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“Peter?”
He doesn’t move. Curled up, fully dressed on his bed. He can hear as May walks up behind him, sits on the edge of his bed. Closes his eyes as her fingers softly thread through his hair.
“Peter, baby are you hungry? Do you… do you want anything?”
Peter doesn’t say anything, focuses on the inward take of his breath. The slow exhale he gives being answer enough. May seems to accept this answer for now – Peter knows she won’t accept it forever – continuously running her fingers through his hair.
“I’m so sorry, Peter. I’m so sorry.” Peter’s breath hitches, a choked sob in the back of his throat. He feels May’s presence shift, curling up behind him on his bed.
As May’s arms enclose around him, Peter feeling her chin as it rests on his head, he doesn’t bother trying to hide his tears – let’s himself feel the agony, the anguish again.
“I’m sorry, Peter. I’m so sorry baby, I’m sorry.” May’s words are a constant murmur in his ear, Peter’s sobs starting to become haggard and loud. He curls up further into himself, even as May’s embrace holds him tight against her chest.
Peter had encountered so much loss before in his life.
His parents. Uncle Ben.
But this?
Peter wasn’t sure if he would ever recover from this.
As Peter’s sobs fill the room, an agonizing cry that Peter knew had to hurt May just as much as it hurt him, Peter couldn’t rationalize in his head the reality he was facing, couldn’t reconcile the idea that his best friend was really gone.
When Ned died, Peter felt like he had died too.
And today, burying him, was the hardest thing Peter thinks he has ever done.
The worst part wasn’t just that Ned was dead – that Ned was really, truly gone. It’s that Peter couldn’t save him.
Couldn’t have saved him, no matter how much he tried.
Cancer at sixteen.
Even now - years later - Peter still remembers the desolation he felt in those first few months.
Peter still didn't understand.
Time moves both all too slowly and all at once for Peter.
Tony is a constant presence, almost as much as May.
They hover, as adults do. Peter doesn’t mind necessarily.
It’s nice to know people care.
Peter doesn’t understand, can’t fathom how this world even seems real. He tries, he thinks. Tries to make the world around him make sense.
He can’t. Peter knows this, knows it’s futile to try and make sense of a senseless thing.
You weren’t supposed to bury your friend at sixteen.
Sixteen-year olds aren’t supposed to die from cancer.
But Ned did.
Peter was left behind.
“Hey.”
Peter looks up, nods to Michelle as she sits down.
It was quiet at the lunch table. Always quiet, Peter thought.
No one bothered them, much – Michelle and Peter. The two of them sitting at the table in silence. Sometimes, Peter would grab something from the lunch counter. Other times Michelle would bring something.
Regardless, they rarely ate a separate lunch – usually shared something between the two of them.
Peter knew if they didn’t eat at all, it’d be cause for concern. Not eating meant something was wrong and something being wrong meant the adults in the room paid attention.
He saw as the teachers watched him sadly, could overhear them while they whispered in the teacher’s lounge as he daydreamed in class.
Michelle seemed to understand, her usual snark and fire muted ever since Ned had died.
She hadn’t known Ned as well as Peter had, they’d only been a trio for a half a year before Ned died.
But Ned had died. They weren’t a trio anymore.
And yet, Michelle stayed. Still sat with Peter, like nothing had changed.
Everything had changed, Peter closing his eyes at the thought.
Nothing in his world would ever be the same again.
It would never be the same again.
But having Michelle there – in school, walking to and from the bus stop – Peter had been thankful for that.
“Hey kid, you ready to go?”
Peter nods, lifting himself off the couch as he follows Tony wordlessly into the elevator.
“How you doing, Pete?” Peter shrugs, focusing on the elevator door as they ride it down to Peter’s favorite lab.
It was routine, meeting Tony at the lab to work on something or other. It had started months ago, right after May had found out he was Spider-Man.
But now, three months after Ned had gone, Peter couldn’t bring himself to care much.
