathe again.
He curled his fingers around the hand in his. He still ached everywhere. Still had trouble breathing, but more like his lungs were already full. He coughed, every spasm driving sharp knives into his sides; phlegm filling his mouth. Something metallic touched his lips, and he followed the soft order to spit out the disgusting mouthful of mucous.
Peter gasped, short shallow breaths after his coughing fit. His head having its own knives stabbing into it from the bright lights. “Oh, I feel awful.”
“Pneumonia. On top of all your other injuries.”
He squinted against the lights, and tried to bring her into focus. “MJ?”
Gentle fingers smoothed his hair back. “I told you I’d wait for you, didn’t I?”
He blinked at the ceiling, the hospital lights stinging his eyes. “I was hoping you’d say I had a nightmare.”
The fingers stopped, and her hand flattened against his forehead. “Oh, Peter...”
No…
He blinked, tears welling in his eyes. He brought his hand up- Oh... He brought the other hand up that didn’t have IVs stuck in his arm, to his face, instead. “Please tell me that’s all it was, MJ.”
Tell me my aunt’s alive.
“Pete,” Mary Jane put a hand on his cheek to wipe away his escaped tears. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could.”
He scrunched his eyes close against the lights against the pain. Against the knowledge. “I failed her, MJ. Like I failed Harry. And Uncle Ben.”
“Har- Pete, don’t be-” She stopped, and when she continued, her tone softened. “Sorry. You didn’t fail anyone. You did everything you could. Look at me, please.” Her hand pressed his cheek, forcing him to face her. “Please look at me, Pete. Don’t-don’t shut me out. Not now. Not after-”
The tears in her voice made his eyes open and he couldn’t help but look at her.
Tears streaked her cheeks, and her eyes were red from crying, and marred with dark circles as though she hadn’t slept. “How long…?”
“A little over a day. You’ve been really out of it.”
A day?
He sat up, even though Mary Jane tried to stop him with hands on his chest. “Where’s May?” Sitting up triggered another coughing fit. He clutched at his sides as every cough stabbed into him like knives pointed into his body.
Mary Jane pressed her lips together, but heaved a sigh. “In the city morgue. Waiting for you.”
“Oh.”
She still pressed her hands against his chest, trying to urge him back down. “Will you lay back down now?”
Peter obliged, letting Mary Jane ease his sore body back onto the thin mattress of the hospital bed.
She pulled her hand away, smoothing her fingers over his shoulder before she jerked her hand away, as though she realized the contact was too familiar for friends. Instead she went back to stroking his hair. The fingers of her other hand curled tightly around his limp hand.
Peter closed his eyes, exhausted. “Thanks, MJ.”
She nudged his cheek with her thumb. “What are friends for?”
“Tired.”
Mary Jane squeezed his hand, and ran her thumb over his eyebrow. “Sleep I’ll be here when you wake up. Promise.”
At least in the darkness, he didn’t feel pain.
Only the nightmares that his subconscious conjured up.
~*~*~*~*~
Mary Jane had been there when Pete woke up, as she’d promised, but she’d had to go to the Bugle and work. She’d apparently called in reinforcements to cover her absence because Rio showed up at some point.
Rio had brought a card and flowers, though she said they were from both her and Miles. Miles was working at the shelter, helping with the distribution of the antiserum with Dr. Michaels.
Rio sat at his bedside, her eyes knowing and sad, full of pity. She started the conversation, and when Peter couldn’t bring himself to answer, she talked about Miles, (a favorite subject from how she went on about his grades and his club activities.
Peter lay awake, aching in heart and body, but he didn’t look at her.
He’d cried when Rio came in, because lilies were Aunt May’s favorite flower. Rio hadn’t realized the cause of his tears, and Peter hadn’t been able to bring himself to voice the reason. Now he didn’t have any energy for any. Not conversation, not company.
He just wanted to get out of here and go…
Well, he didn’t know where he would go. He didn’t have a job anymore (was the lab even still there?). He didn’t have an apartment. He couldn’t ask to stay at MJ’s because she was not his girlfriend, and she was way too busy with work after the past couple of weeks for him to add to her burden. He knew where his suit was, at least.
Peter blinked the tears out of his eyes, because he had a suit, and that was all that was left to him.
“Peter,” Rio said, “you’re welcome to talk to me, if it would make you feel better. You don’t have to, but I’m here for you.”
