Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It is 12:47 on a Tuesday afternoon when Peter Andrew Parker gets the call that the woman who raised him has died. He doesn't reply. His phone slips from his hand and smacks against the table.

His first thought is this has to be a prank, followed by why did I answer the phone, followed by oh God Peter. Here he means the youngest of the Peter's. This Peter typically goes by Andrew and is wedged firmly in age between the two Peter's he calls brothers. The only of the Peter's to go by his first name is, was, God, it's was now, still living with May, as he was too young to move on. He was still a foster kid. He would…. God, Andrew didn't even know what would happen to him.

"Sir?" A voice finally breaks through his fog. "Are you still there?"

He blinks rapidly, trying to figure out where it's coming from for a second before he registers his phone. He fumbles to pick it up. "No right, I'm still here."

"We're calling in regards to Peter Benjamin Parker. You're down as one of his emergency contacts, and we can not get in contact with his other emergency contact… " He hears paper rustling followed by a confused, "Is this a typo? Uh, Peter Parker. Do you know how to contact him?"

"Wait, Peter?"

"Your... brother?"

"Why don't you know where he is? He's still a kid!" Andrew jumps to his feet.

"Sir, please calm down. we have Peter Benjamin in our custody. We are looking for Peter - Tobias? He is to take Peter, in the event of Mrs. Parker death."

"Oh uh," Andrew is pulling on his coat. "No, I don't know how to get in contact with Tobey. Where are you and Peter? I'll come until you can get in contact with him. I'm family too." She gives him the address and he starts to head out the door without a second thought.

"Where are you going?" His boss yells after him.

"Family emergency."

"This is the first shift you've actually come to all week, walk out that door and you're fired!"

"Fine!" He yelled, ripping off the shitty apron "No need! I quit" He throws it behind him as he leaves, slamming the door behind him. He never liked that job anyway. Family was more important.

Unbeknownst to Andrew, his brother had gotten the same call approximately 5 minutes earlier and had, upon seeing the unknown number, sent it to voicemail. He was in a meeting when his ring tone blasts through the speakers, and he gets a very pointed glare from the man speaking. He'd clicked it off and set his phone to silent.

He doesn't listen to the voicemail until the meeting is over at 1:08. He doesn't drop his phone. He doesn't react.

He feels like he's floating as he dials the number back.

He feels detached as she explains everything to him.

He feels like he's seeing through a thickly fogged glass as she explains he is Peter's next guardian.

He feels like he's moving through molasses as he explains to the front desk that he'll be out for the rest of the day with a family emergency.

He feels like he's hearing everything through cotton as he drives to the police station.

The minute he steps foot into the station everything snaps into clarity. It's not particularly crazy inside, but it is busy and there are people rushing around. So, he walks with a single-minded focus to the front desk, ignoring the memories a place like this holds for him, and gives his name and his brother's name. He's led to a back room with fewer people, why a police station has a private waiting room he has no clue, and he immediately spots Peter. He's staring into the space in front of him, unseeing, until the officer who led him there says his name.

Peter stands when he sees his brother. It's been a while since Toby had seen the kid, but he'd shot up. Puberty had clearly hit him like a truck. He's no longer the scrawny kid that had barreled into their home when he'd been on the verge of leaving, or even the awkward preteen he remembers from holidays past.

"Hey kid" Tobey said, clasping a hand on his shoulder. "Long time no see."

Tobey worked closer to home than Andrew did so by the time he beats the New York traffic and manages to get into town at 1:52, over an hour from when he got the call, Tobey and Peter are already sitting side by side in the tiny room they had been led to. They're alone, the one other family that had been there when Tobey came had left, and neither of them look like they're truly seeing the world around them. Peter is slumped against the wall in the corner blinking in slow motion and Tobey is sitting directly next to him, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him staring at a TV that's playing the news on mute but Andrew's pretty sure he's not actually watching it.

Andrew bypasses Tobey and goes straight to his little brother.

"Hey" He says, crouching to his level. "Hey Pete."

Peter blinks in slow motion and Andrew watches the fog cleat from his eyes. "Andrew… Andrew you're here" but the end of the word comes out garbled and it's like it's hitting him again for the first time why they're all here. He starts sobbing and Andrew is moving towards him before he can even think.

"Hey. Hey kid. I know" he pulls him into a hug and somehow they both end up on the sticky floor of this police station. "I know"

He doesn't say anything stupid like it's going to be okay or any of the other dozen platitudes he'd heard when Gwen died. It wasn't okay. It wasn't going to be okay for a long time. This was going to hurt and hurt and hurt for all of them but especially for Peter who was so young and had never experienced the pain of losing someone you loved before.

He isn't sure at what point Tobey joins them but he eventually becomes aware of his presence, not quite joining in, unsure if he's intruding, but hovering just out of range. A steady presence, letting his brothers know he's there. Andrew doesn't think okay is even remotely the word for what they are right now but they're something and in that moment they're it together and that's enough

Chapter Text

It had been 12:42 on a Tuesday afternoon when Peter Tobias “Tobey” Parker had received the call that the woman who raised him had died. He had ignored it.

It’s the thing that keeps him awake tonight.

May is dead. He had ignored the call.

Peter had needed him. He had ignored the call.

And now he can’t sleep. He’s spent hours tossing and turning. It’s louder here than his own apartment. A siren wails somewhere in the distance. The honking hasn’t stopped since they’d arrived. It’s a lot.

Andrew had mentioned it. Twice. Tobey had shrugged him off, murmuring an apology.

“They asked me how to get in touch with you and I didn’t know how.”

When had that happened, Tobey wonders. His own brother doesn’t know his number.

They’d been thick as thieves once. A pair of hellions, as Aunt May had called them. The memory makes something deep in his chest throb painfully. He’d been only eight years old when May had told him he’d get a new brother soon. Tobey had only been with her for a year at that point. He’d been called Peter back then. No need for a nickname. She’d promised him this wouldn’t change a thing. She still loved him, still wanted him to live with her. But there’s this boy who needs their help. Needs Tobey’s help.

“His name is Peter too, Peter. Don’t you think that’s meant to be? You’re going to be brothers.”

They’d been more than that.

Andrew had been Tobey’s best friend.

He can’t remember the last time they’d spoken before today. Maybe Thanksgiving? He doesn’t remember if he called on Thanksgiving. He’d meant to, but things had gotten so busy in the office…

Had he called May? Had he talked to Peter? He must have…

God. Peter.

17 years old. An orphan once again.

He’s asleep in his room. Last time Tobey had seen him the room had been filled with legos, Andrew’s hand-me down-science posters, and Tobey’s hand-me-down action figures. Now it’s filled with textbooks and practice tests and a great big brochure of MIT where once there’d been a poster for Jurassic Park.

He’d been Peter’s age when May had taken him in. He hadn’t been surprised that time around. Both he and Andrew had seen it coming. May had empty nest syndrome and she had it bad.

He’d been off to college. Andrew was already planning on graduating from high school early.

May had always been scared to be alone, Tobey thinks. Then she found a little boy. Eight years old.

“His name is Peter too. Don’t you think that’s meant to be? Peters have to stick together, right?”

She’d said it as a joke, but she’d been right. They had always stuck together, him and Andrew. How could they say no to a third?

Was she alone when she died?

The question is a scream in his ears.

Peter had been alone. Tobey had been in a meeting and Peter had been alone.

It’s 12:24am on a Wednesday morning. It’s been almost twelve hours since that call. Andrew had claimed May’s bed almost as soon as they’d arrived home. Peter had gone to his room without another word. Tobey had made mac and cheese for dinner, which the three of them ate in silence.

He’s not sure what people talk about after their parent dies. In the movies they always have big, meaningful conversations. They talk about grief and heartache and promise to be there for each other. To be better. Usually there’s a quote that ends up on a t-shirt.

Tobey doesn’t think he has any t-shirt quotes in him.

He’d never been good with his words.

Now he’s on May’s couch and wrapped up in a blanket that smells like homemade detergent. Aunt May makes her own -

Made her own.

Past tense.

Past tense, the store bought detergent always made her sneeze.

Past tense, she used to make the best peach cobbler Tobey had ever tasted in his life.

Past tense, she used to write puns on their brown paper lunch bags every day before school.

Past tense, she kept Spider-Man stickers in her medicine box even after they all aged out of the comic book stuff just out of habit.

Past tense, when she’d been sad she’d make them hot chocolate with cinnamon.

Past tense, she’d taken a college math class when Tobey had entered high school just so she could keep helping her kids with their homework.

Past tense, she’d been one of the very few good people left in the world. Now she’s gone.

Tobey sits up and lets the blanket slip from his shoulders. There are hot tears spilling down his cheeks. He wipes them away as quickly and as quietly as he can. He doesn’t want the others to see him like this.

He’s the oldest.

He’s supposed to be handling everything.

Let them grieve. Let them cry.

He’s the big brother. He owes them their grief at least.

He has to figure out the paperwork for his new guardianship. He has to beg the landlord to let them transfer the rent so Peter doesn’t lose the only home he knows. He has a funeral to plan. He has a child to raise. He has-

A door opens. There’s a thud, then a curse.

Andrew appears from the hallway, limping.

“You good?”

It’s a mistake. When Andrew reacts, it can never be simple. When he smiles, he beams, when he cries he sobs, when he’s excited he’s bouncing off the walls.

And when he’s scared he leaps backwards and smashes into a small end table with a very delicate, very treasured picture frame sitting on top. The frame topples. Andrew spins, trying to catch it.

Unfortunately, he does.

His fingertips hook around the frame. It’s just enough force to send it spinning away from the soft carpet it would have landed on and instead it slams directly into the very solid, very hard drywall behind it.

The glass shatters into so many pieces.

Andrew looks at Tobey.

Tobey looks at Andrew.

They both look at the frame.

The picture rests in the pile of glass. It’s of the four of them at the beach. May is in the middle, laughing with a dollop of ice cream on her nose. Pete’s just seven years old and looking very proud of himself, holding a now half empty ice cream cup. Only Andrew’s head is visible in the foreground. The rest of him is lost in the sand, a job well done by Peter and Tobey. Well. Mostly Tobey. But Peter had been very enthusiastic about the whole thing.

It’s Tobey who holds the camera, angled up so that his face takes up half the frame. He could’ve taken the picture normally, could have cut himself out. It would’ve been nicer that way.

But back then… he’d felt the need to be included, selfish as it had been. He’d felt time slipping away. The unknown of college had loomed in his future. Maybe he’d needed to capture the moment when their family had been whole. All of them. Together.

Even then he’d known what a rarity that could be.

“It’s okay,” he whispers as loud as he dares. He knows Andrew. He knows what frantic looks like. And right now Andrew is trying very hard not to be frantic, and failing, miserably. He’s already hopping on his toes, dancing around the glass like it’s going to bite him. “We can replace it. Just as long as we didn’t wake-”

“WHAT IS IT?”

“- Peter… up…”

Peter’s door slams open. The boy appears with a faded Star Wars t-shirt and a baseball bat.

“Is that a baseball bat?” Tobey asks.

“Is that my t-shirt?” Andrew asks.

“...no?” Peter lies.

