Chapter Text
The grave is covered in snow and ice, her name hidden behind the soft white substance, usually peter would wipe it away, but today, he couldn't help but think about all the times May would look out at the snow and think about her youth. May used to say, ‘snow is the way the earth shows her love, each flake a soft kiss.’ Peter always thought that sounded stupid, some ‘hippie stuff from the cult’ Ben would say before laughing.
Still, Peter found comfort in his aunt’s words, knowing that if she were here with him, she’d enjoy the snow and tell him to lighten up and enjoy the fact that he even gets to experience it. Peter hears heavy footsteps making their way towards the Parker family gravesite. Even in death, he won’t be able to join his family, as it seems that even the dirt has forgotten he was one of them, too.
The cool winds hit Peter’s red nose, his tears the only warmth his body is willing to supply as he mourns the death of his aunt and his identity. His very self gone forever, and everyone forgot him too boot. He turns away from the grave and begins to walk, a long, long walk.
He ignores Happy as he makes his way out of the family graveyard, saying soft goodbyes to his uncle Ben and parents. He doesn't remember his mother and father, only a feeling they gave him, a feeling he’s been chasing; he felt it with Ben, Tony, May, and Dr.Strange. Hell, even Happy.
Peter looks towards the quiet street, knowing he’s going to chase that feeling one last time.
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I sniffle as I make my way towards the bench I call my home, the cold, bitter winter air heavy with smog and cigarettes, the sun lost in the clouds and fog, the only indication of it still being there is the fact that his watch says 12 pm, and maybe the fact that it’s not pitch black outside. I sigh and look around, watching people walk past, all in their own worlds.
Worlds hidden from me, worlds I can only imagine and hope they’re nothing like my own. As I walk towards Central park people stare at me with disgust. I haven't kept the best care of myself since May died, but my shame died with her. But still out of habit, maybe, I put my head down and keep to the shadows.
The clicking and clacking of shoes hitting the pavement keeps me steady, “One step at a time, buddy,” I whisper under my breath. I continue into the Park and sit down at a bench facing a small lake. And wait for something. Anything that will take my mind off the deep, heavy feeling in my stomach, I can’t tell if I'm hungry or hurting anymore, both are good options. My powers haven't been working as well anymore; maybe it's the lack of sleep? The lack of food? Who cares anymore? No one wants a run-down hero who only pities himself anyways..
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Crisp paper, ink, and dust, an old book smell someone called it. Someone forgotten, someone lost, but Strange doesn’t dwell on that, as many have been lost, many in these very walls. The only thing Strange dwells on is ways to show off at the next meeting between the supreme sorcerers, although he wasn’t invited, he was once one of them so they’ll let him in. (no they won’t), Strange carries himself with a a gentle yet strict step to him which is funny since he hasn’t taken a step all morning since his cloak is so keen on carrying him everywhere.
Strange floats around tending to the plants of the manor, and putting books back on the shelves from late-night spell practice courtesy of Chavez. She’ll be the death of him, literally; she’s almost killed him multiple times. Wong is away on a trip to save many lives or whatever. Strange didn't listen when he told him he tried, not really, but he tried to try.
Ever since the incident with Wanda and America, he's felt empty, maybe before that even. He has everything, though, at least he thinks so. Well, no. he knows what he feels so empty without, his weird little teenage freak kid thing, Chavez, ever since she moved to the scared temple to practice with her magic, she’d stop coming around as much. Although they didn't travel together long, he found himself missing her puns, kindness, heroism, and brain. He remembers them talking for hours about science; he always thought she’d make a good doctor.
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“Go clean something, I want to walk,” the cloak grumbles? But lets go of my shoulders and floats away towards something, who cares as longas it’s away from me.
The Manor feels empty and cold, not just because of the hole in my window from Chavez, which still remains half covered as I want her to learn a lesson and fix it, but I'm sure she knows that, hence the not coming around as much. I make my way to the library, although someone once said it was all a big library if you thought about it, stupid i think. The library has carpeted floors, just as all libraries should.
I sit down in the only chair facing the window. I lose myself in the books, rereading spells, curses, hexes, and undo spells. Books I’ve read many times, but for some reason, they remind me of something I forgot, probably to pay a bill or something.
I continue to read when a soft knock is heard on my door.
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The door gently opens, and I’m once again face-to-face with Dr.Strange, and that feeling warms my sodden hair and damp cheeks.
