Chapter Text
“Burried under tomes and tombstones
Digging up the earth once more
Burried in a home and old bones
The past will sink its teeth into what it can take”
Peter Parker lost so many people, buried so many people
There was a noticeable lack of people in the cemetery today. A lack of Old Man Al visiting his wife with a tupperware of potato salad, which he ends up giving to Peter more than once. A lack of Mr. Whittaker cleaning up around the graves. Even the usual teens making out behind the trees.
Peter brushes off the fallen leaves on the cold headstone and places new flowers onto Aunt May's grave. He blows a warm breath onto his gloveless fingers. Now that he thought about it. He's never placed any flowers onto his parents’ or Uncle Ben's gravestones.
“Hmm… Maybe I should?” Peter mutters to himself, kisses the tips of his fingers, places them on Aunt May's grave, and sits down, resting his head on the headstone.
May Parker
When you help someone,
You help everyone
Peter tried not to read those words he now has memorized by heart. He just hopes that he’s doing her right.
Grief can take many forms.
It can take many stages for someone to begin moving on from someone who was previously a constant in your life, only to be ripped apart from you by death.
Would Mr. Stark want some flowers too? Peter thought to himself. But then again, did he deserve to stand above his grave? Peter knew exactly where his grave was located. He had been buried next to his cabin house where he built a life, far from the hustle and bustle of the city. Far from New York. Far from Spider-man. Far from Peter. But maybe there was a day, just one day, where New York did not need Spider-man? Maybe he can…
“No. Of course you can't do that. Stupid Peter.” Peter once again whispered to himself and stood up. He felt a vibration in his pocket. Right… of course he can’t.
*Runaway car seen passing through Broadway Avenue. No brakes. Need assistance.*
It was time to be Spider-Man. Time to fill the constant void that is grief.
And maybe that was the moment that Peter Parker would go back to and curse himself yet again. But in the moment, his vulnerability winning over his need to keep it together, he donned his mask and quickly webbed himself away, leaving a stunned 9-year-old gaping at what she just saw.
Peter decided he didn't like catching a vehicle with his bare hands. Make no mistake, he's not having a hard time with it. It's just that most of the times he ends up destroying the cars with when he's unable to hold back his grip strength. And it always hurt like bitch. Well… at least the principle of it.
Which, case in point, makes him proud of his control today. He only managed a small dent on the hood, and the driver was safe and didn't even trigger the car's airbag.
“Spidey! Oh my God!” The driver, a man in 40’s or 50’s stepped out and clung to his arms, knees weak and almost kneeling if not for the support Spider-man gave him.
“Hey, easy there, champ. You're okay now. You're safe.” Spider-man reassured the man, supporting him and leading him to sit on the pavement. Peter glanced to his left and saw some good Samaritans escorting a very pregnant lady from the back, who was clutching her stomach. She looked glazed over and was in immense pain.
Peter immediately understood that she might have been experiencing contractions. “Sir, how far along is your wife?” Spider-Man asked the driver.
“S-she's, she's not. I'm her Uber on the way for a checkup. I don't know who she is. Did something happen to her? Oh my God, I'm horrible.”
Spider-man shook his head to the driver. “No man. The fact you didn't crash it despite having no brakes is pretty amazing. Though you might get a star off on that rating. Now you stand here I gotta make sure she's okay, right champ? Can you do that for me?”
The driver nodded silently as he accepted a water bottle that was offered to him by someone in the crowd.
Peter rushed towards the woman, seeing her take deep breaths while being held by other women just as the police roll into the scene.
DeWolfe immediately trots over to where Peter was, who is not actively doing a physical intake of the pregnant woman.
“Nice to meet you Emilia. I'm Spider-man. Hey, can you do me a favor and see how many arms I have? Cause I promise you it's not eight.” Peter did his best to check for a concussion or physical harm, letting his AI do all the scanning while he made her feel safe.
Letting Spider-man do his work, DeWolfe barked orders to her subordinates and contained the scene. Thankfully, because of the driver's skills and Spider-man’s control, there was no damage at all.
Suddenly, a sharp gasp was heard from the pregnant woman. DeWolfe turned her head towards her direction and saw Spider-man carefully supporting the woman. “Whoa, ma'am, don't worry, I got you.”
In that moment, Peter understood what was about to happen. Now Peter was no doctor; he knew he had to leave this to the professionals. “Detective, are the medics on their way?”
“Just a few minutes, hang on ma'am!”
“Ma'am, you're gonna be alright, the ambulance is on the–”
“NO!” The woman shouted. “I don't… No hospital please…”
“But ma'am–”
“Please bring me home. AHHHH!” The expectant mother screamed before the pain started to subside a bit. “Ahhh… ohhh…”
“Deep breaths, ma'am. Deep breaths.” Peter guided the woman with breathing. Once she felt more stable, Peter asked again. “Okay, now why don't you want to go to the hospital?”
“My… my husband is disabled and can't go there. I… We want him to be there for the birth… We've prepared for… ahhh… a water birth.”
Peter has lost so many things in life, so many moments.
So when the lady said that, he understood her completely.
“DeWolfe.” He said, looking at the detective.