Tobey just sighs. The kid’s eyes are still wide, panicked, but the baseball bat is down from the threatening position it’d started with and instead it hangs slack by his side. So that’s an improvement.

He’d been scared. Actually scared.

“It’s alright,” Tobey whispers, trying to keep his voice low. “Andrew just walked into-”

“Dude! It’s not my fault!”

“I never said it was.”

“She loved that picture.” Peter’s voice is flat. His eyes aren’t on his brothers, but on the pile of broken glass.

Oh.

He wants to say they’ll fix it. They can buy a new frame. They can reprint the photo. May backed up all their photos on her laptop. Tobey had shown her how.

But he doesn’t think this is about the photo. Just like he doesn’t think the fear is only about a crash in the night.

But that’s something for another time. For now, their grief is too raw. The distance between them is too great.

“I was going to make hot chocolate,” he says instead. “Do you want some?”

Peter tries to ask about the mess, but Tobey shakes his head. It’ll be there in the morning. Andrew tries to murmur an apology, but Tobey shakes his head again. May wouldn’t have minded. She would’ve used the excuse to buy another god-awful picture frame and cover it with heart stickers.

She liked that kind of thing. Past tense.

Instead, he gathers his brothers in the kitchen. He warms milk in a saucepan just like he’d watched May do for years. He stirs in some dollar store mixture until the apartment smells like chocolate. And then he adds a spoon of cinnamon.

There’s no laughter. No smiles. None of them speak a word.

He’s not May.

He can’t fix this with three mugs of hot chocolate and a kiss on the forehead.

But at least he can try.

For now, he can try.

That’s all he can do.

Chapter Text

The next day Andrew has to go back to his apartment. He needs clothes. He’s not going to leave his brothers, but he needs clothes, his laptop, things he doesn’t want to lose if he forgets to pay his rent.

The minute he opens the door he’s hit with the smell of his apartment. Gwen used to say everyone’s house has a distinct smell and you’re never aware of your own until you spend time away. She said the first time she went home after dorming she knew the smell of home the minute she stepped in the door. She said it smelled like the cigarettes her brothers had been sneaking since they were teens, since their dad had died and stopped smoking them, the vanilla perfume her mom had used her whole life that Gwen had always bought as a candle for her of the same smell when she didn’t know what to get her because she assumed she liked, and finally a scent Gwen could never pin down but sometimes she would step into a room and stop, smile spreading across her face, and say “this smells like home.” 

Andrew stumbles back, shocked at the wave of memory that hits him. He loved her so much and it still hits him in waves sometimes. His eyes sting as he steps back into the apartment. He inhales, for Gwen, and for the first time he does smell his apartment's smell. It’s impersonal. It smells like week old Chinese food and somehow the popcorn he burnt months ago. It smells like the socks he hasn’t washed in a while and the apples he keeps for when he forgets to eat in the morning before a substitute gig. It doesn’t smell like home. 

It doesn’t smell like home

It doesn’t smell like home.

That phrase plays on a loop in his head as he packs a bag. He realizes that he doesn't think he's had a home since he moved out of May's. He thinks he came close with Gwen, he’d always been a believer that home was more about the people you love than a place, but their time had been cut too short for it to really solidify.

He goes to his cabinet to get a cup of water to calm his shaking hands and misunderestimates how low his sleeve sags. It catches on a plate that flies out of the cabinet. It doesn't break. Not at first. It just bounces on its rim and Andrew has the gall to think maybe dollar store plates are more durable than they're given credit for before the plate lands flat and shatters. 

He laughs. 

He kicks the shards.

He stares at the plate. 

He grabs another and smashes it because Fuck. It. The woman who raised him is dead so who gives a FUCK about plates. It's not like last night with the picture frame. 

These are worthless. 

This is intentional. 

He wants to smash something. 

He wants to smash his life apart. 

He doesn't have a life to smash apart anymore.

Grab. Aim. Smash 

He doesn’t have a home anymore.

Grab. Aim. Smash

All he has are 

Grab. Aim. Smash

These

Grab. Aim. Smash

Fucking

Grab. Aim. Smash

Plates

Grab. Aim.

He stops so suddenly the plate slips in his hand. But he grabs it tighter, not allowing it to fall. It's not a dollar store plate. It's from his and Gwen's 6-month anniversary. She'd insisted they go to some stupid paint your own pottery place and he'd secretly loved it. He's just staring at the plate, vision blurring with tears, when a horrifying thought hits him. He carefully sets down the plate and begins frantically scanning the rubble, terrified he smashed something else precious to him.

He drops to his knees and picks up the fragments. He didn't. All that's here are remnants of some fall set of plates. Nothing he cared about. Nothing he can't replace. But none of that matters, none of that processes. Instead he's just staring at the fragment in his hands. He's silent as tears well in his eyes. 

Then it breaks, he breaks, and he's sobbing. He's gasping for air and there are tears running hot down his face and he's burying his face in his hands and curling up on the floor, not caring about the shattered ceramics he's laying on. 

He's crying so hard it hurts to breathe. 

He's losing everyone he loves. 

Gwen's dead.

May's dead.

Who's next?

Who next will Andrew fail?

Andrew already failed his brothers. What if there isn't enough time to fix it?

What if they're next on his list of people to lose?

He can't take losing anyone else. He can't. He isn't sure he's going to survive losing May. 

May who raised him. 

May who took him in as a scared kid and introduced him to his brother. 

His name is Peter too. See, you guys already have so much in common.

May who kissed every scraped knee.

May who stood firmly between him and Tobey when he was 15 and angry his brother was leaving and Tobey was 18 and needed to make his way in the world and told them to stop it. 

Told them they were brothers. 

Told them that was all that mattered. 

Told them they would always have each other even if Tobey left. 

She'd been wrong. 

Tobey had left. Then Andrew had. Then they stopped talking. Didn't see each other on holidays. They stopped being brothers. When had they stopped being brothers?

Tobey had been his best friend and then he hadn’t.

Gwen had been Andrew’s entire world and then she hadn’t.

May had been the one constant who would always love him no matter what and now she’s gone. 

Now Andrew has no one because he’s fooling himself to think that his brothers truly want him at home. Their fracturing was as much his fault as any of theirs, it wasn’t Peter’s fault at all. They weren’t a family anymore and Andrew was being selfish pushing himself into their lives.

But today he can fool himself into thinking he’s helping Tobey raise Peter. He’s going to help with the funeral arrangements. He may not necessarily be wanted but he can be useful. He can help. He’s done this before, with Gwen, he can be there for his brothers. They’re his family. Even if they aren’t a family anymore.

At some point Andrew calms down enough to sit up and silently cry into his knees. 

At some point Andrew gets up and looks at the mess he made. 

At some point he decides that's a problem for another version of him and goes and showers. 

He showers till the water turns cold because he's just staring into space. 

He gets out of the shower and changes. He grabs his bag and looks at the mess and continues to think that's a problem for me later. He goes to go out the door before turning back and shoving the anniversary plate into his bag. He mumbles “shut up” at the shards on the ground like they’re going to judge him and slams the apartment door shut behind him.

On the drive back to the apartment he decides that was his one break down. His brother's need him. Tobey is going to decide the same thing he knows but Tobey hasn't been through this as recently as he had, it feels like yesterday he lost Gwen, so it's Andrew's job to help him, to let him grieve. Peter, he hopes at least, is going to be expressive in his grief because he's just a kid and he shouldn't be going through this at all but he's going to need his brothers. 

Andrew decides in the 75 minute, why did he live so far away , that he is going to be the strong one. He's gone through this with Gwen. He can help his brothers. He's failed so many people he won't fail his brothers. He won't let them shatter like the plates. He's going to be okay because someone's got too and he'd rather it be him. Peter means rock and Andrew means strong, he'd looked them up once, and he thinks in some small way that means he was meant for this. He was meant to be the strong rock in the center of their grief. If it was all he could do then he would do it if it killed him. 

Chapter Text

Peter wakes up slowly to the sun shining right into his eyes. He blinks at the clock beside him and is surprised to see it read 10:20. Had May let him sleep in? 

He blinks more and his vision fully swims into focus and reality hits him like cold water. May didn't let him sleep in. May's dead. 

Peter's up and out of bed, assuming he's alone and he has made himself late, before he can really think about it. He's stumbling into the first clothes he can find and slamming out of his room and into the kitchen living room area as fast as possible so he can catch the next bus to the stop nearest his school and make it for at least the second half of the day when he stops dead in the kitchen. 

He isn't alone. There, with his back turned, is his oldest brother. What the fuck is Tobey doing here?

"Hey," Tobey says softly, "Thought I heard you. You hung-"

He turns

Peter's bag is slung over his shoulder. He's dressed. Ready to go. 

Like it's just a normal day.

"You... Pete, you don't have to go to school. You know that right? I'm not going to make you go to school today."

"I want to," Peter says like it's the stupidest suggestion Tobey’s ever made. 

Tobey looks down at the pan in his hand. He'd wanted to make eggs. He'd wanted to let Peter talk or cry, to let him grieve in comfort.

This... had not been the plan.

"Peter... no one is expecting you to go to school today."

"I want to," Peter repeats, slightly harsher. Tobey’s not getting it, he's just standing there staring at Peter with the pan in his hand like Peter can't make his own decisions. Like he's going to break if allowed to make choices for himself.

Tobey wishes he was better equipped for this.

He wishes he knew what to say. May always knows-

-knew what to say.

He never does. 

"Pete, maybe this isn't the best choice?" He tries to keep his words gentle. "You won't miss much from just one day, right? You can take a day..."

He can take a week if he wants. Weeks . If Tobey could force him to take the rest of the year off, he would. 

This is traumatic and Peter isn't dealing with it. He needs to deal with it.

But right now he thinks he'll get lucky if he can just convince Peter to take one day.

"I don't want to!" Peter yells, voice rambling. "I want to go to school!" He stomps his foot. He feels like a child. He knows he's acting like one but Tobey hasn't been around. He doesn't get to tell Peter what's best for him like he's his parent.

"Peter, she just died." It comes out harsher than intended. Tobey can't help it. She just died. Yesterday. She's dead.

She's dead.

He can't think about that. He has to think of Peter.

"... You're allowed to take a day."

"I know she's fucking dead, Tobey," he snaps back, harsh and cold. "I don't want to take a day. I want to go to school. You don't get to tell me what to do! You haven't been here! You don't get to just decide to come back and tell me how to grieve! I wanna go to school. If you won't take me I'll get myself there, I thought I was on my own anyway!" He's yelling and breathing heavily, hands balled into fists.

He knows May just died. He can't stop thinking about it. He just wants to stop thinking about it. He wants to go to school and pretend like his ears aren't still ringing and the woman who raised him isn't dead.

Tobey isn’t handling this well. 

He doesn’t know how to handle it any other way. 

I thought I was on my own anyway. 

Peter’s words make him flinch. 

He’s right. 

Tobey hasn’t been here. He’d always thought May had been enough. Until…

Now she’s gone. 

And Tobey is finding himself to be an inadequate replacement. 

“Okay,” he says, unable to look his brother in the eyes. “I’ll take you to school.”

