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Peter sat in his room, staring at the familiar red and blue spandex suit that was hanging in his closet.
He wanted to get up and put it on. For 2 months, that was the main thing he wanted to.
He just couldn't. Not since the one who made it for him had died.
Not since Tony Stark died.
He thought back to that day often. It would replay in his mind, day and night, in both his dreams and his waking moments. He thought of the almost blank expression on Tony's face that somehow still spoke volumes. When he looked into his mentor's eyes, he saw many things. He saw the shock and realization that the man was about to die. He also saw sorrow, as Mr. Stark likely realized he wasn't going to be able to hold the woman he loved again. Most of all though, he saw relief. Relief that they had won, that Thanos was gone. Relief that the world was safe, that the people he LOVED were safe.
Peter couldn't move, but he couldn't take his eyes off of the suit at the same time. May had been very understanding about his not suiting up since Tony's death. She said everyone needs to grieve in their own way and that he should take all of the time he needed. Ned had been equally supportive. His best friend, while still chatty and often enthusiastic, exuded more maturity and wisdom of late as well. The blip had changed them all. Somehow, he and all the others had a new understanding of how fragile life was; how it could disappear in a heartbeat. Ned had told him that, while the world needs Spider-Man, it shouldn't be at the sacrifice of Peter Parker.
Yet, at the same time, his Uncle Ben's words has also been ringing in his mind over the last two months. "With great power, comes great responsibility," the man had said. Every time he thought of those words, he wondered if he was being selfish by not suiting up. Everyone was telling him it was okay, necessary even, that he take as much time as he needed. However, because he couldn't help himself, he had looked at the crime stats in the city. Ever since the blip, crime had risen dramatically as people grappled with homelessness and just struggling to survive in a world that had spent the last 5 years prior adjusting to losing fifty percent of its population. May had done everything she could at the community center she worked at, and he had volunteered in any way he could as well, but it wasn't enough. It was going to take a lot more time in order to get everything back to some semblance of normal.
In the meantime, the city needed hope now more than ever. It needed a symbol, something that the people could look to and feel safe, because someone was watching out for them.
He could be that symbol.
He finally rose from his bed when he remembered a conversation he had with Pepper at Tony's funeral.
"He did it for you," she had said, looking him straight in the eyes.
"R..Really?" he had stammered back.
"Yep," she had said, clearly trying to be strong as she fought back tears. There was no anger or resentment in how she addressed him about it. There was only compassion and admiration.
"He was so proud of you, Peter," she continued. "You were his hero. He never said anything, but I know that he believed the world was robbed, that HE was robbed, the day he lost you. He felt that, if there was anyone who deserved a second chance to make an impact in this world, it was you."
He replayed those words in his mind as he walked towards the suit. It was only a few steps from his bed to his closet, but each one felt excruciatingly long and heavy. Finally, he came up to it, reaching his hand out just to touch the material. It felt good, even refreshing in a way, like he was making contact with a long lost friend. He reached onto the hanger it was on to remove it.
"I just wanted to be like you."
"And I wanted you to be better."
Those were the words that came into his head as he removed his clothes and gradually slipped on his suit. Mr. Stark had believed in him and had given him a chance. This is what he would want.
It was what Peter wanted too.
Finally, all that was left was the mask. He held it in his hands and just stared at it for a moment. He looked up, closed his eyes and took a breath. Slowly, he lifted his arms and slid the mask over his head. He finally opened his eyes again, looking at his room through those familiar white lenses. He tapped the spider symbol on his chest, and the once baggy suit now clung to his muscled form. He tapped the mask, and the system inside came to life.
"Good evening, Peter," came the familiar voice of K.A.R.E.N, the A.I. that Mr. Stark had gifted his suit with.
"Thanks, Karen," Peter replied. He had to admit, it felt good to hear the gentle, friendly voice of the A.I. again. There was something that just felt comfortable about it.
"What would you like to do as we get started?" the A.I. asked him.
"You know, I think I'm just going to start off easy. Go for a swing, see how things look," Peter replied.
"Of course, Peter," the gentle, encouraging voice replied.
It was evening, but there was still at least a couple hours of daylight left. Peter glanced right and left out of his open window. He then walked to the other end of the room and turned to once again face the window, bouncing on his toes, trying to get some adrenaline going. He then broke into a brief sprint before diving arms first out the window. Instinctively, he fired a web line onto a nearby building on his right, reaching his other hand around to grab onto it as well. He reached the apex of his swing, firing another web line, then another, and another. It really was just like riding a bike, which was probably a poor analogy, since he was never good at riding a bike, but still, the principle was there. The most important thing was that it was a step in the right direction.
He had only been swinging for a few minutes, when he suddenly felt himself tighten up and his heartbeat picked up significantly.
"No, not now."
He landed hard on a rooftop, clutching at himself as he all the memories of that day came rushing back. He thought of when he swung into the battle, using Giant Man as a means to even swing at all. He thought of grabbing the gauntlet from Black Panther, of how there was fire raining down on him from everywhere, of how Mr. Stark had taken his last breath...
