Chapter Text
Three months after May's funeral, Peter woke up and didn't immediately feel like he was drowning.
It was a small thing, barely noticeable at first - just the absence of that crushing weight on his chest, the one that had made every breath feel like work. He lay in bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling of his room in the penthouse, and realized that for the first time in months, his first thought wasn't about how much it hurt that May was gone.
His first thought was that he was hungry, and he wondered if Tony had remembered to buy more of that fancy granola Peter liked.
The guilt came immediately after, sharp and familiar. How could he think about granola when May was dead? How could he wake up and not immediately feel that overwhelming grief?
But then he heard Dr. Vaughn's voice in his head, patient and steady: Healing doesn't mean forgetting. It means learning to carry the weight differently.
Peter took a deep breath and got out of bed.
The medication had helped. He'd been resistant at first, worried about feeling numb or disconnected, but Dr. Vaughn had been right - it didn't take away his feelings. It just made them manageable, turned the volume down enough that he could function, could think, could start to heal. He still had bad days, days when the grief felt as fresh as it had in those first terrible weeks, but they were becoming less frequent. And more importantly, he was learning how to navigate them.
He'd been seeing Dr. Vaughn twice a week for the past two months, and slowly, painfully, he was starting to understand that May's death wasn't his fault. That loving people meant risking loss, but that didn't make the love any less worthwhile. That he couldn't control everything, and trying to do so was only hurting himself.
The self-harm had stopped. It hadn't been easy - there were still moments when the urge crept up on him, when the anxiety got too loud and he wanted that release, that control. But he'd learned other coping mechanisms: calling Tony or Dr. Vaughn, going for a walk, holding ice cubes in his hands until the urge passed.
It wasn't perfect. But it was progress.
Peter pulled on a hoodie and padded out to the kitchen, where he found Tony already awake, hunched over a tablet with a cup of coffee that had probably gone cold an hour ago.
"Morning," Peter said, and his voice sounded almost normal.
Tony looked up, and something in his expression softened. "Morning, kiddo. You sleep okay?"
"Yeah, actually." Peter opened the pantry, relieved to find the granola where it was supposed to be. "You?"
"Define 'okay.'" Tony took a sip of his coffee, made a face, and set it down. "I got maybe four hours, but they were quality hours."
"You need to sleep more."
"You sound like Pepper."
"Pepper's smart." Peter poured himself a bowl of granola, added milk, and sat down across from Tony. For a moment, they just existed in comfortable silence, and Peter marveled at how far they'd come. Three months ago, he'd been barely functional, pushing Tony away, convinced he didn't deserve help or comfort or love. Now he could sit here and eat breakfast and have a normal conversation, and it didn't feel like a betrayal of May's memory.
It felt like living.
"So," Tony said, setting his tablet aside. "I was thinking."
"Dangerous."
"Hilarious. I was thinking," Tony continued, ignoring Peter's smirk, "that maybe it's time we talked about you going back out there."
Peter's spoon paused halfway to his mouth. "Out where?"
"You know where." Tony's gaze was steady, searching. "The suit's been sitting in your closet for three months, Pete. And I'm not saying you have to, not if you're not ready, but...I think maybe you might be."
Peter set his spoon down, his appetite suddenly gone. He hadn't put on the Spider-Man suit since before May died. Hadn't even looked at it, really. The thought of being Spider-Man again felt impossible, trying to save people when he could barely save himself felt impossible.
But lately, he'd been feeling the pull. The itch to swing through the city, to help people, to be more than just Peter Parker, the kid who was grieving. He'd been seeing news reports of crimes he could have stopped, people he could have helped, and the guilt was different now - not the crushing, suffocating guilt that had defined those first few weeks, but something quieter.
"I don't know if I can," Peter admitted. "What if I mess up? What if I'm out there and I freeze, or I'm not fast enough, or -"
"Then you come home and we figure it out," Tony said simply. "Pete, you're not going to be perfect. You're going to make mistakes. But you've always made mistakes - that's part of being a hero. Part of being human." He leaned forward, his expression serious. "I've watched you these past few months, and I've seen you fight like hell to get better. You've done the work. You've faced things that would break most people, and you're still here. Still standing."
"Barely," Peter muttered.
"Barely is enough," Tony said firmly. "Barely is more than enough. And I'm not saying you need to go out there tonight and take down a crime syndicate. I'm saying maybe you could start small. Patrol a few blocks. Help someone with directions. Get used to the suit again."
"May always worried about me when I went out."
"Of course she did. She loved you." Tony's voice was gentle. "And I’m gonna be worried about you too. I probably won’t breathe until you’re back, so get ready to do CPR when you’re back."
