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It seems as though death was a kinder fate. My Peter passed somewhat peacefully, with his girlfriend kneeling on one side, his closest friends on the other. He died surrounded by those who he tried to protect, who would always stand by his side. He died surrounded by love. He would never have to see what life would’ve been like if he survived. Isolated, alone, barely scraping by. Forever forgotten, with a life he so desperately longed for just out of reach. Maybe death was kinder, knowing he wasn’t alone. Finally getting to rest after all he went through, all before he could even taste his first drink.
This Peter has yet to be given the chance to rest. He lives with the knowledge that his friends are safe, but just out of reach. He lives with the guilt from his aunt’s death, never being able to attend her funeral. He lives with the regret, knowing that it was his own actions that brought upon his fate, that he was the one who tampered with the spell after Strange warned him not to. He lives with the realization that his friends brushed hands with death and for a moment in time, had their future destroyed, just because they knew him. He lives with the acceptance that no matter how much he misses them, how much he’s learned, how much he regrets, he cannot change what has been done.
As such, he gingerly opens the window of his apartment, his new home that doesn’t feel like home, and swings into the night. The lights reflect onto his shiny red and blue suit, that bore resemblance to those who had shared their wisdom in the short time they had together. He soars through the air, a red and blue blur, a recognizable figure that the city had learned to love… or to hate.
Because even though this world no longer knows the kind soul of Peter Parker, a child who was seen as either a hero, or a villain. A child who grew up too fast, a child in adult’s clothing. A soldier, who must now pay the consequences of his actions, no matter how pure of heart they may be. Even though all of that is forgotten.
Spider-Man lives on.