“I figured it would be a hard day, high school and all that.” Tony continues, as if Peter had answered him. As Tony rambles on, the elevator opening as they arrive at their floor, Peter’s glad that like with Michelle – at least these nights with Tony remained the same.
On some level, Peter knows that routines – the things you’re used to, the same practices, the same methods of going through a day – are important after grief.
He was used to the process, no matter how morbid it seemed.
But Ned dying - Peter wasn’t sure how he could get used to that.
He never did.
“You thinking my suit or yours tonight, kid?” Tony asks, Peter recognizing from the tone of his voice that he had to have asked it a few times. Peter considers then sits at Tony’s bench.
Tony nods, taking his usual spot while the tech unfolded on the table. As Peter gets to work, grabbing some tools to finagle with some of the wiring, he can feel Tony’s stare.
Peter continues to work, ignoring Tony.
He knows that Tony will eventually break – knows that eventually he won’t be able to let the silence just fall between them.
But tonight at least, Tony let him.
“Pete.” He glances up, looking into Tony’s eyes.
Peter’s not used to him looking so sad, the mix of pity, empathy, and hurt swimming around in Tony Stark’s eyes.
A part of Peter feels embarrassed at the look. The greater part of Peter doesn’t really care.
“I wish you’d talk to me, kid. You know I don’t… I can’t say I’ve been where you are exactly but…” A look passes through his face, Peter just blinking.
“I know what it’s like to lose a friend. Not in the same way, but…” Tony trails off, Peter understanding.
Steve Rogers was still a sore spot for Tony Stark. No matter how much Peter had admired Captain America, he hadn’t dared to push Tony on what happened after Siberia.
“I want to be there for you, Pete. I just, I don’t—I don’t know how unless you talk to me.”
Peter says nothing. Tony sighs.
“Well, whenever you’re ready kid. You know, we’re here for you. May, me, Happy even.” Peter glances up.
“We’ll always look out for you.”
Peter later wished that could only have been true.
Months pass. Peter thought it was odd how time continued to lumber on, even with Ned gone.
He still spent time with Tony in the lab. Spent his evenings with May. Swung around New York as Spider-Man.
The only thing that really changed is how much time he spent with Michelle.
Ned had always teased Peter about them, arguing that they’d make the perfect couple if they just got over themselves.
Peter had only laughed him off, too uncomfortable to even discuss his feelings with Ned.
Before Ned, before everything, Peter hadn't been sure what to think.
He liked Michelle, he thought. Liked being around her. Liked her smile, her laugh. Her weird sense of humor.
When it was the three of them, back before Ned had gotten sick, Peter used to daydream about what it would be like to hold her hand, to push back some of her curly hair back when it would inevitably fall into her face.
Ned was gone. And while his feelings for Michelle hadn’t gotten any less complicated, Peter had thought it almost felt wrong to consider it now.
especially because Ned wouldn’t be there to tease him about. Ned wasn’t there at all.
Later Peter would wish he had given in to his feelings sooner, had more time with her - even knowing the cost.
They weren’t happy for long. Had only the barest glimpses of joy together.
But now – years later – Peter would be grateful, despite everything, for what little time they had.
For Michelle starting it.
“Do you like me, Peter?”
He'd been caught off guard by the statement, looked up at her from his bed. They had been quietly studying in his room, at least Peter was – Michelle reading over some book that Peter couldn’t tell if it was assigned or for fun.
“Sure, MJ. ‘Course I do. You’re one of my best friends.” Peter sits up as he says this, voice quiet.
It had been over six months since Ned was gone. Six months of agony and grief.
Peter hated himself for his feelings, hated how spending all his time with Michelle had only magnified them. He couldn’t bring himself to stay away from her, couldn’t bear the idea of facing the rest of high school completely alone.
But he couldn’t reconcile his feelings with his guilt.
“No Peter, I don’t mean like as a friend. I mean—” Michelle stops, Peter watching as she seems to consider her next words.
Michelle sighs, looks into his eyes.