Peter huffed a laugh, then nodded slowly, not trusting himself to speak. After a moment, he picked up his spoon and took another bite of granola, chewing mechanically while he thought.
"Okay," he said finally. "Okay, I'll try. But just a short patrol. Nothing crazy."
Tony's smile was bright enough to light up the room. "That's my boy."
•••
That afternoon, Peter stood in front of his closet, staring at the Spider-Man suit like it was a relic from another life.
In a way, it was. The person who'd worn this suit three months ago had been different - still whole, still naive enough to believe that if he just tried hard enough, he could keep everyone he loved safe. That Peter had been shattered by May's death, broken into pieces that didn't quite fit back together the same way.
But maybe that was okay. Maybe he didn't need to be the same person he'd been before. Maybe he could be someone new, someone who'd been broken and put himself back together, who carried his scars but didn't let them define him. He couldn’t remember exactly how he’d felt after Ben, but he remembered it being bad. And he’d gotten back to himself, eventually. That could happen again, couldn’t it?
Peter reached out and touched the suit, the fabric familiar under his fingers. He thought about May, about how she'd always made him promise to be careful, to come home safe. How she'd patch him up after bad nights, her hands gentle even when she was scolding him for being reckless.
"I miss you," he whispered to the empty room. "May, I miss you so much."
The grief rose up, but it didn't pull him under. He let himself feel it, let the tears come, and after a few minutes, he wiped his eyes and took a deep breath.
"I'm going to be okay," he said, and he almost believed it. "I'm going to keep going. For you."
He pulled the suit out of the closet and started getting dressed.
•••
Swinging through the city felt like coming home.
Peter had forgotten how much he loved this - the wind in his face, the city spread out below him, the freedom of movement that came with the webs. For the first time in months, he felt like himself again. Not the broken, grieving version of himself, but the core of who he was: Peter Parker, Spider-Man, someone who helped people because he could, because it was the right thing to do.
He kept the patrol short, just like he'd promised Tony. Helped a lost tourist find their hotel, stopped a bike thief, rescued a cat from a tree. Nothing dramatic, nothing dangerous, but it felt good. It felt right.
As the sun started to set, Peter found himself on top of a building in Queens, looking out over the neighborhood where he'd grown up. Where May had raised him. He could see their old apartment building from here, and the sight of it didn't hurt quite as much as he'd expected.
He sat there for a while, watching the city lights flicker on as darkness fell, and he felt something shift inside him. Not the absence of grief - he didn't think that would ever fully go away - but the presence of something else. Hope, maybe. Or peace. The understanding that he could carry May with him, could honor her memory, without letting the grief consume him.
"I love you," he whispered. "I'll always love you."
Then he stood up, shot out a web, and swung toward home.
•••
Tony was waiting for him when he got back, trying and failing to look casual as he pretended to read something on his tablet.
"How'd it go?" he asked, and Peter could hear the carefully controlled concern in his voice.
"Good," Peter said, pulling off his mask. "Really good, actually. I helped some people, stopped a bike thief, saved a cat. Very heroic stuff."
"A cat," Tony repeated, his lips twitching. "Truly, you are the hero New York deserves."
"The little girl was really happy," Peter said defensively, but he was smiling. "It felt good to be out there again. Felt like...I don't know. Just felt good."
Tony set down his tablet and stood up, crossing the room to pull Peter into a hug. Peter stiffened for just a moment, but then he relaxed into it, letting Tony hold him.
"I'm proud of you, kid," Tony said quietly. "You know that, right?"
"Yeah," Peter said, his voice muffled against Tony's shoulder. "Yeah, I know."
They stood there for a moment, and Peter felt something settle in his chest. This was family. Not the family he'd been born into, not the family he'd lost, but the family he'd chosen and who had chosen him back. It didn't replace what he'd had with May - nothing ever could - but it was real and solid and his.
"Hey, Tony?" Peter said, pulling back slightly.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For everything. For not giving up on me, even when I was...you know. A mess."
Tony's expression softened. "Pete, you were never a mess. You’re grieving. There's a difference." He squeezed Peter's shoulder. "And I'm never giving up on you. You're stuck with me now, whether you like it or not."
"I like it," Peter said, and he meant it.
•••
The next day, Peter went back to school properly for the first time since May's death.
He'd been attending sporadically over the past few months, showing up for tests and important assignments but mostly keeping to himself, avoiding his friends, going through the motions. But today felt different. Today, he walked through the doors of Midtown with his head up, ready to actually engage instead of just survive.
Ned spotted him first, his face lighting up with a smile that was equal parts relieved and cautious. "Peter! You’re here!”