"Thank you," Peter says, mostly because he'd been expecting more of a fight. "Let's go." He hikes his bag up higher on his shoulder.

Tobey watches him, maybe for a second too long. 

Is this the right decision?

He can’t find it in himself to fight anymore. 

“Peter-“

I’m sorry I wasn’t there.

He can’t force the words. 

“… let’s go.”

Peter looks up and half expects Tobey to start arguing again, but when he doesn't Peter just nods and walks out the door.

It's loud. That's the first thing Peter registers when he walks in. It's so crushingly loud. They're switching periods.

"W-what period is it?" He asks, slow blinking at the receptionist.

"Third just ended. Head to your fourth period class." She says, slamming the stapler on a late excuse and handing it to him.

"Thank you." He takes it and hikes his bag up on his back. Fourth period. English. He doesn't have this class with MJ or Ned, which is good. He's pretty sure they don't know, not unless someone told them. It wasn't in the news, he'd checked, and he really didn't want to have to tell them first thing. This gave him time to prepare for that conversation.

He didn't even know how to have that conversation. How do you tell your only friends, 'Hey the woman who raised me is dead and I know you guys loved her too but I am barely keeping it together and I really need to keep it together because my brothers are fine somehow, and I can't let them know how bad I'm doing, so I need the two of you to keep it together too.'

You don't.

The answer is you don't, because asking your two best friends in the whole world not to be upset that someone they loved is dead just because you're not doing so hot is a shitty move and he's not going too. He just doesn't know what he is going to do...

So, he's just glad he doesn't have to know yet. He can spend all of English figuring out how to be normal, so his friends don't know something is wrong.

"Peter," Mrs. Dower says when he walks into the room, clearly shocked, "The office told me you would be out this week."

Peter shrugs and mumbles a halfhearted, "'m here"

His teachers must have been informed because she looks like she wants to say more but she doesn't push. Instead, she hands him his paper back and nods at him as he walks to his desk.

He slumps down and stares at the paper in front of him. It's a report on Great Expectations. May had read the book with him because he complained about it so much and then helped him write the essay. The paper wrinkles under the force of his clenched hands and all the air leaves his lungs.

He wants to shred it.

He wants to scream.

He carefully slides it into his binder.

This is fine. He's fine. He can do this.

He breathes in and out slowly, trying to focus on the board. She's writing their homework. She doesn't do that till the end of class. He looks at the clock. Forty minutes had passed. When had that happened?

The bell rings and Mrs. Dower says, "Alright everyone remember to finish act II of Macbeth by Friday. Mr. Parker can you please stay back?"

"Oooh, Parker's in trouble," Flash sings as he walks past him out of the classroom.

"I didn't ask for your commentary Mr. Thompson. I assure you it is not necessary." Mrs. Dower snaps at Flash's retreating back.

"Yes Ma'am," He mumbles and slinks out of the classroom.

Once the classroom is clear, Mrs. Dower leans against her desk and looks over at Peter who is standing among the first row of desks, staring at the web carved into the one he's standing beside.

Mrs. Dower sighs heavily. "Mr. Parker." The,n when he doesn't look up, "Peter. Why are you in my class today?"

"Uh... because it was fourth period," He says.

She sighs again. "You're smart Peter. You know that's not what I'm asking."

Peter shrugs. "I wanted to come to school."

"I really do not think that's the best course of action. You should be taking time for yourself. You should be grie-"

And that's officially it. He is not having the grief conversation with his English teacher who he barely knows. Nope. No. Absolutely not. He's probably already going to have to have a talk with the guidance counselor, Mr. Jones, when he realizes Peter is in class... he doesn't need it from her too.

"Thanks for your concern, Ma'am, but I should really be getting to my next class. Thank you, bye!" He calls over his shoulder as he jets out the door. She's probably calling after him but he's pretty confident she won't make a scene, so he keeps moving.

He's halfway to Calc when he realizes he doesn't have his textbook, so he doubles back to his locker for it. And that turns out to be a mistake, because that's where Flash finds him.

"Hey Parker," He leans against the locker next to Peter's.

"Really not a good time Flash." Peter grumbles, shoving his book into his backpack and slamming the locker shut.

"Hey man I just wanted to see if you needed help in English since she held you after class today."

Peter grits his teeth and keeps walking. "Leave me alone." He growls.

"Or does Aunt Hotty help with that and if so, I was wondering if sh-"

He doesn't get to finish because Peter has whipped around and shoved him, hard. "I SAID FUCK OFF," He yells and now people are staring. He doesn't care. He's panting and he can barely see because his vision is swimming.

"Mr. Parker!" Mr. Jones's voice cuts through the crowd at the same time as he hears Ned's voice yell, "Peter!"

Ned gets to him first. "Peter, man what just happened."

"Nothing" Peter says, shaking his head, "Nothing I shouldn't have... oh god" he stares down at his hands then down at Flash who is scrambling to his feet and backing away from Peter.

"What the fuck, Parker?" Flash hisses and then turns to Mr. Jones, "I wasn't even doing anything and he-"

"That's enough. Both of you" Mr. Jones glances between Peter and Flash. "All of you." He raises his voice. "Back to class. That includes you Mr. Thompson and you Mr. Leeds. Peter, however. You're coming with me."

"Mr. Jones that's not fair" Ned starts to protest, "You can't just take Flash's word he was probab-"

"That's enough from you too. I said back to class. Mr. Parker isn't in trouble."

Peter shakes his head and nods down the hall. "Go to class, man. I'll text you later" He hugs him, he doesn't care that they're in the middle of the hallway. "Thanks." He says, voice cracking, as he pulls back.

"What's going on?" Ned asks, hushed.

Peter shakes his head again. "Later," He whispers, hoarsely.

Mr. Jones puts his hand on Peter's shoulder. "Alright son let's go. I was going to find you anyway when I heard you'd come in today."

Peter nods and silently follows him, already trying to explain to his brothers in his head how sorry he is for insisting he come today.

Chapter Text

It's late morning when Andrew manages to get to the apartment. He doesn't remember the drive back or even really walking up the stairs to the apartment, but suddenly he's standing in front of May's door. 

Except it's not May’s anymore. It’s... he doesn't know whose it is anymore, but he doesn't want to lose it. He tries 3 different keys before finally managing to get the right one.

Tobey thinks it's strange to be living in someone else’s home. Peter and May had moved around the same time Andrew had moved out. Neither Tobey nor Andrew had ever lived here. It isn’t their home. 

He wants to ask May where she keeps her baking trays or where he should hang his coat.

But he can’t.

He’s just decided on throwing it onto the couch and dealing with it later when the door clicks open again. 

Andrew is back. 

“Hey…..”

"Hey," Andrew says awkwardly as he shuts the door. He shuffles his feet, unsure if he should take his shoes off or keep them on. When they were little, they'd had honest to God house shoes, but he'd never lived here.

"How…’s Peter?" He almost asks how Tobey’s doing, but somehow that feels like a harder question.

Tobey grimaces. “He went to school?”

It’s a question. Is this normal?

"You took him to school?" Andrew says, head snapping up as he stops fiddling with his hands. Why in the world had Tobey let him leave, let alone go to school?

Tobey blinks. “He - he asked.”

"He-" Andrew falters, "-he asked? Why would he..." 

He trails off unsure what to even say.

“He asked,” Tobey repeats. “I- I don’t know. Dude, I don’t know. He said he wanted to go.” 

You should have stopped him, is on the tip of Andrew's tongue, but Andrew wasn't even there so he doesn't know if he can really judge. 

"Maybe we should..." He tries to think of something they can do. "Do something for when he comes home?"

“Yeah…”

Okay, Tobey thinks. We can do something. They can do something! 

“We should do something … like what?”

"I- I have no clue," Andrew laughs. "What would May do if-" his voice goes tight. "If she was here?"

Tobey doesn't know how to answer that. He stares at his brother, fingertips twitching like he can pluck the answer out of the air.

He feels a strange sort of hollow inside.

The voicemail plays in his head.

We regret to inform you-

Why hadn't he spent more time with her? Everything had just become so busy. So important in comparison. His job. MJ.

- take over the guardianship of Peter Benjamin Parker-

He should've been there for Peter. Before all this. Why had it taken May's death to bring them home? To bring them all home?

"She's not here." It's a flat answer. The only one he can give. "If she was..."

This wouldn't be a problem because she would be here telling him what to do and how to fix this because he can't.

He can't fix this.

"I know she's not here," Andrew snaps and it's harsh, so much harsher than he meant, and not really directed at Tobey. He's angry but not at his brother. He's angry at the world. The world that won't stop taking people from him. 

He scrubs his face. "Sorry. That didn't come out right. I just mean maybe we can do something to make it feel a little more normal for him to come home. What did she do for us when we got home? Especially after a hard day."

He can't think of anything she did that they can replace. 

He can think of her hugging him tight after his first break up and whispering, “ It's going to be okay . Heartbreak will only make you grow stronger into ,” his hair, still taller than him because it was the year before his growth spurt. 

He remembers her kissing his forehead and telling him, “ You're so bright Peter. ” One of the few times she'd called him that since he'd been solidified as Andrew. “ They'd be a fool not to accept you ,” when he didn't get early admissions to the school of his dreams and was convinced that meant he was never getting in. 

He remembers her silent and angry applying anesthetic and a band aid to his wounded face when he got in a fight defending some kid smaller than him at school one day. He remembers thinking she was going to send him away. He remembers her face when he voiced that fear, so full of shock and sadness. He remembers falling asleep with his head on her lap that night with her stroking his hair and whispering, “you're not going anywhere. You're mine now, Peter Andrew. I will never send you away. You'll have to leave and even then I'll chase you.”

She isn't here to chase him now. She isn't here to tell him he's going to figure out how to help his family because he's so bright. She's now part of the heartbreak that's supposedly going to make him stronger. 

He doesn't think any of this is making him stronger. He thinks it's fracturing him. He thinks he's going to fall apart. 

He swallows thickly and has to blink a little to keep tears from falling. "I can't think of anything we can do that would..." He wants to say replace but that hurts too much. "Make him." He wants to say forget here but he knows that's unreasonable. "Feel better." Is what he ultimately settles on... he doesn't know if that's reasonable either. 

Tobey only frowns.

They’re not May. 

He’s not May. 

May made everyone feel better just by being herself. 

Tobey isn’t that. 

He can hear the tremor in Andrew’s voice. He can see the memories playing out behind his eyes. He can see the pain. 

Peter isn’t the only brother who lost a parent. 

Andrew is suffering too. 

It’s been so achingly long since they’ve had a real conversation. They call. They text. But it’s all nothing but fleeting small talk these days. 

How’s the job? Met a girl yet? You tried that new restaurant on 42nd st?

Things that don’t matter. But now here they are, in the same apartment, the same room, feeling the same pain. It’s like he’s a kid again except May isn’t here to introduce him to his new brother. 

Kids bond over lego sets and comfort. Adults just hold on to the pain until they crack.

“How are you holding up?”

Andrew blinks like that's going to bring him out of the fog clouding his brain. "I'm-" 

He has no clue what he is. 

"I'm-" 

He repeats like that's going to give him an answer. 