Peter forced himself to sit up, taking deep breaths. This wasn't the first time he had a panic attack, and May had made sure to have him seek counsel after the first time it happened. He had reluctantly agreed, and at first it had been awkward and terrifying, and made all the harder by the fact that he couldn't share fully without giving away his identity. Eventually, Peter figured out how to work around that and had come to appreciate the help that the specialist had given him. It didn't make the pain go away, but it helped him deal with it when it came.
He closed his eyes for a moment, as the memories came even more to the forefront of his mind. He then quickly pulled out his phone. One thing that the specialist he saw had encouraged him in whenever this happened was to find his center and to focus on something. He found one thing that helped in both these ways was to pull up a picture of him and May on his phone. It helped him think of her warmth, how they had gone through this together after Ben died. He pulled up the familiar picture of him and her on his 15th birthday. They were just at the apartment, both of them all smiles as May held the numbers one and five in her hands as she had a particularly enthusiastic expression on her face. He kept up his breathing as he focused on that picture, thinking back to that wonderful day. It had been such a simple day, but those were often some of the days he had come to appreciate the most in life.
He closed his eyes, keeping the image pictured in his mind. He grabbed a clump of his suit with each hand and pulled, the tension helping to ground him in reality. He kept taking deep breaths. In and out. In and out.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, but what was really about 5 minutes, the feeling subsided.
Afterwards, he didn't know what to do. He sat on that roof, wondering if he had made a mistake and had pushed himself too early. He was lost in thought when his enhanced hearing picked up a quick heartbeat somewhere near him. His superhero instincts got the better of him and he got up and made his way to the source of what he heard. A few buildings down, he found the source of it: there was a boy, maybe just a year or two younger than him, standing there, with one foot placed on the edge of the roof, looking down. He shot out his arms to fire a web and pull him back, but he stopped just short of pressing his fingers on his web shooters, lowering his arms and deciding on another approach.
"Hey man," he said, trying not to be too loud so he didn't spook the boy.
The boy quickly turned around, and his eyes widened in surprise. "Spider-Man? Wha...What are you doing here?" the boy asked, his expression wide-eyed.
"The view," Peter said, trying to lighten the mood a little before he tackled the real problem. "It's quite something from up here, isn't it?" he said, gesturing towards the city.
"Y-Yeah, it is," the boy stammered.
"What about you man?" Peter asked, trying to be casual, The last thing he wanted was to make the kid feel pitied or like a charity case. He had all too much experience knowing what that was like, even if he never was at the point this boy appeared to be at.
"I, I, uhmm..." the boy stammered. He looked...ashamed, and terrified, but more than that, he had a look in his eyes that Peter recognized all too well. Loss. When the boy seemed at a loss for words, Peter spoke up again:
"Look, I don't want to pry, and I am by NO means a qualified therapist, but if you just want to talk or need to vent..." Peter then sat down right where he was, crossing his legs in front of him, and extended his right hand as a gesture of invitation for the boy to join him if he wanted. He could see the reluctance in the kid's eyes, but eventually he shuffled his feet over and sat down a few feet across from Peter.
"I...I don't know where to start," the boy stammered, not making eye contact with Peter, instead looking at his hands, which he was playing around with nervously.
"Wherever you want, man," Peter replied, remembering the freedom his therapist had given him.
The boy still wouldn't look at him, but spoke up. "My dad was out, heading to grab some things from the store. My mom had ran out of what she needed to make the lasagna she wanted, so my dad had offered to run and grab it for her."
"Gotcha," Peter said, trying to make the boy feel reassured that he was being heard.
"Anyway," the boy continued, still looking down at his fidgety hands, "he was in the store, when another man came into the store with a gun and demanded all the money in the register. From what I heard later, my dad didn't do anything at first, but when the guy got rough with the cashier, he tried to step in. They wrestled over the gun, until it went off." The boy was now clearly fighting back tears as he reached the heaviest part of his story.
"My dad was dead before the ambulance even got there."
"I'm so sorry for your loss," Peter said, trying to sound as understanding as he could. The fact is that he knew this boy's pain all too well.
"You know what the worst part is?" the boy asked, and Peter could detect a rising anger in his words.
"What?" Peter asked.
"The cashier could've helped him. Instead, he just made a break for it, trying to save his own skin!" the boy yelled, throwing his arms out to either side and making direct eye contact with Peter. Tears were now beginning to flow freely down the boy's cheek.
"I...I'm so sorry," Peter said.
"Sorry doesn't bring my dad back!" the boy yelled, standing up now. "He was everything to me! We used to go to Mets and Knicks games together all the time. He was there when I lost my first tooth, he taught me how to play basketball, how to tie my shoes. He taught me, he taught me..."
"He taught you everything," Peter finished for him.
