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“It’s been a really, REALLY bad day,” That’s all Peter Parker could think to himself as he lay bleeding out in an alleyway.
Today’s goons had caught him off guard. He had been following around this group that had been moving enhanced drugs all over the city, looking to expand beyond stateliness, but he failed to consider the fact that they could be enhanced too. Peter thought he had all the goons down for the count when one of them got the jump on him, taking a concealed blade and driving it through his abdomen, twisting it slightly. It had to have been coated in some sort of chemical or drug too, that’s the only way he could think to explain the intensity of the burning sensation inside of him. The blade was then pulled out, causing Peter to scream louder than he would have liked as he stumbled forward.
The goon was stuck in place, staring at the blood on the blade like he couldn’t believe what he had just done. Peter took this moment to quickly shoot a web and get this over with, disarming the goon, and knocking him out with a hit to the head.
Peter fell to the ground, laying against a grimy brick wall, his hand pressed against a bleeding wound that was showing no signs of stopping.
He tugged off his mask struggling to get air into his lungs, trying to sort out his thoughts. It’s not like taking off his mask would help any, he wasn’t long for this world anyhow. He left his phone on the roof of a building 2 miles away, so he couldn’t call for help (He supposes this is what he gets for not sowing pockets in his suit), and the mere thought of moving felt to be too much.
Peter looked up, hoping to see past the fire escapes and the telephone poles and the clutter far enough to see something, anything to take his mind off the fact he was bleeding out here on the street. Maybe some stars, some pigeons flying by, or a stray cat staring back down at him to make him feel less lonely.
The blood was warm under his fingers, and he’s gotten so used to the smell of that and burning flesh he doesn’t even gag anymore. He closed his eyes for only a moment and a familiar scene was playing out in his head: Happy’s Penthouse Building was on fire, Aunt May standing right in front of him, shaken, but still standing.
And then she wasn’t. She wasn’t moving and then she stopped breathing. She was gone before Peter had the chance to do anything about it.
And now, here he was, ready to die in the same way she had.
Peter opened his eyes, staring at the grimy brick wall before him, watching the bricks slowly crumble and fall, shaping the scene, the night that had haunted his every move since. He took a blink that felt like forever, and when he opened his eyes again, a familiar woman lay in front of him.
“H-Hey, Aunt May… It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
She didn’t reply. She never did.
Peter leaned his head back on the wall behind him, taking in a shaky breath.
“It’s been almost a year, May. Did you know that?” he asks, his eyes closing once again.
God… He’s so cold.
“I guess you wouldn’t… Seeing as we’re still here.”
His eyes opened to fire and debris all around, smoke filling the air, and bullets ricocheting off the walls.
Precisely how he remembered that night.
“I can still hear him sometimes… Norman, I mean. I hear him laughing at almost all hours of the day, mocking me, making sure I never forget what he did to you, what I did to you,” Peter stared into May’s lifeless eyes, the light having been snuffed out long before her heart stopped beating, “And sometimes, I think to myself what could’ve been if I killed him.”
If I killed myself
Peter tilted his head to the side, unsure if the tears welling up in his eyes were from sadness or from the pain.
“Isn’t that so messed up, May?”
He was met with silence once again, the woman who raised him sitting across from him offering none of the sound advice he had grown accustomed to over the years.
Peter shifted his body slightly, a bit of the pain subsiding, “But… I guess when you think about it, there is a silver lining in all this. When-When I die, I’ll die knowing no one else’ll get hurt ‘cause of me,” he said, his words slowly beginning to slur, “MJ ‘n Ned’ll be safe, and they… they’ll live good lives ‘n be happy… without me.”
A lone tear ran down his cheek when he closed his eyes, thinking about the friends he once had. He saw MJ at the donut shop, but even that was short-lived once she went off to MIT. Ned, he didn't see nearly as often, if at all, and he had only seen him in person about 3 times over the past year.
He missed them.
Peter opened his eyes again and May was gone, taking the destroyed penthouse building with her, only leaving the red brick wall once more. He turned his head up again, not expecting to see any stars. He could see the lights shining from happy homes, hear the city moving with its usual hustle and bustle, and feel it moving through his body.
At this moment, he wishes his last ones weren’t spent like this. If it were up to him, he would have brought sunflowers to May’s grave at an ungodly hour, long after he healed from the agony her death caused. He would have held a longer conversation than necessary, but May would listen, even in death, he knew she would. He would talk about more than just his regrets, he would talk about what he had accomplished in hopes that she would be proud of him.
He didn’t get that choice, but that was fine too. A lot of things weren’t his choice, so why would his death be any different?
“Just wait on me… I’ll see you again soon, I promise.”
His eyes fell shut once more, and this time they wouldn’t be reopening.
The goon that had caught Peter by surprise began to awaken at this time, the blood drying on his hands serving as a reminder of what he had done. He heard the sirens in the near distance that were coming for him and for Spider-man, but he didn’t run, he didn’t call for help.
All he could do was watch as Spider-man stopped moving, his breathing soon to follow.