“I mean, you know… do you like like me?”
Peter’s mouth twisted into something almost like a grimace. “Did you just ask if I ‘liked like’ you? Like we’re in middle school?” She rolled her eyes, the act of it making Peter almost laugh.
“Answer the question, Peter.”
He thinks, silent as he collected his thoughts. Michelle just watched him patiently.
Thinking back to that moment, he remembers the surety of the feeling. That even then, if he was honest with himself – with her – he did.
Even then, Peter was convinced he liked her more than he could've said.
But he couldn't admit it.
It’s not that he was embarrassed, no matter how awkward the idea of this conversation is, he felt completely at ease with Michelle.
But at the time something about it bothered him – the idea of sharing this with her, the problem of sharing something that he wouldn’t be able to share with Ned.
He used to tell Ned everything – his guy in the chair.
But when Ned got sick – Peter now, years later, still aches at how sick he had gotten – he stopped burdening Ned with things.
The memory of Michelle staring right at him, waiting patiently for him to speak up - pained him.
How much he had missed Ned. For so many reasons, in a million different ways.
Especially in that moment, for not getting to ask him what to do next.
“I…” Peter starts, biting his lip. He couldn't lie to her, he liked her. Like liked her, as Michelle had said.
But it was wrong, it felt wrong.
Some part of Peter felt that if he acknowledged it, if he let himself like Michelle, told her, that somehow he’d be forgetting Ned.
That he’d be betraying him.
Even then, he knew he was being irrational, knew that a part of grief was learning how to re-learn new routines, to learn how to live a life even after that person is gone.
But the loss of Ned – his absolute best friend – made Peter feel like there’s nothing he could do to really make himself happy. That he didn't deserve to have anything but to be alone.
He only thought he knew loneliness then.
“I…” Peter tried again. Michelle lifting herself from her spot on his desk, coming up to sit across from his bed. As she curled one of her legs under her, letting the other touch the ground she reached a hand out to his, placing it gently on his hand.
“It’s okay, Peter. I just…” Peter watched as Michelle thought, eyes downcast before bringing them back to his.
“I like you okay? And I think… I’m pretty sure you like me too?” There’s a vulnerability in her voice that Peter’s hadn't been familiar with.
“But I get it, you know. It’s…” She took a deep breath before a soft smile forms on her face.
“I wish Ned was here.” Peter had closed his eyes, the sharp pain of hearing his name still having gone away.
It would never go away.
He opens them and sees the tears in Michelle’s eyes. He sniffs, then smiled back.
“You know he always thought we’d be good together.”
“Yeah?”
Peter nodding, moving his palm to take her hand into his. Peter watched as Michelle shifted her hand, intertwining her fingers with his.
He likes it, he thought – Michelle’s hands in his. She squeezes, bringing Peter’s eyes back to hers.
“I know this is hard for you, Peter. God, I can’t stop crying and I didn’t even know him as long as you did.” A tear fell down her cheek, mixing in with a curl that had fallen out of her messy bun.
Before Peter can think about, almost on instinct, he had pushed the hair back, Michelle freezing at the motion.
He waited, feeling as if the air had been sucked out of the room.
They’re silent for a few seconds before he spoke.
“I like you, Michelle.” Peter still remembered how fast her heartbeat quickened, was still surprised at the next words that had come out of her mouth.
“That’s all I needed to know.”
“What?”
“I just needed to know. For real. I mean, I pretty much guessed.” Michelle’s mouth had turned into a weird smile, one that made Peter laugh.
She seemed surprised at the sound, her eyes lighting up.
“You guessed?”
“Hoped, maybe.” Her voice is small again, the vulnerability still just as clear. He had squeezed her hand, watching as Michelle smiles more.
He wishes he could hold her hand again.
“But it doesn’t mean anything. Not now, maybe not ever you know?” She had turned to the other side of the room, Peter following her gaze.
They all used to hang out in his room like this, Peter on his bed, Michelle at his desk.