"Hey, do you remember the Thai place on 2nd? Just down the street from the school? May used to rave about it, but the rice there tasted like the cardboard packaging they used?" Andrew says, smiling slightly at the memory, "Maybe we could get food from there?"

He doesn't answer the question and he knows it's painfully obvious but he doesn't think he can keep it together and answer and he really needs to keep it together.

“I don’t know if Peter likes that place.”

Tobey can’t remember. 

He also notices the avoidance.

"I don't know if I know what Peter likes," Andrew admits quietly.

And that’s the problem. 

Tobey doesn’t know them. Either of them. 

“… Hey, man, I’m sorry. About… I mean I guess none of us really stayed in touch.” 

He’s the oldest. He should’ve put the effort in.

"I didn't either. It's a two-way street," Andrew shrugs. He wants to blame shutting down after Gwen but he knows he didn't really reach out before either.

Tobey nods. 

It’s acceptance. Nothing feels fixed. 

“…. If you do want to talk about May… or… take a break? Go home? Work know you’re gone?” 

Andrew shifts uncomfortably. "I-uh- I quit my job," he says rubbing the back of his head. "I mean it wasn't really a stable thing anyway and I just…" he shrugs. "I quit"

"Do you... wanna talk about May or go home? I went and grabbed some stuff. I'm sure you want to do that too. And you've got that photography job right? They know?"

Andrew moves away from the subject quickly enough for Tobey to pick up on the hint. He doesn’t want to talk about it. 

The honest answer is Andrew’s smarter than he is. He knows that’s the truth. But he also knows that his brother had never been very good at keeping still. 

“No, no. I mean, I’ll grab some stuff tonight. After Peter’s home. Or something.” 

It doesn’t feel right to leave. Even to grab some more clothes. 

“I let them know. Yeah. Sorta. He knows I’ll be gone for a day. I just need to… call them…”

Something else on his list. 

“There’s just so much to do. You know? For… her…”

Andrew swallows and nods, looking down at his feet. "Yeah. It's a lot...funerals. Let me know if you need me to handle anything"

“I’ve got it handled.”

Tobey says it quickly. 

"You don't have to do it alone," Andrew pushes. He's been there. He knows what it feels like to not want anyone else to have to suffer through the hardest parts so you decide to take it on yourself. He doesn't want Tobey to have to do that. 

Tobey doesn’t get the chance to respond. 

The phone rings. 

He gives Andrew one more glance, before pulling it off the hook. 

Is this the parent or guardian of Peter Parker?

Chapter Text

May unlocks the door with a heavy sigh and Andrew shuffles in behind her, shoulders slumped. 

He wants to apologize again. He wants to tell her he was defending someone and he won't apologize for that. He wants to beg her to keep him. 

He doesn’t end up saying anything and when she turns to him, looking like she wants him to say something, he doesn't really know what, he just stares at the floor and absently kicks at  the floor. 

After a few beats of silence she finally says, "Please go to your room Andrew. I'll call you out for dinner. Tobey get started on your homework."

Andrew nods, very pointedly doesn't look at his bro- Tobey, and slinks back to their room.

This is fine. 

Everything is fine. 

He's been removed from homes before. 

He'll be fine. 

He really doesn't want to leave. 

He pushes himself into the corner his bed is positioned in and buries his face in his knees.

Tobey doesn’t go to start his homework. He makes a show of it, groaning as he shuffles off towards his room. 

But then he crouches by the door, and watches May’s footsteps until they pace their way into her own room. She’ll be busy for a while. 

May doesn’t deal with the strict parenting part of parenting very well. It stresses her out. A lot. And that usually means she’ll be wearing a hole in her carpet, agonizing over where she’d gone wrong for at least half an hour more. 

He pops open his door and creeps the two steps over to Andrew’s room, knocking as hard as he dares.

“Come in,” Andrew mumbles. He knows it’s Tobey. May is gentle but never hesitant. Tobey often acts like he isn’t sure if he’s going to be allowed into Andrew's space. Andrew can't ever imagine denying him.... Not that he'd ever tell Tobey that.

Tobey slips the door open gently. Andrew has shoved himself into his bed, curled in so tightly it's as if he’s trying to make himself disappear. 

“Dude,” he hisses, just as the door shuts behind him. “What happened?”

Andrew shrugs. "Got into a fight"

He doesn't say he was defending Chris because Jack can't pick on someone his own size. He'd tried telling May that and she hadn't let him finish, just flatly told him to go to the car and that they talk about it at home, so he doesn't think saying it will do him any good.

“No, but what happened?” There’s a lightness in Tobey’s voice. It’s Andrew. Bean-pole, trips-over-his-own-shoes, and-apologizes-to-shelves-when-he-bumps-his-own-head-on-them-Andrew. 

Picking fights isn’t exactly something Tobey thought he could do.

"Oh" Andrew says. He hadn't been expecting that. He unfurls a little, leaning against the wall instead of shoving into it and extending one of his legs. 

"Jack's always picking on Chris, always , and it's not fair because he's just doing it because Chris is better at science than Jack is and Jack thinks Miss Chelsie is pretty and she's the science assistant. And it's dumb that Jack is jealous because Miss Chelsie is like old and not going to think Jack is pretty back even if Chris is better at science so I might have.... sort have... kinda of..." 

He looks down and fiddles with his hands. 

"Pushedjackwhenhewasbeingmeantochrisandthenpunchedhimwhenhetriedtogetbackup," he says in a rush. "But uh," he waves to his face, "he got me back so honestly I think we should have just called it even... the principal doesn't see it that way he says I'm suspended."

Tobey’s still smiling. He crawls into the bed next to Andrew, and nudges their shoulders together. 

“You’re like a superhero,” he says in a whisper. Like it's a secret. For the two of them. “You know… before they get used to their powers, when they get beat up a lot.”

May had found a whole bunch of comics at a second hand store a few weeks ago. Most were torn or too faded to read, but she’d bought the box for Andrew and Tobey to rummage through. 

They’d scavenged about a dozen salvageable issues between them and they still hadn’t stopped pouring over the pages late into the night.

"I don't wanna be a superhero if it means I can't stay," Andrew mumbles. It's not the response he'd meant to have but he can't stop thinking about it. 

He doesn't wanna leave Tobey. He'd always wanted a brother and now he had one. 

He doesn't want to leave May who was nice and learned to make his favorite cookies. 

He didn't want to leave his room which May had helped him decorate and was full of things he loved. 

You don't get to keep things you love when you move around all the time. 

He'd give up everything he loved if it meant he could stay and keep feeling loved.

Tobey’s brow crinkles. He doesn’t understand what comic that’s a reference to… 

“What do you mean?”

"I'm not stupid" Andrew says. "I messed up. She's calling my social worker right? She's nice, she'll probably let me stay till they find someone to take me but I messed up." His voice cracks and he shoves his face into his knees again. "Nobody wants a kid who messes up... even if I was a superhero," he mumbles pathetically, laying his cheek on his knee and staring blankly at the door. "Which I'm not.”

Tobey deflates. 

Oh.

The hard part about all of  this? He sees himself in Andrew. A scared little kid, terrified that one wrong move could bring this all toppling down.

Because May isn’t just a foster mom. She’s different. 

Foster homes aren’t evil torture chambers like books and movies say they are. But they are crowded, and everyone knows they’re not permanent. You don’t get comic books to call your own, you don’t get your own room and a home cooked meal every night. 

You don’t get a parent. Not really. 

He’s never been to a place like May’s. And he knows Andrew hasn’t either. 

She cares. She really cares. 

He’d forgotten how flimsy that’d all felt just a few years before. 

“She’s not calling your social worker. She’s just upset because she’s really bad at serious stuff. Like, when we mess up. But even when we do mess up she won’t send us away. She-“

He’s never said it out loud before. But he knows it’s true. 

“She loves us.”

"You" Andrew says softly.  "I know she loves you. I don't know if I-" He sighs. "She might not-" his voice cracks and he shoves his cheek back into his knee and shrugs.

Tobey knows that sting of fear, the heavy way doubt can fill your lungs. He hates to see it in Andrew. 

He’d never wanted a brother. In some foster families brothers meant having all the good food stolen. In others, brothers meant sneered insults or a fist to the jaw. 

But that was before Andrew. 

Now he knows what it feels to be an older brother. To have someone to protect.

He leans forward, nudging into Andrew again, trying to pry a look or a glance. 

"I know it's hard to believe... sometimes I still don't, but I don't think she's ever sending us away.”

"That'd be really nice" Andrew says in a hushed, disbelieving whisper, leaning into Tobey. "I really wanna stay."

He'd always wanted a little brother when he thought about it but he thinks he doesn't mind having an older one. 

"I love you," he blurts out. "I just... just in case. I wanted you to know that." He smirks "If you ever tell anyone I admitted that I'm not afraid to fight." He giggles and waves to his face. "Obviously.”

Tobey snorts, trying to play away his shock. 

“I love you too, little dude. And I’m manly enough to tell everyone .”

He messes up Andrew’s hair for good measure. 

“I mean it. We’re a family now. A real one. May wants us.” His voice drops to almost a whisper. “I know it.”

It doesn't feel right, someone wanting Andrew, but he thinks Tobey might be right and he knows Tobey would never lie to him. 

He ducks away from his brother's hand and glares at him but it's unconvincing. 

"Yeah," he says softly "She wants us." He smiles crookedly. He doesn't know if he'll ever fully believe that but for now Tobey believing it is enough.

Chapter Text

Miraculously, Tobey finds parking just down the street from Peter's school. He squeezes his car into the gap on the street and his seatbelt is off before the engine's even off.
"I knew I shouldn't have let him go to school."

"He insisted," Andrew says. "It might have been worse if you hadn't let him" he isn't sure how but he doesn't want Tobey to blame himself

Tobey isn't so sure about that.
"Would May have let him?"
He doesn't wait for an answer before jumping out of the car.

He wouldn't have pushed with May Andrew opens his mouth to say but Tobey's already out the door

Tobey walks up the street, glancing over his shoulder to check if Andrew is following.
He's glad he's here. He's glad he doesn't have to do this part alone. The hard part. The parenting part.
He'd never thought about kids before. Parenting. Not really. Not until MJ had brought it up a month ago and-
Maybe he shouldn't have been so surprised.

Andrew follows, hands shoved in his pockets against the air. He has no clue what he's going to do to help but he'll do whatever he can.

The brothers are greeted by Principle Mortia almost the second they open the doors.
They'd both attended MSST as kids, but Mortia is a new addition to the staff. Tobey almost misses Mr. Davis, a warm old man who had always been more occupied with his own (failed) scientific endeavors than anything his students were doing. It would've been nice to see a familiar face at least.
Mortia sticks out his hand, offering a flimsy smile. "Hi. Mr. Parker-"
"Tobey," Tobey corrects, taking the offered hand.
"Of course. I am so sorry for your loss." Tobey glances at Andrew. They're going to be hearing that a lot and it already feels like a knife in his side. He's aware of their loss and he's aware of how sorry everyone is about it. But sorry is a word for spilled milk or bumping into a stranger on the street. It seems so small to be used for death. For May's death. For the hole she's left in their universe.
"Thanks."