“Oh no. Don't look at me like that. You are not swinging a pregnant and contracting lady home.”
“I WASN'T?! Jeez, ‘tective, I’m not that bad, am I?” He looked at the pregnant lady in his arms. “Am I?” He asked, to which the lady looked at him sourly and grumbled at him in pain.
“That’s fair. But I meant that maybe I can borrow a car? Or maybe you can drive us?”
DeWolfe looked at him with a tired expression on her face, but she didn’t argue. Within ten minutes, they were escorting Emilia through her front door.
The living room was semi-prepped—a birthing pool in the corner, a tarp already beneath. They didn’t have much time to explain what was happening, but somehow the people in that house knew exactly what to do.
Peter believed that all life was important. He wasn't always like that, but Peter had witnessed the end of the lives of so many people, prevented some, and was the cause of a few. He learned through the years that life should be cherished… and he knows how much of a hypocrite he was.
Her husband, Liam, was already waiting in his wheelchair, his eyes locked on his wife the second she crossed the threshold. He tried to help his wife get situated on the couch, looking a bit helpless but determined. Peter understood and offered his help, which the couple thankfully agreed to.
The house was in a frenzy of preparation, DeWolfee slipping away in the middle of it to back to the earlier scene, tipping her head towards Spider-man who stayed to help wherever he can. And as soon as the midwife asked for Emilia to get into the tub filled halfway with warm water Peter decided to step back to give them some privacy.
But before Peter could even step back to give them space, Emilia grabbed his wrist with a vise grip, pulling him down to his knees beside the tub.
Life had definitely thrown him a curveball in the form of screams that would have hurt his sensitive hearing on a normal day and two hands that squeezed him really hard. Because there he was, on his knees and holding the hands of the same woman he saved that day in lieu of her husband, a paralyzed man in every sense of the word, but had the most active eyes out of all of them.
“Y-you can do it… honey… almost… there,” Liam rasped, placing a weak hand on her back as Spider-man took all of the brunt of Emilia’s nail digging. But Peter could care less of that as he watched the tiniest of crownings peep out.
“I knowwwww aaaaaaahhhhh!”, she screamed.
Peter stood frozen on the bathmat, holding the hands of a complete stranger. The room smelled of copper, warm steam, and sweat—intense and overwhelming to his sharp senses. He had seen so much blood in his life, so much tearing of flesh in violent moments. But this was different. Peter was no stranger to blood or torn flesh from all the lives he had fought to save, but this was entirely different. Those were moments of violence and trauma; this was raw, agonizing creation. He had grown up surrounded by strong women, but watching this, an entirely new depth of reverence took root in him.
The birth of a child was a surreal thing to behold. Peter could feel his eyes water, entirely overwhelmed.
“Push, Emilia, big push!” the midwife instructed.
Emilia screamed, her knuckles turning white in Peter’s grip. Through the clear, warm water, Peter saw the top of the baby's head crowning. The sheer reality of it hit him like a physical blow. With a final, agonizing push, the baby slid into the midwife’s waiting hands.
She gently lifted the tiny girl above the water's surface. For a second, the room held its breath. Then, a sharp, wailing cry filled the air.
“It’s a girl!” the midwife cheered, placing the slick, tiny infant into her mother's desperate reach.
A wave of profound relief washed over the room—over Liam, the exhausted mother, the midwife, and Peter himself. He couldn't tear his eyes away.
“Wh-what’s her name?” Peter found himself asking, his voice thick.
“Lilly,” Emilia breathed.
And looking at her, Peter couldn't think of a more perfect name.
It has been almost 3 months since Peter experienced someone giving birth for the first time, and the in-between had been eventful. But now, coming out of that small potato crisis with Jean Gray, hoping that she is now some ways away from New York, he could only hope that good days were up ahead.
He had finally met with Ned and MJ after so long. He had another person in his contacts worrying about his injuries in the form of a brooding and sarcastic old man by the name of Frank. But somehow, even though things should have looked up, Peter can’t shake the feeling of the consistent dread he had been feeling for so long. He still feels like this is all a dream, and maybe he can just wake up one day and find out all of this is a simulation, maybe a joke by Mysterio. The odds of that being true are low, but never zero.
But then again, Peter knew he had to try. So once again, Peter finds himself in Emilia’s house, a bouquet of lilies in his hand, a limiter in his pocket just in case. He came immediately after his visit to aunt May. Because after the events with Jean Gray, he found himself with more free time, DeWolfe insisting (nagging really) he develop some sort of social life.
He decided to visit this family after some time as Spider-man. Peter noticed a rather familiar parked car in their driveway. He brushed it off and figured out some family was visiting.
He rang their doorbell, a small spring in his step, quite excited to see how much the baby had grown after almost 3 months. He was excited, expecting to be able to play with the baby even from afar. If he was lucky, he might get to hold Lilly, which was why he had a thrifted and cleaned medical gown that he was given after visiting terminally ill children about 2 years ago.
But from all the things he expected, he did not expect to see the one and only Pepper Potts open the door for him.
“Oh! Spider-man? Why are you here?” Pepper asked, shocked by his presence.