Ned on the floor, in the corner, having set up camp with his laptop, books and book bag.
The sadness fell between them once again, the missing person of their little trio.
“It’s not ever gonna be the same, Peter. I know that.” Michelle had turned back to face him.
“I just needed to know, I guess. For myself.” She sighed, Peter recognizing they had yet to disconnect their hands.
“I know this is hard for you Peter. It’s hard for me too. I don’t want you think you have to do anything or owe me anything. I like you Peter. A lot… I just needed to know what you felt. And now I do.” She had gone to move herself back to the desk, but something in Peter moved in him to bring her to stay.
I wish I could've stayed.
Michelle glanced at his grip, a confused look on her face.
Something in Peter shifts just a bit, watching as her hair fell back into her face.
Ned had been absolutely convinced that he and Michelle would make a good couple, that if they’d actually try that maybe, they’d be the real thing.
He remembers still feeling guilty, still thinking that if even entertained the thought of a relationship – any relationship – without Ned around was the worst thing he could do for his best friend.
Having a relationship meant finding a new routine.
New routines meant moving on.
Peter couldn’t fathom moving on without Ned.
And yet Peter had to move on without all of them.
But as he held Michelle’s hand, feeling her pulse through her soft fingers, another part of Peter thinks that Ned wouldn’t have wanted Peter to stay like this forever.
“I do like you, Michelle. Really.”
He remembers - so vividly - the way her eyes lit up, how the sight of it warmed his insides.
“But…”
“No but.” Peter squeezed her hands, Michelle returning it.
“I like you too, Michelle.”
As Peter leans in, unsure, awkward, wondering if this was the right thing to do, he remembers feeling so strongly that if Ned was there – even in a moment as intimate and as awkward as it was – that he’d be proud of Peter.
That he’d be happy for him.
It's my fault you weren't there, Ned. I'm so sorry.
As their lips met, Michelle’s soft and warm against his, Peter thought that even if he can’t completely swallow his guilt away, can’t escape the sense on some level that he shouldn’t allow himself to be happy, that he was doing exactly what Ned would’ve wanted him to do.
Ned was gone. Peter had felt so lost.
But maybe, Peter had thought - maybe he could find a new way forward.
A new way with Michelle.
Peter would later wonder if in another life, he could’ve.
Would later be thankful – in a twisted and selfish way – that he’d at least gotten a few months of happiness with Michelle.
He wouldn’t allow himself to fully enjoy the memory, he couldn’t – knowing what he knows now.
Peter never forgot the reason Ned died.
The reason he couldn’t still be with Michelle.
Peter never let himself forget why he left.
Peter noticed it with May at first.
She’d been complaining of headaches for years, not long after Ben had died.
Peter hadn’t thought much of it at first, knew that if she was really sick that May would see a doctor.
The migraine reducing medication was a permanent fixture in their apartment, Peter had taken to randomly picking some up when he could for her.
He only noticed that the bottle was empty when it accidentally fell, when he tried to grab the toothpaste.
“Hey May?”
“Yeah?” She yelled from the kitchen. Peter shook the bottle, confused why it was empty so quickly.
He’d just picked up a new bottle from Delmar’s less than two weeks ago. There was no way May had taken all of these so quickly.
“Peter?”
He walked out of the bathroom, bottle in hand. May stopped, looks at the bottle in his hand and then at his face.
“Peter, what’s going on?”
“I… uh, didn’t I just buy you some new ones? Do you think we’re robbed?” May just shook her head, Peter would remember later that she had winced at the motion, dismissing him.
He wished he would've paid better attention then.
“No Pete, I just. Work’s been really crazy lately. I guess I’ve been taking more than I usually do.” She must have seen the look of alarm on his face, hands up to calm him.
“Don’t worry, Pete. I’m alright. Just been having a lot of migraines lately.” She smiled, Peter feeling himself tentatively smile back.
His senses had been warning of him something – Peter would only recognize it later – but there wasn’t any immediate danger present, no one but himself and May in their apartment.