"Why you didn't kill her?" Is out of Andrew's mouth before he can stop it. It's very much the wrong thing to say but he'd always hated that phrase. Hated it when he'd lost his parents. Hated it when he'd lost Gwen. Hated it now.
"Uh" he says, just as surprised as everyone else he just said that. "Sorry, I don't know where that came from." He shoves his hands in his pocket. "Where's Peter?"

Tobey winces.
“Maybe - you don’t have to- if you want to wait outside?” He says in a low voice.
The principal stares at them.

Andrew shakes his head. "No, I'm good. Sorry." It’s more for Tobey but he directs it at the principal so he doesn’t think Andrew is too unhinged to be here. He really misses Mr. Davis.

He’s not sure about that. At all.
Andrew’s drawn tight, like a wire about to snap. Just like Peter this morning.
May died yesterday.
It doesn’t feel real.
Shouldn’t the world stop? Just for a moment. Can’t they just take time to grieve before someone from an office is shoving paperwork into his hands?
Can’t Peter just go to school and pretend like everything is normal if that's what he wants?
Tobey has to pull them together.
“It’s okay.” All he can do is clasp Andrew’s shoulder.
The principal brings them to his office. He doesn’t try to press for any more conversation. Tobey can feel the awkward anxiety pouring off of him, but for once in his life he doesn't care.
When the door is opened they’re greeted by Peter, his face tear stained and red.

It's not okay. Nothing is going to be okay again. He can't even keep it together for one school visit. The minute the door opens though all those thoughts leave Andrew's head because there is his baby brother looking horrible and nothing else matters.
He brushes past Tobey and crouches down in front of Peter. "Hey Pete." Andrew says softly. "What happened?"
Tobey got the run down from the principal but he wants to hear Peter tell it because he can't imagine the principal got what happened.

“Nothing,” is Peter’s mumbled answer. “Nothing happened. I’m okay.”

Tobey offers quiet hum. Doubtful.
"May I - in the hallway?" he asks the principal quietly.
Peter needs to talk, and he's not going to do it under the watchful eyes of the school.
"Of course," Mr. Morita says and steers Tobey through the door, looking a little relieved.

He reminds Andrew so much of himself.
He remembers how he was after Gwen's death.
He remembers getting up the next day and going to class, then work, then home, like nothing happened.
He remembers doing that for three days straight before the funeral home called to have him arrange the funeral, they told him her mom had given her his number when she couldn't handle the planning. Her husband's funeral had almost killed her and no mother should have to bury her daughter so she was leaving it to Andrew, some part of Andrew always wondered if it was because she blamed him for Gwen’s death.
He remembers his knee jerk thought was why her brothers weren’t doing it.
He remembers he had immediately felt guilty, they weren’t the ones who were supposed to be in the car with her when it happened.
He remembers hanging up the phone and throwing up.
He remembers sobbing so hard he thought he was dying.
He remembers finally calling May back, she'd been calling the whole time and he'd just been ignoring it because answering meant confronting the truth.
He remembers telling her not to come over. He was okay. .
He remembers her coming over anyway.
He remembers her talking about losing Ben.
He remembers them crying together because this was the most horrible gut wrenching part of love, because one day you lose them and you feel like you'll never recover.
He remembers it being the first time she'd let how hard Ben's death had hit her show.Ben had been a constant in their lives even though none of them had ever met her, he’d died before even Tobey was taken in. May had loved him so deeply and made sure the kids understood love was worth it even if it hurt. She made sure they knew she understood their grief and could be there for them but she’d also spent his whole life being this unshakable rock. Made sure her own grief never showed beyond what they needed so her own grief would never overshadow their own.
That’s what he’d needed as a kid.
This is what he needed now.
Seeing May break down alongside him because she understood losing the love of their lives. Because even if May, wonderful strong put together May, could fall apart from this maybe he could too.
It didn't fix everything. He still shut down and cut people out but when he came out of that he let himself grieve. Because it's what he knew May wanted him to do. Because it's what May did and calling himself weak for grieving was like calling her weak for it and that's something he would never do.
May isn't here to help Peter through this and Andrew knows he's going to be a shitty replacement but he's going to try anyway.
He wants to push, make Peter talk, but he knows that won't help so instead he does what May did for him. He stands up, sits in the chair next to Peter and starts talking.
"When Gwen died I didn't tell May '' he looks down at his hands. "She heard it on the radio of all places but I didn't tell her because I was pretending it didn't happen. I went to work and school the next day like the woman I loved wasn't dead. I don't actually remember the 3 days in between when she died and when the funeral home finally called me but I know I went to work and classes then. But then the funeral home called."
He tilts his head back and looks up at the ceiling. "And I couldn't pretend anymore because I had to plan the funeral." His voice cracks and he hunches back forward, rubbing his palms on his knees.
"When I finally called May back to officially tell her I told her not to come over. I told her I was okay. She came anyway. She was crying. I remember that so vividly when I opened the door she was crying and I remember thinking wow this must be bad if May's crying. I remember that's when I burst out sobbing and she hugged me and told me that she knew what it felt like and watching me have to go through it hurt so much worse." He closes his eyes to stop from crying and pauses talking for a second, face screwed up and hands clenched.
"She" his voice cracks "she didn't tell me about losing Ben right away. First she just started telling me stories about him. Their first date, their wedding, this one time he got so lost they ended up in New Jersey and she wouldn't let him live it down, bought him a new jersey trinket every holiday," he laughs a little horsley.
"And when I finally asked why she was telling me this she said I want you to know it's going to hurt forever but grief is nothing if not love persevering. I want you to know you're allowed to remember the good stuff too. That's when she started talking about Ben, about losing him and how hard that was for her. I think it helped us both understand that even unshakable May was allowed to grieve."
He sighs. "I didn't listen to her, '' he says bluntly. "I shut down and went numb for days, weeks, at a time. I cut people out and was mean and spiteful and drove everyone away but at the end of it all I remembered that conversation. I remember may telling me to let myself grieve but also to remember the good stuff. At the end of it all I think May allowing herself to falter in front of me is what got me through." .
He's honestly not sure how he made it through this without crying. He knows his voice is wobbly and cracking and his eyes are shining but it feels like an accomplishment.
"My point is Peter I don't want you to do that" he says, finally turning to look at him. "I want you to know that you can be okay if that's what you need right now, you can be okay as long as you need, but one day you're going to stop being okay and that's fine too so don't be hard on yourself when it does happen okay?"
He stands up and holds out his hand. "Now come on, let's go home."

Peter doesn’t stand.
He isn’t numb. He wishes he could be.
He’d felt it when she died. The horrible, gut wrenching grief. And he’d waited for it to end. To be able to breathe again. Because this can’t just be it, this agony can’t be never ending.
But he still feels it. In his heart. His lungs.
It’s like waves. Every time he thinks he can stand back up, it just washes over him again.
And now he’s drowning.
“I’m not okay.” The words are quiet. Like an absent thought. “I thought I could be. You know? Like you and Tobey. You guys just seemed so calm about it. Like it wasn’t happening. And I just wanted to be like that, you know? I just wanted it to be normal.”
His voice feels small in his throat. “I’m sorry I went to school.”

Andrew sighs, almost relieved because this is so much better, and drops his hand. Peter being not okay is him starting to process the grief.
"It's okay" Andrew says, "I get it. I really do. I get wanting everything to be normal but you don't have to be. I'm-" falling apart, "I'm not okay. I think I'm still in shock Peter. I almost texted her on the way over here to let her know we were getting you early so she wouldn't worry. We were coming to get you because she isn't here to and I still tried to tell her."
He sits back down next to Peter. "Tobey and I aren't okay Peter. We're dealing with it in our own ways but they don't have to be how you deal with it. I'm really glad you're not okay." He laughs. "Because trust me being okay makes the not okay so much harder when it finally hits. I'm not upset you went to school, neither is Tobey, but next time can we just agree that being not okay is okay?"
"Gah '' he says, trying to lighten the mood, never good with serious situations, "did okay stop sounding like a real word to you there? Because it definitely did to me towards the end."

Peter smiles and it’s the type of smile that hides the lump in your throat and the pain in your eyes.

He’s not okay. But all three of them not being okay makes him feel…

Not better.

Less alone. School had meant to do that, but school just felt… empty.

For everyone else it’s just another Tuesday.

For Peter? It feels like the end of the world.

“Yeah, not being okay is okay.” There’s a thickness in his voice that threatens tears. He doesn’t want to cry here. He never wants to cry again. “I just… I really wish she was here.”

"Me too buddy" Andrew says because there's nothing else to say. The only thing that'll make either of them feel better is her not being dead and neither of them can do that. "Me too" he repeats, throat tight and voice thick.

Chapter Text

Flashback

The door flies open. 

“Okay, I’m not mad,” May says, like she’s just come to that decision herself. “I’m just disappointed.” 

Tobey wonders how long it’d taken for her to settle on that one.

Andrew, however, jumps when the door opens. "Uhhhh" he says, a little in shock. "...okay?"

She sighs and crawls onto the bed. Tobey tucks in his legs to make room. 

"So? Is it true? Did you hit that boy?"

"He was being mean first," Tobey jumps in before his brother can. 

She looks sharply at him - well, as sharply as she can. It's not very effective. She looks more worried than anything.

"So, he deserved it, did he Andrew?"

Andrew shrugs. "Yeah, he did." 

He knows it's probably the wrong answer.

“So, this is about you getting even?” She asks. Her voice still isn’t angry. She brushes her hair from her face, a nervous tic. “I guess you must feel pretty good about yourself right now?”

Andrew shakes his head. "He was going after Chris!" Andrew says. "I was helping Chris"

May deflates almost immediately. 

There it is, Tobey thinks. May isn’t like any foster parent Tobey had ever known. She doesn’t use harsh words. She doesn’t get frustrated or angry without reason. She talks. She listens. 

“Oh honey,” she says, “Why didn’t you go to a teacher?”

"Because Marcy and Chris went to the teacher, and she didn't listen to Marcy and told Chris he just needed to toughen up" Andrew says "She wasn't doing anything."

May sighs. “Andrew-"

“You always tell us we gotta do the right thing,” Tobey pipes up. 

“Okay. Listen to me, both of you. Punching? Isn’t the right way to handle things. I know you both have been through some difficult times, and you may have known some people who handle things differently. But you’re better than that. So much better. Both of you are so kind and you love so hard. This isn’t who you are, Andrew. You don’t want to hurt people, do you? Even if you think they deserve it, you know that’s not for you to decide.”

Andrew wipes his face and nose on his sleeve and nods. "I didn't want to hurt him, I just wanted him to stop," he says, lip quivering and eyes down.

May cups Andrew’s face in her hands, wiping the tears and snot from his face with a gentler hand than Andrew had given himself. 

“We don’t always mean for bad things to happen, and it doesn’t make you a bad person when they do. I know you thought you were doing what was best. And I’m proud of you for that, for sticking up for your classmates. But maybe next time you can talk to a grownup. I’ll be having words with that principle of yours.”

Andrew closes his eyes and leans into her hands, nodding, "Thank you mom" he says softly.

