Winding up the threads
Peter stood on the sidewalk with the last box while the moving guy loaded Aunt May’s wooden chest of draws that had been handcrafted by her grandfather, the wood was a beautiful polished Mahogany, the elegant piece of furniture had different shades of deep red and brown wood grain all along the top, going in majestic swirls. The handles and outline of the chest of draws were dusted in a shimmering gold, Peter remembers sitting on Aunt May and Uncle Ben’s bed as talking commentary as Aunt May put her washing away. As the sun hit the gold, he remembers staring at it before asking if it was real gold.
Aunt May had laughed and said, “I wish.”
Of course, she didn’t truly care, and Peter grew up to learn that over time as he watched her lightly dust the surface or wipe down the sides.
It was in perfect condition except for the small scratch on the side, barely a couple centimetres from where Peter had accidentally tripped and scratched it with his little screwdriver from his construction play kit a few months after his parent’s death.
He had been so scared that Aunt May and Uncle Ben would give him up that he just stayed quiet and withdrawn himself even more than what he already had since the plane crash.
Aunt May hadn’t realised it was there until a couple months later where she crouched beside the chest of draws and she asked in a relaxed tone, “Did you do this, Peter?”
In which Peter had burst into tears and confessed to everything while Aunt May rubbed his back reassuringly, humming here and there to show that she was listening to Peter’s stumbled sentences.
At the end she just smiled and said, “If it was an accident then why would I be mad? I’m upset that you didn’t come to me, but I can understand why. Next time anything happens let me know and we will work it out together.”
That was the moment that it truly clicked that Aunt May actually cared for him deeply and didn’t see him as an obligation or a random burden that had been dumped onto her and Uncle Ben’s doorstep to look after.
When Uncle Ben had come home from his job at the police station and had seen Peter’s red, puffy face and his wife’s hand brushing back his nephews curls to place a kiss on the boy’s forehead he had immediately grabbed his keys and taken them all out for ice cream.
The next day Uncle Ben had brought Peter into the garage where he presented Peter with a range of different tools along with the engine of their family car.
That was when Peter’s love for engineering had bloomed. They would spend hours down there, fixing things from laptops to toasters before Uncle Ben eventually passed and the garage filled with dust becoming a sacred space that was rarely ever entered.
Peter’s thoughts jumped back to the present with a jolt when he heard the loud sound of the moving dolly going up the ramp that leaned against the end of the moving truck, the young teenager carelessly shoving it.
“Uh…” Peter spoke up, voice quiet. “Please be careful with that, it’s sentimental.”
The young teenager, probably around eighteen and just doing this for some extra cash just shrugged with an eye-roll. “Sure man, whatever you say.”
Peter pursed his lips before taking a deep breath and following with the last cardboard box, he felt his hands clench the cardboard slightly at the casual dismissal as it rattled with a bunch of glass cups.
Eventually he placed the box and taped it down before he strolled to the back where he helped the teen steady the chest of draws and place it down into the truck. As the teen walks away, Peter runs his hand over the small scratch on the side before he follows.
As Peter leaves down the ramp, he watches the teen grab his phone out before opening the passenger seat door and climbing in. The other worker, a man in his early thirties comes up to Peter, “Sorry about him, my brother wanted to teach him some responsibility, so I offered to let him work for me for a couple weeks.”
Peter just shrugged, “He your nephew?” He asked, trying to keep friendly conversation when all he wanted to do was just curl away and let his sadness drown him.
The man nodded, “Yeah, I have two nephews and a niece, despite how annoying the buggers can be I would trade my soul for them.”
Peter hides his wince at the use of words, he still had nightmares about Thanos and the soul stone, along with this man talking about doing anything for his family made Peter’s heart soak up in discomfort like a sponge before it was squeezed and drained into nothing but a familiar dryness of dullness.
Peter just nodded at the man before the man patted his back, “I’ll see you at the storage unit.”
“Alright.” Peter confirms. “I’ll just finish up here and then be right behind you.”
Peter watched the man walk towards the front of the truck before he gets in the driver’s seat, he listens to the sound of the truck starting before watching the vehicle drive away.
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, he collects his drifting thoughts as he heads up the stairs to the small apartment to grab the last few things that were waiting in it to be taken to Aunt May’s car.
Well…his car now.
There wasn’t much he was keeping, the list was a bunch of identification documents along with ones that he would need to shred in a separate folder, three suitcases with a bunch of his clothes, a couple blankets, a pillow, a few photos, some jewellery from Aunt May including her necklace and engagement ring along with some of little to no importance that he can sell for emergencies and lastly a lump of cash with his wallet.