“You want me to pick up some new ones after school?” May nods. “Sure thing, Pete. That’d be great, thank you.”
Later, Peter would hit himself over and over for not recognizing the signs. For not trusting the warning his senses had been giving.
Peter had only thrown away the empty bottle, set a reminder to pick up some new pills.
Peter would think later that had he listened then, maybe things would’ve gone differently.
Tony was always a bit irritable in the mornings. At night. Random bouts in the afternoon.
Peter had been used to it. It’d been almost two years since Tony had flown him out to Germany, a year since Ned had died.
Peter thought – even then, though later he’d wonder how he could’ve been so blind – that Tony’s moods were getting worse.
“Mr. Stark, I think—”
“Don’t fucking start with me, Parker. Just hand me the damn wrench.” A younger version of Peter would’ve recoiled, hurt at the sharpness of Tony’s voice.
Peter was used to the outbursts now though, wordlessly respected his request.
After a few tense minutes, Peter keeping his notes in his work, he could hear Tony sigh.
“I’m—I’m sorry, kid. I don’t, I don’t know what came over me.”
“It’s fine, Mr. St—”
“It’s not fine, kid. I keep blowing up at you. Pepper thinks I’m not getting enough sleep or something, I don’t know.” Peter had turned to see Tony move a hand through his hair, shaking his head bewildered.
Peter would go over this moment in his mind over and over again, wonder how he could’ve completely missed everything his senses had tried to tell him.
They were always buzzing in his ear now, a sense of dread seemingly everywhere he went. But he had ignored. Knew that nothing was immediately wrong.
Peter would regret doing that.
“I’m sorry, Pete.” Tony took a deep breath, then grinned. “Want to come over to this side, see what I’ve got planned for Rhodey’s suit?” Peter smiled, moving over to Tony’s bench.
His senses hadn’t relented, had only magnified as he walked up to Tony’s side.
Later Peter would recognize it for what it was – a warning, a caution. Telling Peter that there was danger.
Peter would later wished he had listened.
He really only started to take notice when it happened to Michelle.
Despite how she seemed to act to literally everyone around them, Michelle wasn’t as irritable as her persona indicated.
When it was just the two of them, quietly studying – or not – in his room, Michelle was kind. Funny. Sweet almost.
She seemed to change moods overnight, flip flopping between angry and happy without warning.
Peter didn’t dare ask if it had to do anything with her hormones, even if the thought had occurred to him once or twice.
When the headaches started to occur, a migraine that seemingly never went away, Peter started to get worried.
“I’m fine, Peter. Stop obsessing over it.”
“You’re not fine, MJ. Are you sure you don’t want to go to the doctor?” Michelle’s pained breathing hurt him, watching her wince as they stopped in the school hallway on their way to class.
“No, Peter. Don’t worry about it, alright? I’ll just stop by the nurse and take a painkiller or something alright?” Michelle had dismissed him, waving him off as she went to her next class.
But something bothered Peter in the back of his mind, his senses ringing that there was something else wrong.
There was something wrong. He had been too blind to see it.
When she started to vomit, almost daily, Peter panicked.
“Michelle?” He remembers as he lightly knocked on his bathroom door, cringing as he could hear Michelle retching in the bathroom.
His mind raced while the awful sounds continued behind the door, Peter wracking his brain to try and figure out what could be wrong.
They’d been dating for almost a year, Ned being gone almost two. It baffled Peter, how quickly time had passed. How much Ned had missed.
Peter still regrets the life he didn't get to live.
Peter grabbed his phone out of his pocket, trying to search for her symptoms.
The first thing that comes up is pregnancy, Peter freezing – the world closing in on him.
Peter had begun to panic, wracking his brain to think if they’d made a mistake of this magnitude.
They had used protection every time, Peter about to search the fail rate of condoms when the bathroom door opened. He looked at Michelle as she stared back at him, a haggard look on her face.
“Are you—”
“I think that sushi place on Johnson gave me food poisoning.”