"Hey," Peter said, and he managed a smile back. "How's it going?"
"Good, yeah, good. I, uh -" Ned shifted his backpack, looking uncertain. "I wasn't sure when you'd be back again. You've been kind of...absent."
"I know." Peter felt a pang of guilt. He'd been so wrapped up in his own grief that he'd completely shut out his best friend, had ignored Ned's texts and calls, had pushed him away when Ned had only been trying to help. "I'm sorry, Ned. I've been a terrible friend."
"No, man, you've been grieving," Ned said quickly. "I get it. I just...I missed you, you know?"
"I missed you too." He'd been so isolated for so long that he'd forgotten what it felt like to have friends, to have people who cared about him just because they did. "Want to sit together at lunch?"
Ned's smile was bright enough to rival the sun. "Yeah, definitely. MJ will be there too. She's been worried about you."
Peter nodded, his stomach twisting with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. He'd pushed MJ away too, had been short with her when she'd tried to reach out, had avoided her concerned looks and careful questions. He owed her an apology, owed both of them more than he could probably ever express.
But he could start by showing up. By being present. By letting them back in.
At lunch, Peter found Ned and MJ at their usual table, and he hesitated for just a moment before walking over and sitting down.
"Hey," he said, looking at MJ.
She looked up from her book, her expression carefully neutral. "Hey."
"I'm sorry," Peter said, the words tumbling out before he could second-guess them. "I'm sorry for pushing you away, for being an asshole, for ignoring you when you were just trying to help. You didn't deserve that."
MJ studied him for a long moment, and Peter forced himself not to look away. Finally, she closed her book and set it aside.
"You could never be an asshole, Peter. You were hurting," she said simply. "I get it. But you scared me. You scared both of us." She glanced at Ned, who nodded. "We didn't know how to help you, and you wouldn't let us try."
"I know." Peter's throat felt tight. "I wasn't in a good place. But I'm getting better. I'm in therapy, I'm on medication, and I'm actually dealing with everything instead of just...pretending it's not happening." He managed a weak smile. "I'm not saying I'm fixed or anything, but I'm trying."
"That's all we wanted," Ned said, reaching over to squeeze Peter's shoulder. "We just wanted you to try."
MJ nodded, and something in her expression softened. "We're here for you, Peter. Whatever you need. But you have to let us in, okay? You have to actually talk to us instead of shutting us out."
"I will," Peter promised. "I am. Starting now."
They ate lunch together, and it felt almost normal. Peter told them about living with Tony and Pepper, and Ned caught him up on everything he'd missed at school, and MJ recommended a book she thought Peter might like. It wasn't the same as it had been before May died (Peter didn't think anything would ever be quite the same) but it was good. It was real.
It was a start.
•••
Two weeks later, Peter stood in front of May's grave for the first time since the funeral.
He'd been avoiding it, he knew. The thought of seeing her name carved into stone, of confronting the physical reality of her death, had been too much. But Dr. Vaughn had gently suggested that visiting might help, that it might give him a sense of closure, or at least a place to direct his grief.
So here he was, standing in the cemetery with a bouquet of daisies clutched in his hands, trying to figure out what to say.
"Hi, May," he started, his voice barely above a whisper. "I, uh. I'm sorry it took me so long to come here. I wasn't ready before, but I think...I think I am now."
He knelt down and placed the flowers in front of the headstone, his fingers tracing over her name.
May Parker. Beloved Aunt. Forever in our hearts.
"I miss you," Peter said, and his voice cracked. "I miss you so much it still hurts sometimes. But I'm doing better. I'm actually doing better, and I think you'd be happy about that." He smiled through his tears. "Tony's been taking care of me. He's kind of terrible at it sometimes - he forgets to sleep and he lives on coffee and he thinks ordering takeout counts as cooking - but he's trying. And I love him for it."
The words surprised him, but once they were out, he realized they were true. He loved Tony. Tony had become family, had stepped up when Peter needed him most, had refused to give up even when Peter had been at his worst.
"Pepper too. She - she runs the company now, so, she's away a lot, at like meetings and conferences and stuff. But whenever she's back, she makes time for me. She, um, she reminds me of you. She does that thing when she gets home, where she takes off her shoes and gets on the couch and wiggles 'til she gets comfy, and it's like - it's like seeing you come home after a twelve hour shift all over again."
He pauses to take a deep breath, fingers twisting gently in the strands of grass beneath him.
"I went back to being Spider-Man," he continued. "I was scared at first, but it felt right. You always supported me, even when you were terrified I'd get hurt. You believed in me." He wiped at his eyes. "I'm going to keep being Spider-Man. I'm going to keep helping people. Because that's what you taught me; to use what I have to make things better, to be kind, to care."