Peter clutched at his ribs, suppressing the coughing fit that always felt like it would tear his body in half. Even so he managed to choke out an “I’m fine.”
Rio’s brows lifted, but she nodded her acceptance of his wish. “If you’re certain...”
Peter closed his eyes, and tried to feign sleep, but he’d been in the hospital bed for two days now, and was getting restless. Mary Jane was going to bring his change of clothes (so he didn’t walk around with a bloody shirt) and then he was going to discharge himself from the hospital. With everything still going on in the city and in the aftermath of Devil’s Breath epidemic, Peter figured they weren’t going to object. He couldn’t stay, he didn’t have, oh say Deadpool’s healing factor, but the doctors were sure to notice the difference a day or two made for him.
Leave the hospital, and-
Don’t look at the lilies.
He scrunched his eyes shut, unable to feign sleep as he remembered what waited for him out there.
Nothing.
Nothing, but a suit and his stupid, useless sense of responsibility, at least.
(... I’m so proud of you. And Ben would be too...)
“Peter?”
The concern that tinged Rio’s voice made Peter open his eyes again.
Her brown eyes regarded him, and she half stood from the chair she’d been sitting in. “Are you okay, Peter. You’re shaking?”
Peter nodded, but when that only made her brows furrow more and her lips thin to a nearly imperceptible line. “I’m okay,” he choked. Then he turned away from her and gave into that coughing fit he’d been trying so hard to suppress, which sent jagged knives all throughout his chest. When another clump of phlegm sat in the metal bowl on the bedside tray, and his chest stopped spasming, Peter looked up to see Rio regarding him quietly.
“Peter, I know it’s might seem too soon, but you shouldn’t bottle everything up. It’s not healthy, and you have people who are worried about you.” She paused. “I feel like you might have talked more with Miles than I’ve managed to get out of you. Even if it would have only been about whatever gadgets he was working on. He wanted to be here, but he knew how important the antiserum was to distribute.”
Peter turned away from Rio. He didn’t need to burden her with his problems, wasn’t getting MJ involved bad enough? He couldn’t even have told her everything. Couldn’t tell her how he had killed Aunt May, or how he had almost killed the city to save his Aunt. Talk? Like to a therapist? Even they couldn’t know Peter’s secret. “I’m fine,” he told her.
“I’m certain that you will be,” she replied firmly. “Mary Jane isn’t going to let you be otherwise. She’s a keeper, Peter. I understand that you used to date? Whatever fight you had must not have been that bad, if she’s willing to stand by your side at a time like this.”
Rio’s words did nothing to soothe the ache in Peter’s heart. Mary Jane didn’t want him, after all. He thought he understood why. But he couldn’t help himself, he’d always protect Mary Jane. Even when she didn’t want it. Knowing this only meant that Rio’s words twisted like the sharp stab of Fisk’s blade in his guts, the Vulture’s claws piercing his chest. He could try to protect Mary Jane, but would he end up letting her down as he had Aunt May.
Rio glanced at her phone and sighed. “I do need to get going. I really wish I could stay. I can have Miles reach out to you later. You just let me know if he pesters you too much.”
Peter blinked at that, and frowned, his brows furrowed. “Miles isn’t a bother.” He would never want the kid to think that.
Rio’s forehead wrinkled with the height her eyebrows lifted. “That’s good to hear. I’m sure I won’t need to encourage him to call you.” She squeezed Peter’s shoulder. “You call me if you need anything, sweetie. I’ll let Mary Jane know that I’m leaving and I’m sure she’ll be back as soon as she can.”
“You don’t have to-”
“Mary Jane doesn’t agree with you. And I think she’s right. You shouldn’t be alone, right now, Peter.” Rio glanced at her phone again, her lips pressed together. She clicked her tongue and left. Which left Peter in the hospital room, with the lilies sitting on the table next to his bed.
He rubbed at the edge of his eyes with a thumb and forefinger, but couldn’t stop the tears.
Aunt May was dead.
He hadn’t just let her die: he’d killed her.
Peter inhaled between his teeth in a deep breath, cut off by another coughing fit. He couldn’t stay. He needed to get out of here.
Peter started pulling lines out of his veins and peeling wires off his body. . He wouldn’t have been leaving with prescriptions anyways, and he had no idea how he’d handle the hospital bill either. So he had no real reason to stay.
The nurses argued, but couldn’t stop him, not really. He got his clothes from them and walked out of the hospital. He’d swung with worse. Pneumonia was no stranger to him, either.