All of Aunt May’s bank statements and accounts have been frozen until he can confirm with her executor about his identity. He had to go forward and reach out due to him not existing in their database, however after reaching out to showing the paper copies with Aunt May’s real signature and reaching out to the lawyer who confirmed they were there during the signing but didn’t look over the will, considering the one in Peter’s possession is most up to date and had been confirmed to be authentic the executor said he wouldn’t do anything until the procedure has been completed.
Either way, after Uncle Ben died Aunt May hadn’t gotten anything until four months after his death which caused them to have to couch surf before living in their small car. So deep down he knew he would have to figure out a way to make money, especially since his bank account had been deleted and the money in it had been lost back into the economy as if it never belonged to him in the first place.
After he eventually packs everything into the boot and the backseat of the small silver car he walks back into the building one last time to knock on Mr Whitlock’s office door.
“Come in.” He heard the croaky voice of the man. Peter opens the door and sees Mr Whitlock sitting in his office chair, sorting through different notes. “Ahh, Peter. I saw the moving truck outside this morning, is it time to go?” Mr Whitlock quires.
Peter smiled sadly, his heart dropping at the realisation that he was leaving the apartment he had called home for the past five years, but his reason for it being called home now didn’t exist anymore.
“Yeah, I was just returning the keys.” He muttered as he gently placed the two sets of keys on the desk, Mr Whitlock smiled before he grabbed them and stuffed them into his messy side draw of random bits and bobs.
“Ok,” The man said before crossing his fingers and staring at Peter, “It was nice to meet you Peter, take care.”
Peter just shrugged. “You too.”
He finally left the building for the final time, not even looking back at the now dreadful place that was stained with painful memories. The wine in the carpet from Peter’s sixteenth birthday where Aunt May said “Just a sip.” Before he choked on the awful taste, The scratched paint from when Peter tried to rearrange his room, The small hole that Aunt May had accidentally caused before she covered it with a superman poster, because “The muscles Peter. Look at them!”
All that was gone because of his stupid, foolish, idiotic self.
Sometimes he wonders if Aunt May and Uncle Ben would have been better off without him, if they had sent him to an orphanage or thrown him to the street. Maybe they would be happier, still alive, enjoying a vacation in Hawaii instead of being dead in a ditch.
It’s strange when you realise what someone would sacrifice for you.
Peter sighed as he finally reached his car in the shared parking space of all the other tenants, as he got in and shoved the key into the ignition, turning the switch he put the car into gear before pulling out of the parking space.
He felt the fabric of the old car seat under him along with the grip of the wheel as he headed to the storage unit where he would help unload all of Aunt May and Uncle Ben’s belongings.
He wouldn’t see the objects for a while.
~~~~~
It had been almost a week since he had put Aunt May and Uncle Ben’s property in the storage unit. Currently he was standing in a back alley with the trunk of his car open.
Peter had been sleeping in his car for the time being, using the back seat as a bed, It was cramped and uncomfortable, sometimes his muscles would become stiff or cramp, he didn’t like the texture of the seat covers against his skin, waking up from nightmares sent him hyperventilating on the car floor. He did at first try a sleeping bag but he ended up having a panic attack when he woke up and couldn’t flail around so he gave it to a random homeless man a few streets over.
Either way he had been homeless before so he wasn’t struggling to make it work, using some of his spare t-shirts he brought to cover the windows for privacy, always keeping his small safe of valuables underneath the back seat with a tracker attached inside that went to his phone.
Right now he was going through his suitcase for his black suit that he had brought for Aunt May’s funeral, he dug through the clothing before feeling the slick and most expensive clothing he owned other than his suit.
Grasping tightly to it, he pulled it out from the bottom of the suitcase before holding it up, it was the black suit jacket with the tie, the white button up top was already folded inside.
It was the same one he had worn at Tony Stark’s funeral after the snap, Peter assumed Aunt May must have ironed it out for him because he couldn’t bear to look at it after the funeral, stuffing everything belonging or representing Iron Man and Tony Stark in a box under his bed until he tossed it in the moving truck with the rest of his belonging.
Posters, gadgets, figurines, merch, photos, everything.
He ran his fingers over the silk before shrugging and starting to change in the middle of the alley, it was private enough and he didn’t really care who saw.
He stuffed the clothes he was currently wearing which was just a comfy t shirt and sweatpants beside the suitcase so he could change into them after the funeral.
After he closed and locked the boot of the car, he quickly went over to the side mirror before crouching down to make sure he looked presentable.
