Chapter Text
The AC hummed in the background, a low, steady sound that mixed with the pelting rain outside, filling May Parker’s small kitchen with a monotone wash of white noise. The storm raged outside, making the room feel like its own small world, containing only the three people inside. Not that Mary Jane minded.
The air still carried that sharp, sweet smell of antiseptic. It clung to the cotton ball on the counter, the brown bottle on the little wooden table, and Peter himself.
Mary Jane looked over at Peter, sitting at the tiny square table. Her Peter. Unbelievably, finally, hers. His cheeks were still pink from the kiss, his hair a mess of static and rainwater. A small, sheepish smile tugged at his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Those were dark, tired, too old for his face. His chest told the same story—scrapes, bruises, cuts. He was wrecked.
But he was here. Back home. And that was what mattered. Four days. That was how long he’d been gone. Four days of empty classes and missed calls, of rumors and worried looks, of staring out her window every night like maybe she’d see him walking down the street. She’d told herself she was being dramatic. She wasn’t.
Now he was sitting a few feet away, breathing, talking, smiling through the pain.
Across the room, Aunt May moved quietly, rinsing a cloth at the sink. The calm in her movements made MJ uneasy—her steady hands trying to hide a shake.
May turned, drying her hands on a towel. Her voice was gentle, but it had weight. “Now I think you were about to explain why there’s a Spider-Man mask under your bed.”
Thunder crashed outside, punctuating her question.
Peter looked down at the Spider-Man mask in his hands, his Adam's apple shifting as he gulped. He opened his mouth, but closed it again. His hazel eyes on the mask, a window to his racing thoughts. Peter was a smart guy, but after all that must have happened and all the pain on his face, his motor had to be running on empty.
Reaching over, she put a hand on his thigh, almost touching the mask. She could feel the muscles there—muscles she didn’t expect Peter to have, a welcomed surprise that was instantly forgotten by her worry. Her eyes moved over to the mask. Street vendors and tourist shops sold them. Her Aunt Anna got one for her months back as a joke—a way to tease her in her aunt’s loving way, after the older woman learned about MJ’s interest in Spider-Man.
But the one on Peter’s lap was nothing like the one Aunt Anna picked up. Cheap and mass produced, it was little more than a spandex bag someone drew webbing on. Peter’s was homemade. Lenses for the eye pieces, and sewn into thick, strong fabric—able to take wear and tear from a giant dressed as a Rhino or a guy in a Halloween mask tossing pumpkin-shaped bombs.
“Well, you see,” Peter said, trying to put on a sarcastic tone despite the pain in his voice, “there is a really good explanation for why I have that. You see...” His voice trailed.
Silence filled the kitchen, heavy as the rain outside.
“Are you Spider-Man?” she asked.
Peter’s eyes glanced over her, his eyes meeting hers, before falling back down to the mask. She leaned in closer, hand rubbing his thigh without realizing it.
“Yes,” Peter said, in a whisper, holding all the pain he must have felt over the last four days.
Mary Jane’s breath caught in her throat as her eyes widened. Looking at Peter—sweet, nerdy Peter—was Spider-Man. She let out a laugh as a smile crossed her face. She gave his leg a squeeze. His hazel eyes met hers, his expression softening; a hint of a smile played on his lips.
Her teeth played with her bottom lip as she looked into his eyes, still holding back so much pain.
A huff from May caused Peter to turn, breaking the connection between them. Mary Jane swallowed, pushing back the storm of feelings raging in her head.
He’s back. He loves me. He's hurt. He's Spider-Man.
All spun around in her head, a tornado of thoughts.
Looking up, May’s eyes were on Peter, her expression the opposite of Mary Jane’s.
“Spider-Man. You’ve been out there every night, doing this to yourself?”
May’s hazel eyes hung on Peter, and Mary Jane could feel the muscles in his legs stiffening.
He gulped, let out a wet, rasping cough, then gulped again.
“Well, I....” he started, then paused.
His body swayed like a blade of grass in the wind. His eyes lost focus, rolling up, showing the whites, which were completely bloodshot.
Her chair squeaked against the linoleum floor as Mary Jane jumped up, grabbing Peter by the shoulder. Her body pressed against his—she’d forgotten she was only in a sports bra and night shorts—using her strength to hold him up.
May was on the other side of him in a heartbeat, hand on his arm, next to Mary Jane’s. She looked at her nephew, her gaze not just one of an aunt, but of someone with two decades of nursing work.
Eyes wide, Mary Jane looked at the older woman, biting down on her lower lip, “What’s happening? Is he okay?”
May didn’t answer, her eyes locked on her nephew. “Peter, Peter,” she said, slapping his cheek. “You have to stay awake. I have to check you over. With all this, you might have a concussion.”
Peter blinked, his brown eyes focusing forward on his aunt, but his gaze was off, unfocused. “No concussion, didn’t hit my head,” Peter said, before his lips turned up into a smile. “I've had those before. It doesn’t feel like this.”
May sighed, shaking her head. Looking up at Mary Jane, she said, “Let’s get him to the sofa. If you got him, I'll go grab the blanket.”
Mary Jane nodded, as May turned, barely waiting for the response.
She paused then turned to Peter, “When I get back we’re talking about all this,” she said, before walking to grab the blankets from upstairs.
“She’s mad.” Peter said.
“Yeah, can you blame her?” Mary Jane said, wrapping her arms around him, his body tensing as she moved against him, her breasts pressing against his side. His breath caught in his throat.
“I... I can stand,” he stammered out, raising to his feet. Despite his weakness, he still had a strength that didn’t match his lanky body.
“Hey, just enjoy it,” Mary Jane said, pressing against him harder. She could feel his heart thumping and smiled. “You got the girl, Casanova Parker, just enjoy it.”
His weight sagged against her, heartbeat fluttering under her palm as thunder rolled outside.