He needed to do something.
Getting his suit was a start.
~*~*~*~*~
“Peter if you don’t turn your ass around and check back into the hospital, I will hunt you down and beat you senseless.”
“Are you screening your calls? Not cool. You couldn’t have waited four more hours? Goddammit, why can’t you make anything easy for me?”
“Pete, please call me back or text me? Please! I’m really worried about you.”
“You got your suit? Seriously? God, your priorities are so skewed. You are so dead when I find you.”
If this were me disappearing like this, you’d have grabbed me off the street and swung off with me. Don’t deny it! - MJ
Not even one word, just to let me know you’re okay? :( - MJ
Peter clicked the phone screen off, and stuck it in his pocket. He’d found May’s key in his pants when he’d put them on. Then realized he did have somewhere to go.
So he went to Queens.
He’d been standing outside his Aunt’s town home for fifteen minutes. The tinny yard needed to be trimmed, and the flower box stood empty for the coming winter. His shirt didn’t do anything to keep the cold out and the bloodstains earned him long stares from passersby. He’d forgotten it was November. He hadn’t wanted to put the costume on, even with its built in heater. He couldn’t. Not yet.
Spider-man had failed to save the person who meant everything to Peter.
Tears pricked his eyes, and he didn’t want to start crying in the middle of the street.
So he went inside.
It was like coming home.
Better, honestly. His apartment was always a mess, and had become a source of stress trying to keep the place from falling apart around him, and the constant hassle of keeping rent up to date. To keep the electric and water on. To keep the heater pumping because the landlord would take forever if Peter waited on him to fix it. May’s home had always been a sanctuary from Peter’s day to day, even when he was a kid, then a teen learning how to be a superhero.
He shut the door, and the sound echoed in the empty room.
Suddenly home seemed a lot darker than he ever remembered. Bereft of its soul. The warmth. Robbed of May Parker.
Oh god, this had been a mistake.
He collapsed onto the couch, buried his face in his hands and broke into the tears he had been resisting in the hospital, heedless of the ache that bloomed from his ribs, of the coughing fit that tore into his throat between sobs.
~*~*~*~*~
Green wings cast a shadow over the F.E.A.S.T. Circling, always circling.
Peter could see the shadow through the walls of the building, knew when those giant wings passed over him like a jolt down his spine. Peter wandered F.E.A.S.T.’s empty hallway, drawn to the stairwell in the corner.
He stumbled over Gloria on the stairs. Dead. But she glared at him accusingly with her vacant eyes.
Hodges was on the next flight of stairs and Ernie at the top. All of them stared at him, and hissed their accusations, whispers in his ears that didn’t move their dead lips.
He stumbled over Mary Jane next to May’s office. He wanted to scream, that he hadn’t meant for this to happen. Wanted to shout his denials.
‘You got ‘em, tiger,’ she whispered, ‘all of them. Your fault.’
Peter dashed into May’s office.
She didn’t look up from her work on the computer. She didn’t look up until he stood next to her desk, and was reaching out for her.
Her eyes snapped up, but they were dead eyes, accusing eyes. “Look what you’ve done, Peter,” she hissed.
The Vulture smashed through the roof and sank his claws into Peter’s heart. He hauled Spider-man up and showed him the dead city. The whole while the Vulture laughed at Peter’s arrogance.
P eter sat up when someone knocked at the door. He blinked, looking around the dark room. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep. The evening had changed to morning at some point. He’d spent hours last night trying to find the warm soul of the house, the familiar comfort that meant home. He’d spent the other hours wrapped in a nightmare of rage and hurt, lost on a cold, rainy night, or holding the cold hand of the person he loved most.
BOOM BOOM BOOM
Someone sounded a little angry.
“You’d better open up if you’re in there, Peter!”
Oh.
Peter got to his feet and went to open the door for MJ, stretching the tingles out of his neck. The short trip t o the door left him breathless, and his knees weak. His skin crawled from the back of his neck down to the hand that turned the door handle.
He caught the fist she threw at his face. Then the other one.
“You jerk!” She yanked her hands free of his grip, and then threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him. “Don’t do that again, Pete, please! I was so worried you’d disappeared on me.”
Peter wheezed from her impact. He broke into a n explosive coughing fit, his knees sagging against Mary Jane. Even in the midst of hacking his lungs he could see of her tear streaked face. Her tears made him want to cry, too. Or maybe that was the sharp pain in his ribs. He couldn’t stop th is round of coughs, his hand over his mouth.