She walked past him, Peter scrambling to catch up with her. He held the phone in his hand, shaking slightly as he asked, “Michelle, I don’t think it’s the sushi.”
She turns to look at him, Peter thinking she looked even paler in the bedroom lighting.
“What’s your guess then?”
Peter remembers how much he fidgeted, rubbing his fingers over his phone screen. She looked down to it, snatching it out of his hand. Peter could’ve stopped her, but he’s too panicked to think straight, watching as her eyes widen before she broke out into a laugh.
He still misses her laugh.
“Michelle, if—if you’re—”
“I’m not Peter.”
She handed the phone back to him, Peter opening his mouth to question before she stops him.
“I’m on my period now.”
“Michelle, you know that doesn’t matter. You still could—”
“I took a test, Peter.” His head snaps up, eyes widening.
“You did? When? Was it, do, uh—what happened, did—”
Michelle sighs. “It was negative, Pete. Each time I’ve taken it.” She pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Believe me, as many times as I’ve thrown up the past few weeks, I thought the same thing.” A tired smile forms on her face.
“We’re not parents. Don’t worry about it.” Peter only remembered smiling, the relief palpable even if his senses still warned him that the terror wasn’t over.
It was only just beginning.
He’d think back to that moment later – the idea of a pregnancy scare – with fondness.
Peter had only been seventeen at the time, but later – always later – he would think of how great it would’ve been to have kids with Michelle. To have married her. Grown old with her.
Peter knew he’d never get the chance.
In a matter of weeks, Michelle went from bad to worse.
The headaches, the vomiting, the mood changes. Michelle lost her appetite seemingly overnight, Peter remembered how much he pleaded with her to eat something – anything.
He searched constantly for what could be wrong, pushed her to go to the doctor – to talk to her parents about how she was feeling.
They’d noticed – Peter knew they had – but with the stress of their final year, applying for colleges and financial aid, Michelle seemed to dismiss it as normal and her parents, having nothing else to think, seemed to agree.
But Peter couldn’t shake the idea that something more was wrong.
Everything was wrong.
It was me.
When Michelle had her first seizure, Peter panicked.
He would later remember the cold waiting room, his hands wringing together as he waited with her parents, glancing over to them sneaking glances at him.
They’d been in his living room, watching a movie while May was in kitchen.
One minute, Michelle had been cracking a joke about some character in the movie.
The next, she was stuttering, slurring her words, before her eyes rolled to the back of her head, Peter screaming for May.
The ride to the hospital had been unbearable, the soft whispered call to her parents that May had given unfathomable.
Peter remembered how he couldn’t stop shaking, the panic of seeing Michelle in the ambulance, of them wheeling her away behind hospital doors bringing up his worst memories.
Memories of Ned. Lying in a cold hospital room, still and unmoving as the cancer inside his brain erased his best friend.
He closed his eyes, willing himself not to cry.
Peter couldn’t imagine losing Michelle too.
He did. He lost them all.
His phone buzzed, bringing him out of the spiral he felt himself teetering on the edge of. He had glanced at the screen, only to see it was Tony.
Before he could answer the text, Tony had called.
“Kid? Your aunt just called, is everything okay?”
Peter’s heart had warmed at the affection in his tone – would later still treasure how concerned Tony had been – as he tried to answer.
“It’s Michelle. She’s…” He had glanced up to the hospital doors, looked at her parents before sighing.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”
“Don’t worry, kid. I got Cho on the way over there to check her out. We’ll get to the bottom of this alright?”
Peter sniffled, rubbing his nose with a part of his sleeve. “Don’t you need her to be on call for like, Avengers stuff? There’s doctors here, Mr. Stark.”
“There’s doctors and then there’s Cho, Pete. Come on, I know you’re too cool for the Avengers now but Cho’s here to help us all. Plus, I’m pretty sure she likes Michelle more than you or I combined. She’d volunteered to drive over before I had ever even asked.”