Tobey blinks. 

Mom. 

He had never- Andrew had never. 

He waits for May to pull back. To question it. To say something. 

She doesn’t. She only tugs Andrew in closer and wraps her arms around him. 

The word still rings in Tobey’s ears. Mom. That had never been a word for him. Not really. 

There was no tragedy in it. Plenty of foster children granted the name to their caretakers. For little kids it was easier, for the older ones it was something the grasp on to. 

But it just wasn’t a word for Tobey to use. 

And now Andrew had said it first.

Present

It feels wrong to Tobey for the world to be as it is. Other cars crawl past him; people on their way home or the shop or to visit friends. Someone cuts him off. Another beeps. 

Like nothing’s changed. 

Like May’s not dead. 

Like there’s no one missing. 

He can’t think too hard about it, hasn’t let himself until he heard the news. 

He’d talked to the principal. 

Peter needs more time. 

That Tobey understands. They need time. They don’t need hours, they need years. And even then nothing will ever be the same again. 

He can feel the comfort of his old life slipping through his fingers like ash. 

Now it’s something new. Something cold and uncertain, and if he’s not careful he’ll drag Peter and Andrew into it as well. 

He doesn’t want that. He wants Peter to revel in the same warmth May had given to them all effortlessly. He shouldn’t lose that just because Tobey can’t keep up with the world. 

“Looks like it’s just us,” he says to Peter. Andrew had stayed behind, mentioning something about work. Tobey wasn’t sure. There hadn’t been time to ask. “We can try a movie when we’re home?” He offers. “Blankets. Anything you want for dinner I’ll make. Anything. You pick.”

"I don't want to go home." Peter is staring firmly out the window and has to swallow around the lump in his throat to speak. 

He doesn't want to go home. Aunt May isn't there and he doesn't want to face it right now. 

He doesn't want to go home. He doesn't care where he goes, just not there. 

He doesn't want to go home and he hopes Tobey listens and believes him after he insisted this morning on going to school because he's sure this time. 

He doesn't want to go home.

Tobey turns. He doesn’t speak, just watches, waiting for more.

He doesn’t remember May ever pulling words from him with force. But he also doesn’t remember ever building walls. 

There’s a wall between himself and Peter. He doesn’t know which of them had built it or when.

Peter lets the silence hang, hoping Tobey will fill it so he doesn't have too. When he doesn't he finally offers, "The shelter. May's shelter. We can go there." He still doesn't turn to look at his brother although he can feel his stare on him

The shelter. 

Tobey shivers. 

It’s something he had been avoiding. 

“You know you can talk to me,” he says, softly. “I miss her too.”

Peter huffs a disbelieving noise out his nose before he can stop himself. 

"Yeah," he snaps, "I know."

He grinds his teeth and tries counting green cars but his vision keeps swimming in and out of focus.

The noise Peter makes - the one that seems to slip out before he can stop it - makes Tobey’s insides churn. 

“Hey. I love her too.”

"Loved," Peter says, squeezing his eyes shut. "You loved her too."

The air is knocked from Tobey’s lungs and the world seems to freeze. 

Loved. 

Past tense. 

He looks away. When he talks, there’s steel in his voice. 

“Okay. Yeah.” Peter’s right. May is gone. “Loved. I loved her.” 

No matter how much he wants her back. 

“We can go to the shelter. I need to pick up some paperwork from there anyway.”

"Great," Peter mumbles, it comes out angry. Everything Peter is saying is coming out angry. It feels a lot better than being sad. 

So he keeps pushing. "She was waiting for you to call for weeks." 

Tobey blinks.

“What?”

"Like two months ago," Peter says, jerkily whipping back to face Tobey. "She called and you were busy with work and you said you'd call right back." He folds his arms and turns back to staring out the window. "She always said she wished you called more."

Tobey doesn’t even remember that. He doesn’t remember May calling. He doesn’t remember blowing her off. He doesn’t remember promising to call back. 

“Oh.” It’s a flat, dull answer. He doesn’t know what else to say. Something tight in his gut twists. For a moment, he’s afraid he might throw up. 

But then it passes. He can breathe. The car is still moving. May is still dead. 

Had he really left her that alone? 

Had he really left Peter? 

The words I’m sorry linger on the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t speak them. It doesn’t feel like they’re enough. They feel too light and too thin, like they might snap under the tension of the car. 

“Why are you bringing this up?”

Guilt washes over Peter and he deflates, anger gone. Why is he bringing this up?

"Why are you here?" Peter asks instead of answering. "I know she put you as my guardian but we both know that really isn't that legally binding you could have rejected it." Rejected me.

He turns and looks at Tobey who's looking out the windshield now. "Why didn't you?"

“Because I didn’t want to.” Tobey doesn’t have to think about the answer. The words flow easily. 

There’s a horror in being asked the question, but Tobey knows the answer with his whole being. 

“Peter, I know I wasn’t around before. But I am now, okay? I promise. If you want me, I’m here.” 

He’s here. 

He’s a weak replacement. He’s going to make mistakes. He’s going to hurt Peter and sometimes Peter is going to hurt him. Like brothers do.

But he’s here. 

“I want to be your guardian. I want it. A lot. And I’m sorry I made you feel that I didn’t, Peter.”

Peter pulls his knees to his chest, feet half hanging off the seat, and wraps one arm around them and uses the other to roughly wipe his face with his sleeve. 

"Yeah okay," he says, it's hoarse and barely loud enough to be heard but Peter doesn't think he can do much better. 

He doesn't think he realized till that moment how much he had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for Tobey to decide to go back to his normal life and stop playing guardian. But Tobey sounds so sure, is even apologizing for making Peter worry, he doesn't think he'll ever take it back. 

Not even if they fight. 

Not even if Peter fucks up. 

Not even if Peter is angry and mean and too much to handle. 

In that moment Peter can see so much of May in him. It's not having her back and it's not even close to healing the hole that she left but in that moment it feels less like he's going to fall through it forever and more like maybe one day there will be somewhere to land, someone to catch him.

Chapter Text

Tobey walks into May’s office still dazed from his conversation with Peter in the car. He hadn’t been planning on returning here for a while. There was already so much happening; Peter, the funeral, the apartment.

The shelter had become some abstract task, something for another Tobey to deal with. Like a ship out to sea. And yet here he is, swimming out to it through crashing waves because Peter had asked.

That’s how he feels right now. Like he’s lost out to sea, and he knows the direction he’s swimming won’t save him. There’s crashing waves and salt in his throat and he knows at some point his head is going to sink below the waves.

He just doesn’t know what else to do but keep kicking.

F.E.A.S.T. had started with good intentions. There’d been a dream once to have one on every block; a new wave of non-profit organizations to help kickstart a better future. But then funding was cut, the wrong hands reached into the wrong pockets, and everything fell apart.

Except for this one. Aunt May had kept it running with her own two hands. 

He’d dreaded this moment ever since the lawyer had passed him the paperwork with a sympathetic click of his tongue. Better get rid of it quick. Like burning money, those things. You’ll find a buyer. They’ll want to turn it into apartment buildings I suspect.

He can’t do that. Not to her life’s work.

Can he?

He expected walking in here would be painful. He’d steeled himself against being swallowed alive by the memories.

But it’s just an office. And maybe that’s more painful than anything Tobey could have been prepared for. 

There’s a desk stacked so high with paperwork he can’t even see the dinosaur-aged computer he knows is somewhere in there. Instead of personal items there’s pens and sticky notes. Across the floor boxes are littered, filled with blankets and packaged food and water bottles.

Tobey picks up a sticky-note.

It’s not even in May’s handwriting. Someone else’s reminder. Someone else’s thoughts.

It’s a terrible thing to see something that had once been so special to a parent and not recognize a single part of it. Tobey had rarely visited the shelter when it’d first taken root in their lives. He’d been in high school and too occupied with friends and science and his new job at the newspaper to care about what May was doing.

And then he went to college. And then he’d found a real job. And then it’d been just too easy to promise, I’ll visit next weekend, I’ll call tomorrow, I’ll respond later.

She’d been waiting for him to call.

Tobey takes a long, shuddering breath. Peter can’t see him like this. He needs to be strong.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, it’s a lot of paperwork, huh?”

Tobey spins.

A man leans against the doorway, arms crossed with a faint, comforting smile on his face. 

Tobey nods meekly. “Hi.”

“It looks a mess, but she always did claim she had a system.” The man crosses the room, hand outstretched. “Sam. Sam Wilson. You must be Tobey. She told me a lot about you.”

Tobey takes his hand. The handshake is firm and Sam squeezes his arm before letting go. Yeah… I know who you are.”

Everyone knows who Sam Wilson is. The Avengers had been created in 2012 after an earthquake had shattered most of Manhattan. When it’d been made clear the government alone didn’t have the resources to deal with it, it’d been billionaire playboy philanthropist Tony Stark who’d stepped up to the plate. Not alone though. World War II veteran Steve Rogers had been the one to actually lead the recovery process. The two of them had changed the world for the better. The Avengers had remained long after the damage had been taken care of.

It’s a badly kept secret that Sam Wilson had been tapped to take over once Steve retires. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s the president of a billion-dollar recovery organization doing in May’s shelter?”

Sam offers what Tobey thinks might be a sheepish smile. “Been working here a while. Well- volunteering. The Avengers stepped in a while ago. When it looked like things might be going under. -”

“May almost lost the shelter?” This is news to Tobey. When had this happened? Recently? When Tobey had still been living with her? Why had she never said anything? F.E.A.S.T. is her life’s work-

Was. Was her life’s work.

Sam claps Tobey on the shoulder. He kind of hates how comforting it is. Sam must do this a lot; comfort frantic civilians who are in way over their head.

“That’s why we stepped in. Tony loves an underdog, and no one can argue with May’s results. She was one of a kind…” Sam’s smile slips. 

Tobey sighs. Here it comes. I’m sorry for your loss. We all loved her. She’ll be missed.

But Sam surprises him. “You know, when I was in the army… I don’t have to tell you about loss. But the worst thing in the world was hearing about how sorry everyone is. I know what that does to you. I didn’t know her like you did. But if you do need anyone, she had a lot of support behind her. So do you.”

“She did?”

“Yeah, man. She did. Me, Steve, and Bucky, we all stuck around even after this place could stand on its own two feet again. We try to volunteer at least once a week. Like I said, May was one of a kind.”

“Yeah… I know.” He tries not to think of the lawyer. The bills.

But then, Sam swings an arm around him. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to some of our residents. You should try to take on Bill in a game of chess. He’ll kick your-”

Tobey’s phone rings.

He winces. 

He doesn’t need to check the screen to know who’s calling. 

“Sorry I…”

Sam nods. “Yeah, don’t worry. I get it.” There’s still a warm smile on his face. “I’ll just go find where Peter got up to.”

Chapter Text

“Parker.” Jameson never answers phones like a regular person. 

Tobey is honestly surprised it’d taken him this long to call. 

“Sir, I’ve taken a personal day,” he reminds him. And all his vacation days. 

“Tonight’s photos aren’t on my desk,” he responds like Tobey had never spoke. 