"Exactly," the boy answered. "Anytime I needed him, he was there for me, and now he's gone. My mom's no help, she just sits there all day. I have to do everything now! I've tried to reach her, but it's like she isn't even there anymore."
Peter just sat there, taking this all in. One thing he was definitely more fortunate than this boy in was that May had been strong for him. She had grieved, sure, but they had gone through it together, and he hated the thought that this woman was isolating herself from her son in her grief. Still, everyone grieves differently, and he almost said something to the boy along those lines, but thought better of it.
"I don't know, Spidey," the boy continued. "I just...I don't know how much longer I can keep going like this. I just...I just want to be with my dad again."
"I get it," Peter said, slowly uncurling his legs from one another and rising to his feet.
"How could you?" the boy asked.
"Every situation is different," Peter started, trying to make sure not to compare too much, "but, like you, I lost someone who was like a father figure to me." At this point, he wasn't sure if he was referring more to Ben or Tony, but he continued on. "I know how much it can hurt."
"Does...does it ever go away?" the boy asked, and the look on his face gave Peter the impression the boy was hinging on his answer.
"Not really," Peter admitted, figuring honesty was the best policy in this instance. "It gets easier to deal with, but it never really goes away. In fact, if I can be honest with you, I was dealing with a panic attack about 10 minutes ago."
"I didn't...I didn't know superheroes could have panic attacks," the boy admitted.
"Underneath this mask, I'm just like you," Peter said, gesturing to the boy. He then thought of the famous words Ben had taught him: "With great power, comes great responsibility." They were words he continued to live by, even to this day. Maybe helping this boy think of something like that in his own case might help.
"Tell me, your dad...did he have some kind of advice he gave you? You know, something that sticks with you, even now?"
The boy looked up and squinted; he appeared to be in deep thought before he finally looked back to Peter.
"Yeah, he used to tell me that hope is like the sun: if it was dark out, that just meant the sun was getting ready to come out again."
"He's not wrong," Peter said. He walked over to the boy and placed his gloved right hand on the kid's left shoulder. "Like I said, it never goes away, but it does get easier with time and with help."
"Where do I go for help if my mom won't be there for me?" the boy asked. His eyes almost appeared to be searching Peter's even though they couldn't be seen.
Peter thought for a minute before answering, removing his hand from the boy's shoulder.
"That depends," he finally said.
"Depends on what?" the boy asked.
"On if you're willing to see and talk to people you don't know about this," he replied.
"I...I don't think I can," the boy stammered, looking down at his feet.
"Hey man, if you can talk to some dude in red and blue spandex," Peter said, gesturing to himself, "you absolutely can talk to someone who actually has the training to help with this stuff."
The boy gave a quiet chuckle, so Peter decided to press on while the mood was good. "
"I'll even give you the name of someone who helped me. Would that be alright?"
"Yeah, sure," the boy said.
By some miracle, the boy had a small notepad and writing utensil in the right pocket of his jeans. He said his dad had trained him to carry around a list of things he needed to remember so he could always refer to it when necessary. Peter made a mental note to look into doing the same.
"I have to admit, I'm still a little nervous," the boy confessed.
"Tell you what," Peter spoke up, "I will meet you here, at this exact rooftop, at this exact day and time next week. You can be completely honest with me about how it went, if you even went at all, and just what you're thinking in general. Sound good?"
"I think I can do that," the boy said a little more confidently. Peter extended his hand, indicating the boy should shake on it, and they did. The kid then left without another word.
Well, that hadn't been what Peter expected, but something in him just felt better inside after helping someone else. Feeling more confidence than he had in a long time, he fired a web and swung off the roof.
The rest of the evening actually went pretty well. He stopped a couple burglaries, helped an older man with directions, and even took a couple selfies with some people who were just excited that the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man was back in action.
When Peter went to bed that night, he felt much better than he had in a long time. It was one evening, but it felt like a huge step.
Over the next few months, Peter regularly met with the boy, whose name turned out to be James. It had taken him a couple weeks even after their conversation to finally have the courage to pay the specialist a visit, but he finally did, and Peter noticed a lot of improvement in him in the weeks that followed. James had even convinced his mom to come with him to the specialist after a while, and it sounded like she was on her way to recovery too.
"Spidey, I've never said this, but thank you," James told him one day. "The fact of the matter is that you saved my life that day. I was ready to end it if you hadn't shown up."
"Fortunate timing man; I just do my best," Peter said, putting his hands up as if to deflect the attention.
"I don't know how I'm ever going to repay you," James said.
"Just let someone else know that they're not alone when they need it and we'll call it even," Peter replied.
This time it was James who extended his hand out first, and Peter took it, both of them shaking on it.
"See you later man," Peter said as he gave a salute before diving off the roof, swinging off into the city.
Losing his parents, then Ben, then Tony...it had been hard, but knowing that he could share in grief with others, hopefully helping them get through it along the way...
It all made it just a little bit easier.
The city seemed to have its hope back again, and, for the first time in a while, so did he.