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Peter realized, belatedly, that he lost a lot more than Spiderman did.
It probably wasn’t healthy to think of Spiderman as a separate entity to himself, but it was hard not too. Spiderman was equal parts loved and hated, able to accomplish death-defying feats of heroism. Spiderman, by now and after years of activity, was ubiquitous to the people of New York. Whether you liked him or not, it was impossible to deny the impact he had on people.
Peter Parker was the most forgettable person you could ever meet.
Mary Jane would have scolded Peter for saying that, and told him not to sell himself short. But it was true. Jameson still regularly forgot his name in spite of his promotion, and though the other staff assured Peter that it was to keep up an uncaring appearance, Peter wasn’t so sure.
Peter Parker lost battles all the time, although they were admittedly much smaller battles than the ones Spiderman would face. Peter Parker lost the speed-walk race to get the last seat on the subway. He lost temporary favor with Mary Jane when he forgot that he promised they would go out on Friday and he was patrolling instead. He lost money when his photos came out blurry and Jameson yelled at him so loud that his face turned red and Peter worried he was going to have an aneurysm.
(Honestly, with the amount of intensity the man had combined with his love for cigars, it was a miracle he had never collapsed)
Peter Parker had a streak of shit luck that had been going strong for nearly a decade. And oh, God, did he feel old when he realized it had been going on that long.
When he arrived home, he stumbled, exactly in the alley he had been taking a shortcut through when he disappeared. He groaned, clutching his side, feeling his stomach ooze blood sluggishly, his enhanced healing already kicking in. It definitely wasn’t his worst injury-hell, it didn’t even make the top five-but it still hurt like a bitch.
He yanked on his mask before someone walked in on him, examining the wound. It looked nasty, but Osborn’s blade had made a clean entry and exit wound, and it had missed the important internal organs. The pain wasn’t nearly so dizzying now, and he could nearly breathe without harsh spasms in his side.
So he probably wouldn’t need to go to the hospital, which was good, because both him and Mary Jane were starting to run out of excuses for his creative injuries for Aunt May.
Oh God, Aunt May.
He wasn’t sure if Peter One had an Uncle Ben, but based on the lack of recognition he had when he and Peter Three had mentioned it, he would guess not. Which meant, more than likely, Peter One had lost his last family.
Losing Uncle Ben had been painful enough, but he still had Aunt May to lean on, and she leaned on him in turn, a bit like the blind leading the blind in the aspect of grief, but it brought them both comfort all the same. He still remembered the cold fear he had felt when he found out that Osborn had attacked her, rushing to the hospital but not really feeling like he was in his own body, simply repeating to himself she can’t be gone she can’t be gone I can’t lose her too I can’t be responsible for the death of the rest of my family-
She hadn’t died-a string of good luck for once-and she was still kicking today. Mary Jane had joked that God didn’t want to cross her, and Peter had laughed. It wasn’t very funny now.
He swung home, something he didn’t do very often now because he was steadily approaching the dreaded age of thirty, but he had left his normal clothes back in another universe. He heard gasps and a few cheers, and usually Peter couldn’t resist showboating a bit, flipping and weaving through the skyline with well-practiced grace. But his side hurt, and all he could focus on was the weight in his heart.
The window to his and Mary Jane’s apartment was unlocked, per usual, because the lock didn’t work anyway. He slipped inside easily, and then peeled off his suit, relieved to see that the wound had nearly scabbed over by now, much smaller than it had been beforehand. Gauze would do just fine.
He called Mary Jane, because he wanted to hear her voice.
“Peter?” He heard her voice over the phone, shouting slightly over the noise at her job. “Is everything alright?”
Peter felt tears spring to his eyes, which was dumb, because she had never been in any danger, he had seen her just this morning (her morning, anyway, he wasn’t sure how long he had been in the other universe) and she was fine-
“Yeah,” He choked out. “I’m okay.”
“You don’t sound okay.” She said suspiciously.
“I am, I promise,” Peter said, and he knew tears were streaming down his face. “It’s just…it’s been a really weird day.”
“Weird as in…?” She trailed off, and Peter imagined her gesturing vaguely on the other end of the phone in reference to his Spiderman duties. It made him smile.
“Yeah, weird like that.” He said. They had agreed not to keep things hidden from each other. Peter was really bad at it. “I’m okay, I promise-”
(His side twinged to punish him)
“-and I’ll explain everything when you get home. Well, actually-” He paused, taking another steadying breath. “I might be home late tonight.”
“That’s alright,” Mary Jane said, because she was perfect. “Is it, you know…” She trailed off again, presumably making more vague motions.
“No, actually,” Peter said. “I just…I really want to see Aunt May.”
“Oh.” Mary Jane said, surprised. It wasn’t surprising that he was going to see Aunt May, but usually his visits didn’t warrant an emotional call, nor did they extend late into the night. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah,” Peter said, taking a breath to steady himself. “I’ll explain everything tonight. I promise.”
