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Peter perches near the top of the Empire State Building, feet dangling over an endless expanse of fluorescent lights and vast darkness. He isn’t wearing his suit, only putting on his webshooters under the sleeves of his pajama shirt in order to swing to the heights he yearns for.
[00:17] his watch blinks.
17 minutes into August 10th. 17 minutes of being 18.
‘17 minutes of being an actual, verifiable adult.’ Peter thinks, 'Well, verifiable if I had any form of identity.'
The wind whistles around him in a song of hollow sorrow. Fitting.
It’s been 9 months since he made the decision to disappear with Doctor Strange’s Spell. Since he had let the whole world forget him. Nights like this, he wishes he could forget them all in return.
What a difference three months can make.
It’s been 12 months since he received a 12 a.m. group phone call from Ned and MJ, wanting to be the very first to wish him a happy 17th birthday. They don’t have any reason to stay up late tonight.
Do you know I could break beneath the weight?
Peter wipes away a stray tear as he remembered the birthday calls they’d put together throughout the last couple of years. Quiet laughter in early hours, whispered celebrations, an abundance of love felt as clearly through the phone line as it would have been in person.
Of the goodness, love, I still carry for you.
May had woken him up 7 hours later with her own well-wishes and a carefully prepared breakfast (the eggs were only a little burnt). Tony had sent him a text when he was on his way to school, excited about their Lab Day scheduled for that afternoon. He had some ridiculous suit upgrade prepared for his birthday gift.
Today Peter sits alone, no calls to answer, no breakfast or Lab Day shenanigans to look forward to, only memories to drown in.
Later today, there will only be a grave to visit and apologies to make. All to a stone that can’t respond. A stone that wouldn’t remember him even if it could reply.
That I’d walk so far just to take
Peter’s 13th birthday was one he would never forget. The first time he truly felt known. All he had asked of his Aunt May was a sleepover with Ned (which she was more than happy to arrange). In the quiet hours of twilight, after a Star Wars marathon and far too much popcorn for two 13 year old boys, Peter told Ned that he was Peter. Ned listened, nodded, and learned without hesitation. He loved Peter for who he was without any fear or impatience.
And when the time finally came to tell May, Ned was there to hold Peter’s hand. Peter was truly known by the people who he loved. It was scary. And raw. But he was known.
The injury of finally knowin’ you
Peter sighs. It’s better that he isn’t remembered. That he isn’t known. All that his stupid Parker Luck manages to do is get the people who love him the most killed. Ned and MJ don’t deserve that. He won’t risk their lives, too.
It ain’t the being alone
Besides, Peter has always been fine on his own. Sure, maybe he wasn’t thriving , but what does that matter? He’s doing okay in his quiet apartment with bare walls and an echo. An echo that he finds himself pretending is a reply to his rambling, more often than not. That’s okay. He rambles to fill the silence anyways.
It ain’t the empty home, baby
Peter, at 13, had managed to brave Flash, and the other bullies on his own. He and Ned never really talked about those days. Better to just let it go. What could either of them have done?
Peter, at 15, had caught the hand of the goddamn Winter Soldier when he was dragged into a war he had no stake in.
Peter, at 16, watched his father mentor die in front of him, was taunted and manipulated with his death, fought alone, and still made it out alive.
Peter, at 18, is unknown.
You know I’m good on my own
“Happy Birthday, Peter Parker.” Peter speaks aloud for the first time since he’d perched here, his voice is rough. How long ago did he get up here?
[01:31] his watch blinked.
91 minutes into today.
Baby, you know it’s more the being unknown
“It doesn’t matter you’re a little lonely, Parker.” Peter continues to himself, he’s the best company he can find nowadays. “It matters that they’re all safe. And they’re safe because they don’t know you.”
And there are some people, love, who are better unknown.
Peter reaches out his left arm and with a thwip, leaves the roof.