“Come on, Pepper! Is that how you greet visitors?” Emilia entered the scene, her daughter in her arms. She looked really exhausted
“Good morning, Mrs. Stark, Ms. Emilia!” Peter greeted, hiding his shock even though all he wanted was to run and combust into flames, maybe ask for another bullet to hit him (okay that was too much of an intrusive thought).
“My bad. Sorry, Spider-Man, please come in.” Pepper held the door open for him, a soft and warm smile on her face. Peter gulped in discomfort, shifting his feet.
“Ah– it's okay. I just wanted to see how Ms. Emilia and her baby were doing.” He extended the flowers to Pepper and Emilia, who were both looking confused but fondly at him. “I bought flowers. Sorry they’re all I know how to gift someone, right now.” Which technically wasn’t a lie, because all the gifts he had been giving were flowers on May’s Grave.
Emilia shook her head. “Please come in, Spider-Man,” Emilia insisted. "I know it's pretty crowded but my boss here decided to finally visit today." Emilia smiled at Pepper who smiled back.
Peter looked between the two women, standing strong in their own right, and it made him shrink into himself. He shouldn’t be there. He shouldn’t have thought of even coming. Looking at Ms. Potts hurt. It hurt to see the lack of recognition in her eyes– the blank kindness reserved for a helpful stranger. He was just a passerby now, some random crime-fighting vigilante of New York. He wasn’t anyone special in their life. He knew that much. Everyone knew that much. Spider-Man was only good for small-potato stuff now, right?
He didn’t deserve to be here.
He shouldn’t be here.
He must have been out of it for a while, because his senses suddenly warned him of someone’s hand approaching him and he flinched, hard. His retreat made his foot get stuck on the welcome mat and he was barely able to catch himself.
Pepper Potts– no, Pepper Stark’s hand froze in mid-air. She retracted her hand that was reaching for the young hero. Pepper and Emilia looked at each other with concern, eyebrows knitted and raised. Spidey did not seem okay. It had been just a week since the news of Spider-Man being hit by a bullet and almost bled to death circulated around. And looking at the man in question, the two women could not help but feel some level of concern for him.
Pepper approached again first. “Even without seeing your face, we can see that you’re not okay Spider-man. Come inside for a while, please.”
Peter shrugged but still felt a bit guilty, especially for flinching at Ms. Pott– you know what he’s gonna call her: Ms. Pepper in his mind. Her surname still stung to think about after all. Actually, everything about her stung. He could still feel the firm hand she placed on his shoulder the moment his mentor died. Before the snap, before everything, he was trying… no, they were trying to form some form of bond. Granted, it was a bond forged in grief; it was a bond nonetheless. He remembers the few nights he cried to sleep because of that grief, one of those nights being wrapped in Pepper’s embrace. And he had met Morgan twice. Once at the funeral, and second when Pepper invited him and May for Thanksgiving since Happy and May were dating… oh… and, alive… he guesses.
“Seriously, kid. Are you okay?” Pepper asked once again after he didn’t move.
And honestly, how was Peter supposed to answer that? “I– I’ll be fine,” Peter managed, his throat feeling like dry sand. He tried to reach for the small piece of tech in his pocket, readying himself in case he needed it.
Pepper and Emily looked at him skeptically.
“PEETY!” Someone had screamed from behind the two women.
“Morgan, why are you shouti–”
“Mom! It’s Peety! Hi Peety!” A ball of sunshine, no other than the one and only Morgan Stark.
For a fraction of a second, the crushing weight in Peter’s chest simply vanished. A sudden, golden warmth flooded his limbs, so bright and vivid it almost made his knees give out. Peety. The sound of that childish nickname, spoken with such bright, unquestioning joy, hit him like a physical embrace.
Then the silence of the room caught up with his brain. It was like a bucket of ice water poured directly over his exposed heart. And just how fast it came, the warmth froze over. His lungs seized. The air vanished from the room. His Spider-Sense didn’t just tingle—it screamed, a deafening, white-hot static echoing behind his ears.
Did she actually remember him? No, that's impossible.
He didn't think. He couldn't.
So he ran.
“PEETY!” “Spider-man?!” “KID?!”
It was cowardly.
But it hurt too much. It hurt to see them, to hear them call him by name, by kid. Ms. Pepper used to call him that. Mr. Stark used to call him that. And Morgan…
“I’ve always wanted a big brother! Can I just call you Peety?”
He couldn’t feel himself breathe. He needed to breathe. He needed to live after all. His could feel his senses flicker out of control, the itch to use the limiter present but tried to keep it under control again. He had done that before.
He promised himself he would be better now. But why didn’t he feel better? Therapists on the internet said that progress is not linear, that some days he’ll feel shitty and other days not. And to that he’ll say that’s bullshit. Science should be consistent. Psychology is a science. But psychology has no laws, not like hard sciences. That’s why he hated psychology.
No… he didn’t hate it… he hated himself…
“-id… KID! Breathe Spider-man. Come on, follow me. Breathe with me.”
“Happy?”
“H-how do you know my– KID!”
Maybe it was all too much for Peter. Because before he knew it, he had dropped to the floor.