Chapter Text
Peter’s grief came in waves. Once he could bring himself to leave the roof of the apartment in Queens and began to swing towards his home with Harley Downtown, it was all he could do to keep himself from breaking down. He fought to keep his breaths even, biting down on his bottom lip until he tasted blood. Just a little farther. Just a few more minutes, and then he could give into the ache in his chest that was begging to be released.
But once he’d arrived, that deep well of pain that had made him feel like he was drowning just moments ago was … gone.
Maybe it helped that this apartment had no memories of May, he reasoned. She’d visited once, when he and Harley had first moved in and she’d thrown them a house-warming party, but after that he’d always made the commute to Queens whenever he missed her. After all, his method of transportation was a hell of a lot faster than the subway.
It was easy to let himself forget here.
And so for a moment that’s exactly what he did - he stripped off the suit, got in the shower, and gave himself permission to forget everything but the pounding of hot water against his skin and the scent of Harley’s sandalwood shampoo that he blatantly stole. The bottle of his own preferred scent (apple) was back at Stark Tower, where he’d been living for the past few weeks. Harley had too, of course, but during that time he’d been stealing shampoo and deodorant from Peter. So really, he was just returning the favor here.
By the time he’d convinced himself to leave the protective numbness of the shower, toweled off, and slipped into clean sweatpants, Harley had returned and was sitting on the bed waiting for him. He held his arms open, and Peter crossed the room to take him up on the silent offer. The warmth of his fiancé’s embrace usually soothed whatever sadness or fear or anxiety plagued his waking thoughts or woke him from sleep in the early morning hours, but right now it did little to quell the aching pressure in his chest that was growing by the second. Still, he couldn’t bear the thought of putting even an inch of space between them. Some part of him that was more in touch with the turmoil he was unintentionally suppressing told him that leaving Harley’s arms would undo him completely.
A clap of thunder from outside made him jump. Harley ran a hand through his still-damp curls - a comforting gesture that Peter always appreciated no matter the occasion. “You can let it out, darlin’,” whispered Harley as he pressed a kiss to Peter’s temple. “You’re shaking. Let yourself feel what you’re feeling. I’m here.”
In the end, it was the stuffed bear on top of the dresser that did it. Peter could feel the ghost of the texture of its dark blue fur under his fingers just by looking at it. It had been a gift from May and Uncle Ben, when he’d first moved in with them - a small piece of comfort until the funeral of his parents was over and the grief of their passing lifted enough to go pick out more things for his new room. He knew the places it was worn bald from years of love like he knew his own name, despite not having slept with it in god knows how long.
They had taken so much care to make him feel welcome in his new home, to support him as he grieved for his parents - as much as a five year old could, anyway. At some point in its long life it had lost the ribbon tied around its neck, and Peter remembered May going to three different craft stores to find a new one in the perfect shade to match.
For years it had been relegated to a seat on a shelf, until it made a reappearance following Ben’s sudden death. And now with the loss of the second to last Parker, his last surviving guardian, it was the only real comfort he still had from his childhood.
Because May was gone.
She was gone .
Another clap of thunder broke the silence. The dam broke with it, and Peter heard more than felt himself sob.
May Parker was dead.