Interlude No.1 - May
Death could come in any form.
Peter knew that full well. A burglary gone wrong, a bad fall, a bullet to the heart, a plane crash... Brutal, unpredictable death was no stranger to him.
But death that took hold in the flesh—slowly, sensuously, eating away at life bit by bit—was still unfamiliar. A quiet, insidious death. Harder to comprehend. Gentler, perhaps, because it offered slivers of hope, moments of peace in the face of the inevitable. And all the more cruel because of it.
OOO
When May had first told that she was ill, Peter had convinced himself she’d bounce back in no time.
She was a fighter. Fierce. The strongest person he knew. Even the most terrifying of Vultures would’ve turned into a canary in front of her!
So he had asked her, naively, ‘When will you get better?’, and 'What can I do to help?' She’d hugged him close and whispered: ‘That. That's what you can do, baby.’
But her condition deteriorated. Fast.
And Peter discovered a kind of frustration he didn’t know existed. He was Spider-Man, after all! He had superpowers, he’d fought with Avengers, he’d stopped an alien arms deal! So why couldn’t he save the one person who mattered most? His frustration spilled out in silent tears and, more than once, he found himself crying into his pillow at night, biting his lips so May wouldn’t hear.
Then, out of desperation, he threw himself into patrols.
Longer, riskier missions. Anything to burn off the helpless rage clawing at his chest. He came home late—later than ever—and May never said a word. He started turning off his phone so he wouldn’t be disturbed, clinging to Spider-Man and pushing Peter Parker away.
Until one morning, returning just past dawn, he knew something was wrong the moment he stepped inside.
Something was missing.
The silence in their apartment was deafening, devoid of the melody of May's heartbeat. The air was heavy, devoid of her floral scent. Her shoes were no longer in the hallway, nor her jacket on the coat rack.
She was gone.
Peter turned on his phone with shaking hands, and found ten unread messages. He realized, somewhat confused, that she had felt unwell and, after trying to reach him, finally had herself rushed to the hospital. Guilt wrapped around his throat, he tore off his suit, threw on the first clothes he found, and sprinted through the streets of Queens toward the hospital.
OOO
‘No visitors before nine o'clock,’ the receptionist told him.
‘B-but... my aunt just got admitted, I have to see her, please...’
The receptionist looked up and softened when she saw him, not expecting such a young teenager.
‘I'm sorry, sweetheart. How old are you?’
He shrugged, worried she’d call social services if he said the truth.
‘And… what's your aunt's name?’
‘May. May Parker.’
She typed at her computer for a few moments, then nodded.
‘She's definitely in our files. She was admitted at 3:25 this morning. Room 235. If everything goes well, you can see her in an hour. Are you alone?’
Peter nodded, looking away.
‘Is there someone I can call for you? A friend? Relative?’
He hesitated. Who could he call? Not Ned, not MJ. Not now.
He took out his phone and scrolled though his contacts, stopping at a name.
‘Could you call this number?’
‘Of course. Who is it? ’
‘Uh, a friend? Happy. Happy Hogan.’
She seemed surprised, but didn’t question it.
‘Who name should I give him?’
‘Peter Parker.’
She picked up her phone but, before dialing, she rummaged through her purse and held out a few coins.
‘There are vending machines over there. Get something to eat, sweetheart.’
‘Oh—no! That’s okay, I—’
‘Please. I can't decently let a growing boy sit around hungry for an your!’
‘Th-thank you, ma’am. Really.’
Minutes later, Peter was curled on a chair in the room, chewing a chocolate bar under the warm gaze of the receptionist. He caught fragments of her call to Happy:
‘Mr. Hogan, this is Queens Hospital. I'm calling on behalf of Peter Parker... No, no, he's fine! It’s his aunt, May Parker... yes... nine o'clock...’
Lulled by the voice, Peter must’ve doze off, because he had no memory of what happened until a hand shook him vigorously.
‘Mmmhh...’
‘Wake up, Peter.’
He opened one eye with difficulty and found himself face to face with Happy.
In astonishment, he jumped back.
‘Oh—hey, hi Happy! W-What are you doing here?’
‘You called me. Don't you remember?’
‘Oh, um... technically, I didn't call you, I asked for you to be called, and I gave them your number, so… I mean, I didn’t know if you’d come, but it was either you or Ned, or MJ and I didn't want to bother them, and—'
Happy cut in before the nervous ramble could spiral further.
‘The person who called me told me about May.’
‘May... May, yes, May! Is it visiting time yet?’
He stood too fast, the world spinning, and stumbled. Happy caught him.
‘Whoa, slow down, kid. You okay?’
‘Yeah—yeah! What time is it? They didn't want to let me see her, they said nine, but she's my aunt and she's ill and—’
‘I know, Peter. I promise we'll go and see her as soon as you've perked up a bit.’
‘Wh-what? Really?’
‘Yes, we will. It’s nine.’
OOO
‘I'll wait out here,’ Happy said at the hospital room door.
Peter nodded, suddenly unable to swallow past the lump in his throat.
May was lying in a bed, dark circles carving her pale skin. Yet her eyes sparkled and a smile made its way to her lips when she saw Peter.
‘Peter, you're here! I'm sorry I left during the night. I wanted to wait for you, but I couldn't, forgive me...’
‘No, May, don't apologize... I'm the one who's sorry, I should’ve been there, I shouldn’t have left...’
‘Shhh, baby. Come here...’
He rushed into her arms, tears rising. His heart was broken to see her so exhausted, weak and ill. She kissed his forehead, and that did it—his sobs broke loose.
‘I-I-I'm sorry... s-so sorry...’