Peter would later think how much he would miss Cho, how he wished he had given himself the chance to talk to her. But it’d been too late by then, he’d already gone.
Peter hadn’t wanted to take the risk any longer.
“Okay, Mr. Stark. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, kid. It’s nothing. Really. I’m still out in Boston for some bullshit alumni thing but the minute I can, I’ll be on a plane over there alright?”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’ll be there, Peter. See you soon.” Tony had hung up, Peter still holding the phone to his ear.
Something about the sincerity of Tony’s voice would later make Peter feel that if he had known then – if he could go back and tell Tony then what he knew – that maybe he wouldn’t have had to have left.
That maybe they could’ve solved it together.
But Peter couldn’t change the past.
He wouldn't risk their futures.
Glioblastoma Multiforme.
Those two words would haunt Peter for years – had haunted him, already – for two.
When Cho shares the diagnosis with Mr. and Mrs. Jones, Michelle asleep on the bed beside them, Peter felt like the wind was taken out of him.
May had only squeezed his shoulder, knowing how awful he was feeling.
As they had left the hospital room, letting Michelle’s parents have a moment alone, Peter’s struck with how terrible his luck really had to have been.
Ned had died from the same thing, a terrible cancer that had ate away at the friend he used to know.
He couldn’t understand, May leading him back to the waiting room where Tony was sitting, how absolutely improbable it was for two of the people he had cared about the most for in his life, would both have the same disease.
It had bothered Peter, even then.
Tony had given him a hug, May had took him home.
But as he laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, Peter remembered the sinking feeling started to form in his stomach.
Peter knew he had absolutely terrible luck, knew that the world hadn’t always been so kind to him.
But for two of the people closest to him to get the same disease – the same rare type of cancer – struck Peter as too coincidental. Too similar.
He had reached for his phone, searched the symptoms, the causes.
Peter would later think – in his worst moments – that he wishes he had never searched for the cause. Had never used his phone that night. It wouldn’t have changed the outcome, would’ve only made it worse.
But a selfish part of Peter missed how ignorant he had been then.
Because for a few seconds – just a few before Peter’s world turned completely upside down – he had been blissfully ignorant of the cause. Of the reason for Michelle getting sick.
The reason behind Ned’s death.
Peter couldn’t go back and change it – wished with all that was within him that he could – but those few seconds before the results loaded, they had been the last moments of peace Peter ever had in his life.
He hadn't felt peace in years.
He scrolled through a couple of possibilities, unsure of what it is he was looking for, when he sees it.
Radiation. Brain cancer. The connection seems tenuous at best.
It strikes Peter as unlikely, there was no reason to believe the two were related.
Radiation poisoning manifested in specific ways, there was no reason for Peter believe a random internet search.
And then it all comes crashing down on him.
May and her headaches.
Tony’s irritability.
The strain of Ned’s final months, how he’d been sick for ages before seemingly taking a turn for the worse.
The severity and quickness of Michelle’s own illness.
He’d been bit by a radioactive spider almost three years ago now. Peter had never considered the implications of it, beyond the reality of the powers he had now.
But now – the world closing in on him as he reads the screen in front of him – hits Peter over and over again.
The people in his world were getting sick.
Slowly, but surely - it seemed as if they were dying.
He had spent all his time with Ned. Spent even more time with Michelle.
Tony and May - they were present, constant. But not at the same level as his best friend, his girlfriend.
It sickened Peter, the thought of what he was doing - years later, would still be agonizing to consider.
He remembers the thoughts running through his head.
What if he had been the cause of it?
What if the radiation he gave off was slowly killing the people he loved?
What if he was the reason Ned died?
What if he was killing MJ too?
He wouldn't ever hurt them again.
It had been a split-second decision, something that would fill Peter with both regret and relief.
He hadn’t ever substantiated the thought, hadn’t really tested whether it could be true.
He hadn’t contacted Cho. Didn’t talk with May or Tony.
All Peter could think of was the image of Michelle as she convulsed, the memory of Ned in hospice care.