His skin was slightly pale, his eye-bags were a deep ugly purple due to the inescapable nightmares, his lips were cracked with teeth marks from the amount of time he had bit it, his hair was a dull brown, having lost its natural shine and beautiful curls. Due to his spider powers his wounds, especially the one on his face had mostly healed with just a little help from some creams, all that was left was an almost invisible purple bruise along with some the tiniest patch of small scabs from where he had taken that punch to his temple and eye.
It wasn’t noticeable enough to draw attention and he couldn’t bother to put on concealer, he didn’t real feel like doing anything at the moment.
Peter sighed as he ran a hand through his hair, lightly fixing it by keeping it away from his face before he got up and locked the car. He turned around and started walking over towards where the funeral would be held.
Peter had learnt through eavesdropping on a private conversation between Ned and MJ that there would be two funerals for Aunt May, one public and one private. He always knew that Happy would take over planning the funerals, it had been something that both Peter and Aunt May had a serious conversation about before she and Happy got the final confirmation.
Due to Aunt May’s popularity with F.E.A.S.T and her speeches about raising awareness, it was very well known that she would be a missed person in the community. She was a diamond in the rubble, having a heart of pure gold along with determination and brilliance she became an inspiration. Peter used to be so proud, he would always smile when she talked about how F.E.A.S.T was branching out or help Aunt May zip up her dress for another speech, he was so proud.
Now he didn’t really care. He saw her success as equal honour and worth to a crappy participation ribbon that’s handed out to the slowest kid in the primary school running race. He didn’t know why he suddenly had the change of heart about everything he knew, it was sort of like the world just blurred, it made him realise that no matter what you accomplish how would it really change the world when everyone just dies in the end. It doesn’t. It’s just a constant loop of ‘you tried.’
It didn’t matter anymore; she was dead so it’s not like she could change anything.
As he turned the last corner, he saw the funeral, it hadn’t started yet, but it was packed. It was in a large park, one with lots of space. There were about fifty lawn chairs all lined up with Aunt May’s favourite flower, lilies, running down the sides of the isle.
She loved lilies because it was what Uncle Ben gave her before every date, she used to tell Peter that on their first date when she opened the door, Uncle Ben was a nervous wreck, sweating and stumbling over his words while holding a single Madonna Lily that he had plucked from a few houses down. Ever since before every date he would bring her a different type of Lily which she would then press into a book along with the date of their outing, while on the back of the page she would write in detail about what they had done.
This continued until he passed away, Peter remembers when he would walk in the study to find Aunt May carefully pressing the flower down before writing in a beautiful, swirly cursive.
The plain leather front book ended up having over three quarters of its pages used up with flowers and small patches of writing in between. Each lily a different species.
Aunt May had given it to Peter for his 16th birthday, a year after Uncle Ben’s death, when he asked why she would give him something so sentimental she said, “So that one day maybe you could fill the last of the pages, what’s the point of a book with blank pages? Someone has to finish the story.”
That day he had sworn to her that he would fill the book. It was something that he currently kept in the small safe in his car.
Despite Aunt May loving lilies, she didn’t have a favourite one, so there were a large assortment of different types and colours. There were Tiger Lilies which were a bright orange, Stargazer Lilies that were a deep pink, Madonna Lilies which were a beautiful white and the ones used at Aunt May and Uncle Ben’s wedding along with many other types.
It looked like a sunset setting in a beautiful field, bright and colourful like she was.
Peter had to attend the public funeral because it was impossible to attend her private one when no one even knew about him. The private one was in a couple days so maybe it was better, less time wasted.
As Peter walked around, he saw many different people, mostly people who had been a part of F.E.A.S.T at one stage, whether a worker, volunteer or someone who needed the service. There were a few people that Peter saw at some of her speeches, some donors to the non-profit charity organisation and some people that had just heard of what she had accomplished in her short time on Earth.
He took a seat on one of the lawn chairs and waited, none of Aunt May’s close friends were present, neither was MJ and Ned considering they were all going to her private funeral. The only person present that he knew personally was Happy and a manager at F.E.A.S.T that worked close with Aunt May.
Eventually all the seats filled up to the point where people were left standing at the back and along the sidewalks, with that Peter stared at the front, he ignored the sound of the black funeral service car behind him before it stopped, he also didn’t pay attention to her casket being carried past with her cold, dead body inside. What he did pay attention to was when she was placed down.
When Happy eventually stood to talk into the microphone, he finally shifted his gaze up and when he saw Aunt May in a glass casket, used to protect her body for the day while having the possibility of an open funeral. He felt his heart lurch, suddenly his shoulders sagged, and he felt a burning in the back of his throat.