“...okay,” Mary Jane said, worried but trusting, and wow, he was in love with her. “Stay safe, let me know if something happens. I love you.”
“I love you too.” Peter said, and he meant it with every fiber of his being.
The trip to Aunt May’s was a blur, but eventually he found himself on her doorstep, hesitating for a moment before he knocked.
There was movement behind the curtains, and then the door opened. There was Aunt May, her hair white with age but her face lined with kindness, lines that deepened when she smiled widely at Peter’s face. “Peter! What a nice surprise-oh!”
She startled slightly when Peter suddenly wrapped her in a hug, unable to stop the sobs spilling out of him. But then she immediately hugged him back, exactly like she used to do when Peter was still small enough to be scared of shadows in his closet and thought that Aunt May and Uncle Ben were the strongest, bravest people in the world. He still thought that. Aunt May and Uncle Ben would have been fantastic at being Spiderman.
“There, there,” Aunt May said, soft and kind. “I was just making tea. Would you like to come in?”
Peter nodded wordlessly.
Aunt May didn’t push him to tell her what was wrong, because that wasn’t her personality. She merely sat wordlessly by Peter as he slowly collected himself, a silent pillar of support, just like she had been for as long as Peter could remember.
“Would you like to talk about it?” She asked, when she sensed that Peter had calmed down.
Peter was silent, staring into his tea. He usually hated tea; it always felt too bitter or too sweet. But Aunt May had gotten it down to a science. “Do you ever wish things could be different?” He asked.
Aunt May looked thoughtful. “It depends. What would you want to be different?”
“I mean-” Peter shook his head. “Not in that I think you’ve done anything wrong or something like that. I mean…do you ever wish you could go back and change something? Like…like if you had a do-over, you could do better?”
“All the time.” Aunt May said.
“You’re all grown up.” Otto had said, and Peter wanted to cry, suddenly wishing with such intensity that it stung that he could have saved Otto, that he could have been better. Spiderman won that battle, but Peter Parker lost once again.
Peter swallowed hard. So many people whose lives were ruined just because they made one mistake, or were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Peter had sort of just assumed they were beyond help, or had he decided that for himself? Clearly they weren’t beyond saving, and Peter hoped that somewhere, they were getting the second chance they deserved.
But here, they were long dead. Corpses in the ground and remembered with hatred, fear, and revulsion.
“What do you…” Peter paused. “What am I supposed to do?”
Aunt May reached out, gently touching his hand. “You do your best,” She said gently. “You keep being Peter Parker-the brave, kind, intelligent boy that I’ve had the honor of raising. If you’ve done your best, then you have nothing to feel guilt over.”
Peter felt fresh tears well up in his eyes. “Thanks, Aunt May-God, I’m sorry,” He rubbed his eyes. “Didn’t mean to come over and sob.”
“It’s alright,” Aunt May said. “I’m so proud of you. Ben would be too.”
“Now you’re just trying to make me cry.” Peter said weakly, and Aunt May smiled.
“How’s Mary Jane?” She asked.
“She’s good, we’re good,” Peter said, sniffling but relieved to talk about something that probably wouldn’t make him cry. “It’s…complicated, but you know, that’s all relationships. Right?”
Aunt May nodded. “You’re putting off proposing to her, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Peter said, not seeing the point of lying. “Last time I tried it didn’t…didn’t go great.”
Understatement of the century, Parker.
Aunt May chuckled. “You’re going to drive that girl crazy waiting.”
“What if she says no?” Peter said, fears that he hadn’t realized were there suddenly bubbling to the surface. “What if she’s looking for a way out and this is it? What if I lose the ring? What if it’s a tacky proposal?”
“Peter,” Aunt May looked almost amused. “Do you love Mary Jane?”
“More than anything.” Peter said immediately.
“Does she love you?” Aunt May asked.
This time, Peter paused, thinking of Peter One’s Mary Jane-or MJ, he supposed. How she looked at him with total trust and adoration, and he returned the look.
It was the same look Mary Jane gave him.
“Yes.” Peter said, softly but firmly.
“Then what are you waiting for? It doesn’t need to be a spectacle. That girl is head over heels for you, I’ve seen it. You could propose to her in a landfill and she’d say yes.” Aunt May said.
“You think so?” Peter asked.
“I know so,” Aunt May said. “You deserve this, Peter. You both do.”
Peter knew exactly where he had stashed the ring; in a rolled up sock he had shoved in the back of his dresser. If he was quick, he could beat Mary Jane home and surprise her with a nice dinner.
“You’re making a plan, I can see it,” Aunt May said, looking just as excited as him. “Go home. Just tell me how it went later on, okay?”
“I love you, Aunt May.” Peter said, the ache in his back suddenly fading, and the sting in his side gone entirely.
Aunt May squeezed his hand. “I love you too.”
(She said yes)