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May knows what it's like to lose someone.
Nothing prepares you for it. She's lost many people in her life and still the shock of their absence is a slap to the face every morning when she wakes. Losing someone is cold. It is molasses surging behind ribs. It is emptiness of the soul chipped away.
She is practiced in losing people.
But she has always stayed on her feet. She has always known her path. Sure, she has lost her balance, but she was strong. She kept moving forward.
Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot.
When the day comes and the ship enters the atmosphere, she is afraid. When it leaves and she can't reach Peter on his cell, she is numb. He was on a field trip.
They must have stopped somewhere because of the invasion and his phone died. Yes, must have been that. Has to be that.
She is outside, phone pressed to her ear, listening to Peter's voicemail box as he misses her call again when the world is suddenly quieter. She doesn't quite realize it at first, but then it is there. Birds aren't chirping. The wind seems louder. Thunder cracks.
Then someone screams. They're in the road, stumbling, and she can't quite see but then--
But then.
She watches them crumble and disappear. Drift and float away.
It's over in seconds. Half of everything, all gone.
And it hits her.
Peter is-
He's-
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She waits. Some days she doesn't leave the apartment. Some days she wanders the streets with the others who are left and looking for those who are missing.
Peter doesn't come back.
Left foot.
Most days she doesn't let herself face the horror of what has happened. Most days.
Right foot.
When she does, her chest tightens and she can't get enough air. Her eyes sting and no, no, no-
Then the television is back up and the Avengers, some of them, are on the screen and they let the world -- what's left of it -- know what happened. Who did it.
And Peter is still gone.
He's still gone gonegonegone her boy can't be gone. He can't be gone. He can't.
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Days pass. They turn to weeks and months. Somewhere along the way, she realizes there is no ground beneath her feet anymore. She has slipped and can't get up because she is drowning, stuck in syrup and it is sticking in her hair and eyes and mouth and she is gagging on loss and hopelessness. She can't see her path anymore.
It was wiped away when half of the world -- the universe -- was reduced to nothingness. Ceased. Erased.
No, this can't be happening thiscan'tbehappening no, no, NO.
Finally, she mourns.
She has cried many times already, too many to count, but never mourned him. Never let herself. Now her feet have slipped and she has no more path and the only thing she can do to keep sane is-
Is to-
Piece by piece, she begins to let him go.
Through the years that follow, she sits on his bed, picks a hoodie or shirt from his closet and pretends to hug him close as she accepts it. Her boy is gone and she is unsteady with his absence. Those nights, she feels like she cries more than every person in the world combined. If her neighbors ever hear her, they do not mention it. She does them the same courtesy as well.
And though she slowly learns to live life without her whole world and without half of it, there are still days she lets herself believe, because any more wading through thick, overwhelming loss and she will surely be swept under for good.
He's going to come back he'll be through the door any moment now anysecondanysecond.
He doesn't.
And then-
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She is at work when she hears the sound of birds singing. Not just one, or a pair.
A dozen birds dance and twirl through the trees outside the windows.
May tears up. It is a chorus she hasn't heard in five years.
And after the birds--
People appear, softly coming into focus. There are gasps and screams from those around her. May's hands fly to her mouth.
This can only mean--
Something's happened, something's changed. Peter. Peter. Peter. My son. My-
She can't help it. She can’t squash the hope rising in her. Dropping her things, she runs into the horde of people gathering outdoors. She runs as fast as she can. She runs until she can't feel her legs. She runs until she can feel her path beneath her feet again.
It is on the news. The massive ship destroyed the Avengers facilities. Another invasion. A battle. She is still running when she reaches her home, dodging people in the streets, families reuniting. She stops in front of the building. She can't hear or breathe or see through her tears and she is barely keeping the cracked pieces of herself together.
When her vision returns and she is hunched over her knees, she catches sight of her neighbors running. They're screaming a name, dashing through a crowd and disappearing into the mix of people. When it shifts and she can see, they are huddled around someone.
And May can't take it anymore.
Too much I can't handle it I can't do it pleasepleaseplease.
She turns from the road and masses of loved ones. She knows that this will finally be the death of her. The moment she can no longer hold on. She grits her teeth against the tears, clenches her fists, and gasps for breath. The tension in her body won't leave. She is shaking and her throat is tight and this will be the end if he doesn't--
She can't--
And then she melts. The tension is gone. Her legs are jelly and her chest is sucking in air freely for the first time since she can remember and she feels the thrum of her body still alive, still going ( left foot, right foot ), because she swears she just heard--
"Aunt May?"
She turns and she can't even feel it. She can’t feel the sun or the wind or hear the shouts of hundreds, thousands of people. The only thing in the entire world is Peter standing before her in bland, borrowed clothes, his face beaten and purple, eyes swollen.
My baby my baby my babymybaby.
And for the first time in more than five years, she holds him. He is crying and she shatters . She can't believe he's there, he's real, he's alive--
"We won, Aunt May. We did it."
She lets out a sound that reflects of all her grief over the last five years combined.
The only thing she can manage between sobs is, "Peter, oh, my God, Peter."
And when he pulls back--
Don't let go toosoontoosoondon'tleave.
He speaks, words rushed and muddled with tears, "I don't know what happened. Went to space and fought, and I passed out and woke up and had to fight again and Mr. Stark-- Mr. Stark ..." And his face crumples. Her hands cradle his cheeks. His hands cover hers. She can barely see him through her tears, but he is bright and alive and her heart is breaking and mending at the same time.
"He's gone ," he says.
She pulls him to her again. He's repeating, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry--"
And back to him, she says, "It's okay, it'll be okay, you're okay, we're okay--”
For the first time in five years, she believes her own words.
Peter Parker comes home broken and bruised.
He comes home .
In time, they will heal together. Wherever their paths lead.