‘Hey, don't cry. I'm right here, I’m not going anywhere.’
He clung to her like a child, burying his face in her hair, shoulders trembling. May rocked him gently, like she had so many times before, whispering.
‘Breathe, sweetheart. In… out. That’s it. Just breathe.’
Peter closed his eyes, May's voice soothing him—but the storm inside didn’t fade.
‘Everything will be all right,‘ May said softly. ‘I promise. We're a team, you and me. And we're going to kick this disease's ass, understand?’
He nodded, too tight-throated to speak.
Please don't die.
Don't leave me.
I love you.
OOO
Happy walked him home in silence, saying nothing about the red eyes and stuffy nose. At the door, he made a strange gesture, as if he were about to pat him on the shoulder, but he stopped halfway and finally gave a vague wave of his hand.
‘Thanks for coming and for giving me a lift. Say hello to Mr. Stark for me.’ Peter said.
‘Wait!’
Happy handed him a fifty-dollar bill, looking a little embarrassed.
‘Here. Buy something to eat. There's no need to blow up your flat trying to cook something. And if you and your aunt need anything, call me.’
Peter thanked him with a smile. Happy grimaced something that looked like a grin.
‘She'll pull through, Peter. May’s strong. Stronger than all of us.’
‘I know.’
I hope so.
OOO
The next morning, Peter was surprised to find an Audi waited outside his house. Happy was here, tapping away on his phone, as if he were waiting for someone.
‘What are you doing here?’ Peter asked, confused.
Happy looked up and stared at him as if he had just asked a particularly stupid question.
‘What do you think? I've driving you to see May. It’s faster than the subway, and less dramatic than crashing through a hospital window in your Spidey suit.’
‘Oh...! Thanks, Happy.’
They drove in silence, the radio playing low.
OOO
From that day on, everything changed.
Peter’s world shrank to hospital walls, nine to seven, holding May’s hand. The rest was just insignificant details. Neither science, patrols, video games, Ned nor MJ.
Just May.
He felt he had to enjoy every moment —every second—with his aunt. Luckily, it was summer, so he could easily devote all his free time to her.
At first, he and May would watch soap operas, commenting on each scene, devouring the hospital crisps and gorging on apple-green jelly. From time to time, Happy would stay with them, and they would play dice or cards, almost forgetting the white disinfectant-scented decor that unfolded around them.
Then May got sleepier. Weaker.
She dozed off mid-episode, mid-game, her head nestling against Peter's. He didn't dare move, afraid to wake her, listening to her heart, knowing deep down that one day this melody would cease.
Despite all the care she was given, May was visibly losing weight and turning paler, and Peter ended up begging Happy, voice cracking:
‘There has to be something we can do. The Avengers can do anything. Mr. Stark must have come close to death thousands of times, and yet he's still here. Please, Happy...’
And always, that same sorrow in Happy’s eyes.
‘I'm sorry, Peter.’
OOO
Two weeks later, Happy didn’t drive him home but to Stark Tower.
‘Your room’s ready, kid.’
‘My... room?’
‘Top floor. Come on.’
Mr Stark wasn't there. He was on a mission, theoretically unreachable, and yet Peter was surprised to find a message waiting for him when he woke up.
‘Here's my number, call me if anything happens.
Hope you like the room. Sorry if the decor sucks—blame Happy. Give May a hug from me.
—Tony. ’
Peter smiled faintly. ‘Does he really sign his texts?’.
OOO
May's condition declined exponentially.
Soon, she could no longer walk and had to use a wheelchair. She and Peter would sometimes go out into the hospital courtyard, and she would fall asleep under the summer sun. She also struggled to speak, words got tangled on her tongue, but they no longer needed them. Just a glance, a smile, a squeeze of the hand.
Peter stopped patrolling. He spent every night curled beside her, sneaking in through the window, pretending he wasn’t crying.
She couldn’t see his fear. He had to be strong—for her.
He couldn't abandon her.
Soon, the days and the memories merged until they formed a confused whirlwind, a mixture with a scent of heartbreak, medicine and hope.
Until the end, Peter believed.
Right to the end, he believed she’d get better. That a miracle would happen. That she would get up, smile at him and take him in her arms, and that the nightmare would be over.
OOO
Reality took over. But not in the way he had hoped.
Peter decided to put on the suit, just once. To forget the hospital, the fear, the despair. One night.
One single night, during which he allowed himself to no longer be Peter Parker but Spider-Man, the superhero who was afraid of nothing—and especially not of death.
He returned at ten in the morning, pulling off his mask as he climbed through the window, and froze. Tony Stark was waiting on his bed, clutching a cup of coffee. His eyes were dull, he looked exhausted.
‘Mr Stark?’ Peter asked, surprised. ’What are you doing here? I thought you were on a mission?’
Their eyes met and his heart rose to his throat. He knew, even before Mr Stark opened his mouth.
But there was this hope... this treacherous, cruel spark, nestled deep in his heart.
That damn, damn hope.
‘The hospital called. May... I'm sorry, kiddo. She passed away.’
The world tilted.
The words made no sens.
Something cracked in Peter’s chest. The first sob was the worst; a muffled, strangled, completely pathetic whimper. Then came the tears. Burning, streaming down his cheeks, flowing with a bitter taste to his mouth.
His knees gave way. His whole body gave way.
The next moment, he was in Mr. Stark’s arms, clinging to him, not recognizing the desperate moans escaping his lips. He stubbornly refused to give the slightest credence to what would now, unshakably, be the truth that would haunt every moment of his life.
May was dead.
He was alone.
Utterly, unbearably alone.