He sat there for a while, just talking to May. He told her about school, about Ned and MJ, about the new Thai place Tony had discovered that made the best pad thai Peter had ever tasted. He told her about Dr. Vaughn, about the medication, about the hard days and the better days and everything in between.
And slowly, the tightness in his chest began to ease.
"I'm going to be okay," Peter said finally. "It's going to take time, and there are still going to be days when I'm not okay, but overall...I'm going to be okay. And I'm going to make you proud, May. I promise."
He stood up, brushing the dirt off his knees, and took one last look at the headstone.
"I love you," he whispered. "Always."
Then he turned and walked away, and with each step, he felt a little bit lighter.
•••
That night, Peter found Tony in his workshop, surrounded by the organized chaos of half-finished projects and holographic displays.
"Hey," Peter said, leaning against the doorframe.
Tony looked up, his face smudged with grease. "Hey, kid. What's up?"
"I went to see May today. At the cemetery. I asked Happy to stop there on the way back from school."
Tony's expression shifted, becoming softer, more careful. "Yeah? How was that?"
"Hard," Peter admitted. "But good, I think. Like, it hurt but I sort of felt better after. Does that make sense?"
"Perfect sense." Tony set down whatever he'd been working on and gave Peter his full attention. "You doing okay?"
"Yeah." Peter walked into the workshop and sat down on one of the stools. "I've been thinking a lot lately. About May, about everything that's happened, about where I go from here."
"Heavy thoughts for a school night."
"I'm serious, Tony."
"I know. Sorry." Tony wiped his hands on a rag and leaned against the workbench. "Talk to me, Pete. What's on your mind?"
Peter took a deep breath. "I've spent the last three months feeling like I was drowning. Like I'd lost everything and I'd never be okay again. And there were times when I really believed that, times when I thought it would be easier to just...stop trying." He saw Tony flinch, but he pressed on. "But I didn't stop. And I'm not going to. Because May wouldn't want that, and because I have people who care about me, and because I'm starting to realize that I deserve to be happy. Even after everything."
"You do," Tony said firmly. "You absolutely do."
"I know that now. Or at least, I'm starting to." Peter met Tony's eyes. "And I wanted to say thank you. For everything you've done for me. For taking me in, for putting up with me when I was at my worst, for not giving up on me even when I'd given up on myself. You didn't have to do any of that."
"Yes, I did," Tony said, his voice rough. "Pete, you're not some obligation or charity case. You're family. You've been family since the moment I met you, and that's never going to change."
Peter felt his eyes start to burn. "You really mean that?"
"Of course I mean it." Tony crossed the workshop and pulled Peter into a hug, and Peter clung to him, feeling something inside him finally, fully settle. "You're my kid, Pete. Maybe not by blood, but in every way that matters. And I'm going to be here for you, for whatever you need, for as long as you need it."
"What if I need it forever?" Peter asked, his voice muffled against Tony's shoulder.
"Then forever it is." Tony pulled back slightly, his hands on Peter's shoulders. "You're stuck with me, kiddo. Better get used to it."
Peter laughed, the sound watery but genuine. "I think I can live with that."
They stood there for a moment, and Peter felt the last piece of something broken inside him click back into place. He would always miss May. He would always carry the grief of losing her, the weight of all the people he'd loved and lost. But he was learning to carry it differently now, learning that grief and joy could coexist, that he could honor the dead while still living his life.
"Hey, Tony?" Peter said.
"Yeah?"
"I love you."
Tony's expression crumpled for just a moment before he pulled himself together. "I love you too, Pete. So damn much."
•••
Later that night, as Peter was getting ready for bed, he found himself looking at the photo on his nightstand - the one of him and May at his middle school graduation, both of them grinning at the camera. For months, he hadn't been able to look at it without breaking down. But now, he picked it up and studied it, letting himself remember that day. How proud May had been, how she'd embarrassed him by cheering too loudly, how they'd gone out for ice cream afterward and she'd let him get three scoops even though he'd definitely made himself sick.
He set the photo back down and climbed into bed, and for the first time in seven months, he fell asleep without crying.
In his dreams, May was there, smiling at him with that warm, proud expression she'd always had. She didn't say anything, but she didn't need to. Peter understood.
She was proud of him. She loved him. And she would always be with him, in every choice he made, every person he helped, every moment of joy he allowed himself to feel.
When Peter woke up the next morning, the sun was streaming through his window, and he could hear Tony singing off-key in the kitchen, Pepper laughing at him. He smiled, stretched, and got out of bed.
He had a life to live, people to help, a future to build.
And he was ready.