Tension settles on his shoulders like a yoke. He’d come a long way since his photography job in high school. Now he manages all the photos for every issue of the paper, their social media, and the spin-off blogs they use to flood the web with news before other newspapers can release their papers the next morning. 

It’s a good job. Jonah pays well. 

It’s just hard to escape sometimes. 

“Oleson said he had it covered,” Tobey says, and there’s already an apology in his voice. 

“Oleson?” Jameson repeats. 

Tobey winces. 

“Sir, I left him with all the files-“

“Oleson!” Tobey wonders if he’s even needed for the conversation, or if he can just put Jameson on hold for a while and walk away. “That idiot? You gave the photos to that idiot? I’m going to find them covered in glitter and cut into little hearts!”

Deep breaths. Deep. Breaths. 

“I’ll give him a call, sir. See what he’s done with them. They’ll be on your desk within the hour.”

Jameson hmmphs into the mic. Tobey can picture him slumped over his desk with a cigarette between his lips. Technically no one is allowed to smoke in the building, but that never stopped Jonah from going through his regular pack a week. 

“When is this little vacation over?” He asks, just as Tobey starts to wonder if it's okay for him to hang up now. “Did I approve this?”

No, he hadn’t. Tobey had sent a hurried half-legible email to HR, but nothing more. He doubts the information would’ve been passed on to Jonah. 

“I’m not sure, sir.” 

“Not sure?” It’s not so much anger as surprise in his voice. “What’d you do, Parker? Run off to fiji? Elope with that girl of yours?”

Tobey flinches. That girl of yours. His stomach twists. He hasn’t spoken to Mary - Jane since…. 

A while. 

“May died, sir. My-”

He doesn’t know how to explain what May is. She’d let them call her “aunt” growing up, as a way of explaining to passing strangers, and the name had stuck. She wasn’t their biological mother, and back then Tobey hadn’t been ready to use the name. He’d been too used to shuffling between foster families and temporary care-homes to trust the stability. 

And then it’d been too late to ask. 

She’d always just been May. 

Had he never called her mom? Not once?

Thankfully, Jonah picks up on what the rest of the sentence could have been. 

“No kidding. That’s hard to hear, son.”

He expects Jonah to charge through the news. He expects demands to return and questions about photos. 

But for the second time in less than an hour, the world surprises him with its understanding. 

“I’ll talk to Oleson myself. I’m sure there’s a lot to take care of. If you need anything- well, HR will be in touch about your time off, but we have a grievance package Parker. For god's sake, stop using your personal days. This isn’t The Daily Courier! We have some standards.” 

Tobey almost laughs out of pure shock. Almost. 

“I- thank y-“

“None of that. Take care of yourself Parker. I’ll expect you back at work when you’re ready. And stop trusting Oleson with your photos! He’s incompetent.”

And then there’s a click and the hum of the dial tone. 

He’s sure it won’t be the last call from Jameson. Tobey’s a little too good at his job for that, and he’ll be sure to hear about any incompetence from the rest of his team. Still, maybe next time he’ll hear a hello first. 

Almost on cue his phone starts ringing again. 

He doesn’t even check. He knows it’s going to be Oleson, frantic about the missing photos.

“Hello?” 

“Tobey! It’s Mary-Jane. Why didn’t you tell me about May?”

–

Flashback

“An audition? So you're acting now?” Tobey asks, surprised. He’d always known MJ had wanted to become an actor, but it’d only been a few months since they’d graduated high school. 

Running into MJ had been an accident, but a happy one. 

They’d been friends in the early years of high school, but then of course she’d been swept up into parties and cliques and other things Tobey had no business knowing about with his cemented social status of loser.

But he misses her. Of course he does. No one can replace your childhood best friend.

“Yeah,” MJ says, “I work steady. In fact, I just got off a job.”

“That's great MJ. You're doing it. Living your dream.”

And then from behind her, a greasy looking man pokes his head out of the nearby diner. 

“Hey glamor girl! Your drawer was short six dollars! Next time that happens, I'm gonna take it outta your check!”

He’s talking to MJ. Tobey knows it. She knows it. Neither look up. She cringes, her cheeks flushing a bright enough red to match her hair.

“Excuse me, Miss Watson?” he continues, “I'm talking to you! Hey!” 

There’s no way to hide it now. 

“Yes, Enrique! Okay?” she snaps, turning back. “I get you.”

“It better not happen no more, hear me. Don't roll your eyes at me.” Then he’s shuffling back into the restaurant.

MJ sighs. “Some dream, huh?”

Tobey smiles. He knows that feeling. He’s never been the best at staying on time… or willing himself to do anything deadly boring… which means he’s been fired from about a dozen jobs in his career. He can’t even manage pizza delivery. 

Hopefully this new job at the paper will stick. Something fast paced and different. That’s what he needs. 

“It's nothing to be embarrassed about.”

MJ smiles. But then her face slips into a grimace. “Don’t tell Harry?”

Harry? Harry his closest friend? Harry his roommate? Harry Osborn, Harry?

He doesn’t know another one. 

“Don't tell Harry?” Tobey repeats.

“Don't you guys live together?”

He nods.

“We're going out. Didn't he tell you?”

Tobey shakes his head. He can’t believe this. Harry didn’t tell him they were dating? Why? It seemed such a silly thing to hide. He would’ve loved to know. They could have all hung out together as friends-

Well, maybe not. MJ and Harry don’t exactly qualify as friends anymore. Is that why he never said anything? Because he doesn’t want Tobey around?

“Oh, yeah, right,” he mumbles, as if only now just remembering. He doesn’t want her to feel bad or be angry with Harry. 

“I think he'd hate the idea of my waiting tables… He'd think it was low or something.”

One of the many good things about being raised by May is her complete loathing of the class system. She’d spend her life helping people in need. Nothing was beneath her, she would always insist. If she could help someone out, even by just pouring them a cup of coffee in the shelter, then that was a worthy job to have.

“It's not low. You have a job. You know, Harry doesn't live on a little place I like to call Earth.”

He says the last part as a joke, but there's a little bite in it.

They’d never talked about girls- okay, maybe Harry had tried in the past. But Tobey had just never been interested. Why would he care about hot women in magazines when none of it was real? Why would he care about Harry going on and on about the hot cashier in Target if he was never actually going to ask her out? It’d all just sounded like a waste of time.

Was this Tobey’s fault?

He’d always tried to be supportive but… he just hadn’t really considered Harry ever having genuine interest in anyone. It’d seemed unimportant. 

MJ laughs. “No, I guess not. Thanks, Pete. We should catch up sometime. Let's get some lunch some evening.” 

He grins at the invitation. He had missed her. Even after only a few months, high school felt worlds away. 

She’d always been kind to him though, even with the cliques and the parties.

She doesn’t mention inviting Harry though.

“I'll come by and have some of your Moondance coffee some day.”

—————————

Tobey doesn’t go home. He doesn’t think he can face Harry yet. Not until he knows what he wants to say. 

So, he goes to May. 

“Hey,” she calls through the open door of her room. “You’re home early.” 

“It’s me, May,” he calls back. 

She appears in the doorway with a smile on her face. “Tobey,” she says, pleased. “Sorry, I thought you were Peter.“

“He’s not home?”

May shakes her head. “He’s- oh - what’s it called? Some sort of math club? I don’t know.”

“Math club?” Tobey asks, snorting. He follows her into the kitchen. She’s already fishing out a mug from the cupboard. “Isn’t he still in elementary school?”

“I know, I know, but he asked. I think it might be because of Andrew. You know how he is, and now Peter wants to be just like him.”

“Really?” Tobey asks. Is there a little jealousy in his voice? 

… maybe a little. 

It’s just, Tobey’s meant to be the big brother, the one they’re supposed to look up to. But he hadn’t managed to be home much since starting college. 

He barely knows Peter. 

He’s forgotten how much life goes on without him. 

Then May flicks him in the forehead. 

“None of that. You got Andrew following you here there and everywhere. He worshipped  you when he was Peter’s age. Let those two have their time.” 

She shoves a warm cup into his hands. 

Tobey smiles. “Thanks.” 

She’s right. Of course. 

“Go on then,” May says. 

“Go on what?” 

Tobey wonders why he’s even trying to play dumb. May has laser eyes. She always knows. 

“Go on, what's bothering you? I can tell. You always get a wrinkle right here.” 

She presses a finger between his brow. He swats her hand away. 

“Did you know MJ and Harry are dating?” 

May shrugs, taking a sip of her tea. “Sure. I think her mom mentioned it last week or something. Or they were going on a date? Nice it worked out.” 

“He didn’t tell me,” Tobey says, flatly. 

“And you wanted him to?” She asks patiently.

“I mean-… yeah? Yeah. He’s my best friend. It would have been nice to know! And she’s my friend. We could’ve all hung out or something.”

She snorts into her cup. 

“Honey, I think the entire idea of them dating is you’re not invited.”

Tobey flushes. “Yeah. I know but he still could’ve told me.”

She’s annoyingly flippant about it, shrugging with a smile still on her face. 

“Well, maybe he just wanted to keep it between them for a while. Maybe he didn’t want  you involved if things went badly? And maybe you should be over there talking about it with him instead of me.”

Tobey just sips his tea, not saying anything. Yeah, he probably should… 

But there's still something. This sinking feeling of disappointment. 

“Unless there’s more?” May nudges him with her elbow. She always knows. 

“Just… he wasn’t supposed to date her.” 

“Oh?” 

He shrugs. He doesn’t have the words to explain why. Why does he feel so let down? 

May reaches over and squeezes his arm. “Tobey, if you like MJ then -“ 

“What?” He pulls away. “No, May, it’s not that. I don’t like her. Like that, I mean. MJ’s great, but- no….” 

He doesn’t want her like that. He’d thought, maybe, in high school…. But no. The idea of kissing her just makes him feel embarrassed. 

“Oh.” At least she seems to believe him. “…. Then… Harry then?” 

Tobey blinks, but then shakes his head again. “No. Not like that either. He’s great too but…” 

Again, once he’d thought… maybe. They were best friends. Neither of them had ever shown interest in anyone else. It sounded like it fit right? But Tobey had never felt any interest to push further. Why would he need to? What were they missing? Adding anything else to their relationship would just feel awkward. 

“Okay…” May says, slowly. “So what then? Why can’t they date?” 

“Because…” 

“Because?”

Because why? Because Harry hadn’t told him? Because lately Harry had been sneaking off and now Tobey knows why. Because now what? They’re going to be together and grow and learn and get all those things from the movies. The soft talks, the intimacy, the partner… 

And Tobey’s left… here. Just here. The same old Tobey. 

“Because what am I supposed to do now?” 

It’s not exactly what he means to say. It comes out like a whine. 

He doesn’t know if May gets it or not. Her face is more serious now. She frowns at him, considering. 

“Well… anyone out there you, you know, feel like that towards?”

Tobey shakes his head. He can’t make eye contact with her. 

“You know,” she continues, “when you were younger you always just told me there was never any time for that. I just thought you were an overachiever.” She nudges him with the back of her hand, a smiling.