It didn’t make sense to Peter.
It made perfect sense to him.
He couldn’t reconcile the idea that May, Tony – were fine. Couldn’t fully argue that he was the reason.
But what if he was? The headaches? The mood swings? What if it was his fault? What if he was the one causing it?
What if he had killed Ned?
What if he was killing Michelle too?
In an instant, Peter decides.
He can’t do this to his family, can’t play with their lives if he’s the reason behind all of this – if there’s even the slightest chance that it could be him.
Peter does the only thing he can think of. The only thing he knows for sure that could save them.
Peter leaves.
He leaves the Spider-Man suit under his bed.
Leaves behind the nice watch – the one with the tracking device Tony had unashamedly told him about – at his beside table. His phone right beside it.
He considered leaving a note, thought that’s at least what he owes them.
Owes May. Owes Tony.
Owes Michelle.
But the thought of it panged him – the idea that he was the cause – was he causing all of this? – and that no matter what, both May and Tony would insist that he stayed.
That they figure out, putting themselves into further danger.
Peter couldn’t reconcile that.
If he was the cause – if he was the reason Ned had died, that Michelle was so sick – he wouldn’t risk putting anyone else in any further danger.
He wouldn’t let anyone else die because of him.
Peter leaves.
He still remembers the feeling of walking to school, trying to keep his posture and his walk normal, knowing Tony would later search footage – anything and everything – to try and find him.
Peter thinks later that it had been ridiculous of him to think he could try and pass it off as a typical walk to school, could try and pretend like he wasn’t scared, terrified and guilty.
He’d killed his best friend. He was sure of it, knew it in his soul.
He was killing his girlfriend, only a matter of time before he killed May and Tony.
Peter had to leave – even now, years later in thinking of it – Peter understood how his logic had worked.
He couldn’t bring himself to regret his decision – the guilt of everything already consumed him – but thinking back to that last day, that last morning when he was still a part of Tony and May and Michelle’s life…
Something about it almost comforted Peter.
Peter told no one he was leaving. Would have never forgiven himself if anyone had convinced him to stay.
But of all the things he regretted, all the things he wished he could change, Peter was grateful that he had at least had the presence of mind to glance back – look straight into a camera and said goodbye.
It wasn’t a goodbye, not really. Peter never got the closure he wanted, didn’t dare try and reach out and get what he felt he didn’t deserve.
All Peter did was bite his lip, stare straight into the camera lens, pleading with Tony – with May, with Michelle – to understand.
If he was the reason – he was sure of it, he did the research, the agony of it consumed him – he couldn’t risk their safety. Couldn’t risk being around them any longer.
Peter only stared for a few seconds, a million emotions warring with him all at once before he turned the corner, disappearing out of their world forever.
Peter wouldn’t kill anyone else in his life. Wouldn’t let anyone else die because of him.
He couldn’t do that to Michelle, would later be thankful – if he could even be thankful for something as wretched as this – that he’d gone when he did.
Michelle had recovered.
Peter never did.
Peter would regret leaving May without a goodbye, the ache of what it meant for her to lose someone else. But May was still alive – years later – something Peter couldn’t have imagined possible if he’d stayed.
Leaving Tony hurt on another level.
Tony never stopped searching for him, never gave up on the possibility that Peter would ever return.
He didn’t. Peter promised himself that he’d never put anyone he loved in danger ever again.
But the idea of it – the agony of knowing that Tony held on to him – still hurt, years and years later.
Peter knew that there were things in the universe beyond his control, knew that even he couldn’t prevent everything.
But Ned – all these years later, the memory of his best friend dying – haunted him.
The knowledge that if Peter had only known sooner, that maybe Peter could’ve saved him too.
He knew that leaving would devastate them, knew how much they would miss him.
How much he’d miss them back.
But Peter wouldn’t kill anyone else in his life.
Would never let anyone else die because of him.
So, Peter did the only thing he knew he could do.
The only thing he could think of that would save them.
.
.
.
Peter left.