“Uh- Hello!” I stamer out, “My name is Pe-”
“How many times do I have to tell you, charities, I already donated my time to the gods of this realm, I won't donate my money too,” Strange says before he goes to close the door.
I panic, and the one thing that I know will capture any self-absorbed rich man’s attention.
“IM YOUR SON!” shit.
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Shit.
I stare the brown-eyed boy in the eyes, his curly brown hair catching my attention, I HAVE BROWN EYES AND BROWN HAIR, FUCK. I panic on the inside but look calm and collected on the outside, inviting the boy inside.
“Please, come in, uh, kid.”
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“Thank you, sir,” the word kid echoes in my mind, reminding me of the other man I would have called father, my first choice. My heart aches, but he’s gone now. And I have no one but a desperate man mourning my loss, while not even knowing me.
Dr.Strange looks like he's about to shit his pants as I walk inside the manor, his eyes looking as if they are about to jump out at me and beat me up. I look around the well-known manor that old book smell assaults my nostrils with a sweet reminder of what I lost and will do anything to chase.
“You have a very nice home.” I smile, hoping to lighten the mood.
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“You have a very nice home,” the kid probably says in an attempt to kill me from a heart attack.
“Thank you- uhhh.”
“Peter,” he says.
“What’s your last name?” I ask, wanting to narrow it down to who it was I slept with.
“Uuuhh, Parker?” he says like it's a question. Parker.. Parker.. Parker? PaRKer…. May Parker! One of the nurses for the NICU, did I sleep with her? I don't recall shit, it was probably at a Christmas party when I got blackout. Fuck- I mean look AT THE KID!
“Ah, yes, of course.” I stutter slightly, looking at the boy who could be a carbon copy of me, I mean, for god’s sake, he has brown hair!!
I look at the skinny, smelly, and dirty child in front of me. His long raggedy hair curls around his face, his brown doe eyes are wide with fear and loss, eyebags make up most of his face, or maybe he's just purple from being in the cold for so long. His lips quiver, which seems to be fear of my rejection, when I get a small feeling in my heart, that emptiness that hole that Chavez left is gone.
I feel a doubt in the back of my mind, but push it far away as the feeling I receive from the boy is addictive, and I'm not about to lose something so sweet, pure, and innocent parental love.
I smile softly at the boy and pull my son into my arms, hugging the child to show him I'm happy he found me. I rub his back and take in a deep breath of tainted air. He fucking stinks.
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I sigh heavily and lean into Strange's touch, happy to soak up the affection he seems desperate to be rid of.
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Peter follows Strange and nods along as he’s given a tour of a manor he had already called home once; he recognizes each room, each object, and each thing that used to be his own that was left behind in the damage. The tour ends at the bathroom, where Strange leaves Peter to wash himself, thinking about how horrible a mother May must be to let her baby boy be so dirty, what mother can’t keep her child clean? Stephen scoffs and gets a towel for Peter when he’s done, before going to search for some clothes that would fit Peter.
Peter stands in the bathroom he’s been in multiple times, stripping out of his soiled clothes he was wearing the day he lost everything, and climbs into the first shower he’s had in a month. He scrubs for what feels like hours, but in reality is only 9 minutes, until the water that falls from his body is just that, water. The blood and dirt that made a home in his hair were whisked away by the drai,n leaving him squeaky clean and ready to start the day.
Strange returns with a pair of clothes that seem to be exactly Peter's size, which he found in a spare guest room with more clothes all seeming to be his size. It’s probably fate, maybe all along, the great sorcerers knew he’d have a son.
Once dressed peter exits the bathroom and goes to the kitchen, where Strange said he would meet him. Strange holds a cup of coffee and sets a cup of cocoa in front of peter somehow getting a feeling Peter would prefer it over coffee.
Peter sits down and takes a sip, and gets the feeling he’s been craving for so long. It feels almost like a high he won’t ever come down from. But just as quick as it was there, it disappears, but he knows it’ll be back; he knows what he needs to do to get it, and he won’t stop until he’s gotten the feeling with him forever. And now, if he plays his cards perfectly, he’ll have a permanent source. Peter smiles at the next victim in the massacre, where the violence is loving Peter Parker.
Peter smiles sweetly at his father, trusting he’ll feed the sweet delusion that we call parenthood.