Why was he always such a disappointment to everyone?
Mary Jane yanked herself away with a startled gasp, staring up at him, her face stricken. “Oh my god, Pete. I’m so sorry. Are you still hurting?” She grabbed his shirt, like she was going to yank it up, but then she froze.
She’d seen the apartment behind him.
“Wh-” Mary Jane let go of his shirt and stepped past him.
Coughing fit over, or at least suppressed for the moment, Peter took the opportunity to close the door, gently at odds with the tangle of emotions that raged inside of him. He turned to follow Mary Jane’s path through the apartment with his eyes. He didn’t look at what caught her attention, he already knew what she’d find.
“What happened-” she turned and broke her question off. She headed back to where he stood. “Pete, do you want to sit down?” she spoke slow, cautiously, her eyes never leaving his.
He followed her ginger touches that guided him to the couch and obediently sad down.
He didn’t look at the dining room. He didn’t want to see the wreck that had become of the table and chairs.
She sat down next to him, and took his hand between hers, squeezing so that he would look at her. “Why did you come here?”
He stared at her. “Shouldn’t I be here?”
Mary Jane squinted at him. “Considering that when I popped by your apartment it was actually clean. By which I mean cleaned out, and the door had been ripped off the hinges. You okay?”
He flinched from her question. Okay? “I just needed to take care of- A-a-and the apartment, is, well...”
“Got ransacked by lowlifes during the crisis no doubt? You gonna need any help getting your stuff back again?”
Peter blinked and shook his head. “No. No. I’m not worried about that. Got the most important things. Probably going to just stay here for a while. Get things straight. You know?”
Mary Jane’s eyes traveled over Peter’s shoulder, to the dining area “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Peter’s eyes dropped to MJ’s hands over his and he shrugged, pulling at the . “Why not?”
Mary Jane squeezed his fingers again, her eyes flicking over the apartment. “I don’t like that you’re by yourself. Here. By yourself.” She took a shaky breath. “So, when’s the last time you ate?”
Peter’s sluggish thoughts had to process before he could come up with a proper response. “Um.” Great going, brain.
“Right.” Mary Jane bounced to her feet. “Let’s see what’s in the kitchen.”
Peter sat back, tapping his fingers against his knees as Mary Jane bustled around Aunt May’s kitchen. Exhaustion had settled into his bones from just walking to the door and back again
He could almost imagine that it was May working on… whatever meal it was. He didn’t even know what time it was. Peter figured it might be a good idea to fix the dining room table, or May would be- Oh. Right.
A hand touched his shoulder, and pulled him into tender arms. Mary Jane held him as he cried; he hadn’t even realized he’d started crying until his head rested on her shoulder, and she clutched his shirt in her fists.
He became aware at some point of her wet cheeks against his neck, her hair brushing his face. Peter sat up, wiping at his eyes. “S-sorry.”
Mary Jane handed him a tissue from her bag. She used another on her own face and blew her nose. “You know, I seem to remember something being said about us being friends, and that not all baggage is bad. I’m here for you, Pete. Cry on my shoulder anytime, really.”
From the look on her face, the smile he tried for didn’t quite come across.
“So she had sub rolls, and deli meat and cheese so I made a couple of heroes.” She got up and brought the plate back, handing him one of the subs. “What happened to the table, and the chairs?”
Peter fiddled with the sandwich in his hand. He could smell the mustard on the bread. May always put mayonnaise on it, forgetting he started preferring mustard during college, instead. Mary Jane always remembered. “They, uh, broke?”
She furrowed her brows. “On their own, huh?”
“Um. Yes?”
She snorted. “Okay. So, I know this is hard for you, but have you thought about what you need to do next?”
Peter still hadn’t taken a bite out of the sandwich, his stomach gurgled, but he didn’t really feel hungry. “Next?”
“The funeral? Are you going to bury May? Um, and there’s all her stuff, what are you-” she broke off, and touched his hand. “Hey. I’m sorry. Take a deep breath, Pete. We can deal with one thing at a time. That’s fine.”
Peter set the sandwich down, trying to remember to breath. In. Out. He ran his hand through his hair. “Ugh. I don’t-”
“Shh. Let’s start with burying Aunt May, okay? I’ll help you.”
Mary Jane did just that, pulled out her laptop and had him call a funeral home and make arrangements.
Peter wouldn’t have known what he would have done without her.