That’s partly right. He had always been more interested in science projects and photography than he had been with dating. But back then he’d always figured he’d have more time. It would happen. Eventually…

“I just… I’ve never felt that way with anyone, May. I didn’t really feel like I needed to. It didn’t happen with MJ or Harry so I just… I don’t know, I didn’t really care.”

“And now?” 

He shrugs. “I haven’t met anyone like that. Doesn’t seem like something I can force.. But I thought that maybe- this sounds dumb now- but I thought maybe Harry felt the same way. When he asked me to be his roommate, I kind of thought that was it.”

“And now you know it's not it.” 

“Yeah. And now… he’s not going to need me anymore. And MJ won’t either.” 

That’s it, isn’t it? Harry’s going to move out. Not today. Not tomorrow. But someday. With MJ or with another girl, he’s going to leave. And MJ? She only wants to meet with him because he understands her better than Harry. When she finally tells Harry about the waitressing? When she finally becomes an actress? She’s not going to need him either. She didn’t need him in high school. Not after she started dating Flash. 

He’s a stand-in friend and he’d kind of always known that. He’s the placeholder until something better comes along. Something romantic. 

Suddenly May is there, taking his face in her hands.

“Now you listen to me, I know it’s been hard. Being a foster child is hard. But you’re wanted, Tobey. You-“ 

Tobey takes her hands in his and gently pries them off. 

She doesn’t get it. This isn’t a foster kid thing. No one understands. Not Peter, not Andrew. It's isolating, to never have a crush, to never be in love. Romance movies might as well be in another language. All they do is make him cringe. But it hadn’t mattered because he’d thought that maybe he would have someone after all. Not in that way, but in some way. He didn’t think he would be alone.

“May-“

“No.” Her voice is loud. She stares him in the eyes even as she lets him set her hands on the counter again. “Tobey, your friends are special. You matter to them.”

They’ll all find people who matter more to them than Tobey. 

“But it still matters-“ 

“Tobey, they’ll still love you. They’ll still be here-“ 

“Then who’s here for you?” He shouts. He doesn’t mean to. He’s frustrated. He’s sad. He’s morning something he doesn’t even know. 

She looks at him, mouth agape. 

“Who’s here for you, May?” Tobey presses. “Since Ben-“ 

He winces and so does she. 

He shouldn’t be bringing this up. He knows he shouldn’t be bringing this up. 

But he does anyway. 

“Where are all your friends now that he’s gone?” 

She has him because she’d been lonely. She’d found Peter because she’d been scared of being alone. He knows it, even if she’d never said it. 

She doesn’t answer. 

He pushed too far. He doesn’t care.

He stands up and walks towards the door. She doesn’t call him back. 

Three weeks later MJ and Harry break up. 

Two weeks after that when MJ asks Tobey out, he says yes.

———

End Flashback

“Listen, I’m so sorry.”

Tobey opens his mouth but words fail him. 

He’d missed her. Despite it all, he’d missed her. 

So much. 

When he doesn’t answer, she presses. “But really, why didn’t you tell me? Just because we’re not together anymore doesn’t mean I don’t care. I love her too.”

He still doesn’t have the words. She’s not dead. It doesn’t feel real yet. God, had it only been a day? Yesterday felt like a world away. 

He hadn’t thought of telling anyone. His next thoughts are on the words thrown at him by the hospital: lawyer, paperwork, funeral arrangements, guardianship. 

Tasks he can handle. Tasks he can manage. For his brothers. For himself too. 

If he’s busy he doesn’t have to think. Or explain. Or share. 

“Tobey? Are you there? You can talk to me.” 

But that’s why he hadn’t called. He doesn’t want to talk to her or to Harry. 

There’s a pit inside of him. It’s so deep, so dark that the second he starts to think about it, he knows he’ll start to fall.

He can’t do that. He can’t give himself a second. He needs to push on. 

He has Andrew and Peter to think about. 

Is this how she felt when Ben-…

“Tobey?”

He has to answer. But he just can’t. The words are gone. It’s like his jaw is wired shut. 

He can’t look into the pit. He can’t. 

“If you can’t hear me…” her voice is soft. Like she knows. She always knows. “Call me, okay? If you need anything? I’ll be there. No matter what. Just remember I’m here. Please.” 

And then she hangs up.

Chapter Text

Andrew doesn't actually know how he got here, sitting in his old science teacher's office like he’s back visiting the school under normal circumstances and not because the woman who raised him is dead, and his little brother had a breakdown.

“So” Mr. Jones says, setting a mug of coffee down in front of him, “How have you been? You should have graduated by now, right?”

Andrew nods, staring down into the coffee. “Yeah. I ended up switching to teaching. Science still I just wanted to teach more than anything.” Not that he’s getting to teach much now.

“Oh yeah?” Mr. Jones says, “where did you end up?”

Andrew laughs, and he isn't sure why. It’s not really funny. ‘I’m really not. I sub occasionally but nowhere really wanted a first year teacher with no experience i guess.” he shrugs and drinks the coffee. It’s black and bitter. He hates black coffee. He takes another sip.

“Oh,” Mr. Jones says, “Well, are you looking?”

Andrew feels a bit ridiculous having this conversation, all things considered. He bites down on the urge to snap that of course he’s looking, he’s not incompetent because he knows it’s just the grief. 

Instead, he nods. “Yeah. I’m trying, but…” he shrugs. He doesn't really know why he’s not getting a job.

Mr. Jones nods. “You remember Mrs. Gregor? You might have never had her, but I know she was here when you went here. Hell, she was here when I went here.”

Andrew nods, not sure how it’s relevant. “Yeah, I had her freshman year for biology.”

“She's finally retiring. They’re hiring here.”

Andrew doesn’t fully register why he’s telling him at first.

“I think you should apply,” he clarifies.

“Oh. Oh!” Andrew says. “I- do you really think I should?” 

Mr. Jones nods. “I think it would be good for you. Peter too.”

Andrew nods. It makes sense. He needs a job. He could keep an eye on peter. He’d also really like to work here. “Yeah, okay, yeah. I’d like to apply… please?” he adds, a little unsure.

Mr. Jones laughs. “I’ll call John down. See if he wants to interview you.”

“Thank you,'' Andrew says because he doesn't really know what else to say.

“You were a fine student, and I'd be glad to teach alongside you, son,” he says, clapping his hand on his shoulder. Andrew manages not to flinch.

***

Andrew is somehow the first to get home, and he considers calling them, but he doesn't wanna be overbearing, so instead he starts cooking dinner. The knowing anxiety of not knowing if they're okay when they'll be home is almost becoming enough for him to call when the door swings open. 

Peter doesn't even mutter an excuse as he beelines it to his room, kicking off his shoes semi carelessly onto the place mat. Andrew doesn't tell him to put them neatly. 

May would have. 

He turns to Tobey who's still in the doorway hanging up things and taking off his shoes.

Tobey sighs with a shake of his head. They’re going to need to figure this out. He’s going to need to figure this out. “He’s…” Tobey doesn’t know what Peter is. “Fragile… We had a talk in the car.”

Andrew stares at the hallway Peter disappeared into. He nods and turns back to Tobey. “That's to be expected. '' He's about to say more when the pasta he was cooking boils over, and he can hear the hiss of the water hitting the stove top. "Oh shit” he shuffles back and pulls the pot off the hot part, stirring it to try to get the bubbles down.

Tobey follows after him, noticing with a twinge of guilt the pasta. “You want me to take over?”

Andrew flicks the wet spoon at him, throwing water and a stray noodle at him. “You don't have to do everything, I got this.” He's got one hand on his hip and throws the kitchen towel over his shoulder, fake scolding him with the spoon.

“Okay, May-“ It’s out before he can stop it. It’s a common joke between them, he hadn’t thought- Tobey winces.

Andrew blinks rapidly, the teasing smile not falling from his face, but instead becoming something more strained around the edges. He doesn't acknowledge it, just turns back to the food he's cooking. 

“I might have got a job.” He throws out like it's casual, like he hasn't been agonizing over it since he interviewed.

Tobey stares. “What? I thought you had a-“ Not the right thing to say. “I mean, that’s great… When will you be leaving?” He thought that maybe Peter might’ve liked both his brothers here, but he couldn’t ask Andrew to put his life on hold.

Andrew freezes for a second. Does Tobey want him to go? “Uh” he rubs the back of his head before dumping the spaghetti into the strainer. 

“It's at Peter's school, so I was….” He hesitates, “I was gonna stay here… if that's okay?” 

He glances over his shoulder at Tobey. He can't hold the eye contact long though, so he turns back and dumps the strained pasta back into the pot and starts digging through the cabinets for sauce

“Oh.” Oh. There are a million thoughts running through his head. Andrew’s staying. The staying is permanent. Tobey hadn’t even thought about his own job… What was he going to do? Uproot Peter from his life? And now Andrew too? But he can’t leave them… An uneasy feeling settles in his stomach. “That’s great.”

Andrew shrugs. “I mean, it's not certain it was just an interview, but” he shrugs again

“No. Dude. That’s great.” This time there’s a lightness to it. “Really great. You’ll get it. And then, you know, you can spend more time with Peter. Maybe keep an eye on him at school. He said… he said in the car he doesn’t think I want to be his guardian.…”

Andrew nods, “Yeah, yeah, that's what I wa-" 

That's when Peter barges in. "I don't need you to keep a fucking eye on me" he yells, pointing at Andrew.

 "And I didn't tell you" he turns and glares Tobey down "that, so you could start hovering. I don't need to be babied!" His fists are clenched and he's breathing heavily. He doesn't know when he started gearing up for a fight but right now the anger burning in his chest feels better than the bottomless pit of grief he was falling into, so he leans into it.

Tobey turns, taking a step back. “Hey, Pete… you know we didn’t mean anything by that.”

"No, of course not" Peter throws his hands up. "You were just trying to help." He sneers the word. 

"That's all you're ever trying to do, is help. Neither of you" he glares between the two of them. "Gave a shit when she was alive, so stop pretending you care about me now that she's dead" 

Silences rings for several seconds before he exhales and unclenches his fist. "That's not..." He says before either of them can interrupt him. "That's not what I meant. I don't need to be babied, okay?" 

Andrew steps forward. "We're not babying you Peter. We're worried about you, yes but we want to be here for you. We want to help." 

"You can't" Peter snaps but it sounds more tired than angry. "You can't help. Nothing will ever help." 

"I know, '' Andrew says softly, stepping forward and reaching out to touch him.

“No” Peter swats his hands away. "You don't know! You don't get it!! She-" his voice cracks, and he scrunches his face to keep the tears in. "She was-" his voice cracks. "You're not her '' he says, cold and steely, stepping forward to shove Andrew out of his space.

Tobey moves between them. He catches Peter’s wrists, not moving them, not forcing him back. He’s silent, staring at his brother with a soft look on his face.

Peter shoves against him, more on instinct than genuine malice. He wasn't expecting Tobey to step between him. He wasn't expecting himself to lash out again. He hadn't really meant too; he just needed Andrew out of his space. Tobey stepping between him snaps him out of it for a moment.

He stumbles backwards and stares at them both for a second before he mumbles something along the lines of I'm sorry, or I need space. He isn’t sure. He just knows, he runs out and ignores their calls after him. He just needs space.