She laid there in a beautiful deep blue dress that was filled with lace and sequences, they glittered like diamonds in the beaming sun, her hands pressed over her stomach with her golden wedding ring on her finger, her hair was laying around her like the wings of an angel, she was surrounded in white sheets and soft pillows.
As Peter focused on her still body, her closed eyes, he finally felt something wet drip down the side of his face.
He glanced up to see the skies a beautiful blue, with a few wisps of clouds swirling around.
When the man beside him tapped him gently on the arm, as Peter looked over he saw the man quietly offer him a soft tissue from his breast pocket with a sad, delicate smile.
That was the moment that Peter realised he was crying.
~~~~~
It had been about a week since the public funeral, Peter had caught wind that Aunt May’s private funeral had happened a few days ago. He hadn’t really felt anything since the last time he cried, instead the days just went in a blur around him.
He had done his research and had figured out he was going to move to Gotham, Peter remembers visiting the weeping city a few times in his life. He first went on a business meeting with his parents when he was around five years old, standing in a gala while holding his mother’s hand in a firm grasp before meeting a child a little older them him, Timothy Drake. They had gotten along and had been inseparable for the two weeks he had been there.
The next time was with Mr Stark, when he was ‘interning’ for him, at the gala he had met a lot of people in power, of course none of them compared to Tony Stark except for Bruce Wayne, Lex Luthor and Lucius Fox.
He had shaken hands with Mr Wayne and two of his children, Damian Wayne and Cassandra Cain.
Meanwhile Mr Stark had his arm in what Peter assumed was meant to be wrapped around Mr Wayne’s shoulders but due to the height difference looked more like him hanging of the man like a monkey. Mr Stark had a wine glass in hand that was sloshing around in the glass while he talked with his hands flying about all the things he had been up to since they had last saw each other.
The last time Peter was in Gotham was when Mr Stark had dragged him to another gala, however no one he knew was present except for them and Mr Luthor. However, he did get saved by Nightwing after he almost got mugged in his civilian form.
Since then, he hadn’t been back.
Peter sat in the small café that MJ worked at, she was on shift, her face as bitchy as ever as she waited for Ned to come around. She had been quiet since Aunt May’s funeral. At first he wondered why she was attending her private one before he eventually realised that even though he had been erased, their memories hadn’t, instead the circumstances just changed.
He first realised this when he heard MJ and Ned talking about Aunt May. The first time MJ had met Aunt May was when Peter introduced them, however instead of him introducing them instead MJ had met Aunt May after knocking on her door and asking if she could borrow Aunt May’s phone.
Ned mentioned that Aunt May had once come across him walking to school in the rain and had dropped him off, never mentioning Peter who was in the car also which was how they met.
The memories were still there, they had just slightly changed.
Peter looks up from his small cappuccino as the bell above the door chimes, Ned walks in, he nods at Peter in greeting before he goes up to MJ and sits at the counter. MJ wipes her hands with a cloth as she puts her elbows up and talks to Ned.
They discuss how their acceptance letters to the college that they were all going to attend. Peter watched as MJ showed her first real smile since he had been in here as she puts her hand on Ned’s shoulder. Sarcasm rolling of her tongue while Ned rolled his eyes with a grin.
Eventually MJ glances over to him before raising an eyebrow in question of his burning gaze. Peter just gives a smile before looking carelessly out the window, they looked like they would be alright.
Peter just watched the people of Queens walk past as he sipped on his cold cappuccino, the taste running along his tongue and down his throat in waves.
He didn’t even like cappuccinos.
~~~~~
Peter sat at Aunt May’s grave. It had been about five days since she was buried next to Uncle Ben. The dirt was still muddy from being freshly dug. There were a bunch of flowers around her grave, most fake.
Peter traced random webs in the dirt. Just staring at the words etched into the stone.
A loving wife, daughter and friend.
The word Aunt should probably be in there, but it wasn’t.
A shadow came up from behind him, Peter didn’t say anything, he knew the shape of the shadow vividly.
“She was a kind woman.” Happy said, as he watched Peter trace in the dirt. Peter just nodded, not lifting his gaze.
“I know.” He muttered with a sigh.
Happy sat down on the bench that was near her grave, “Who was she to you?” He asked quietly.
Peter finally glanced over at him, he was slouched over, he looked tired and pale in his suit, his arms were resting on his knees as he carefully studied Peter’s small form.
“My Aunt.” He shrugged before he went back to tracing in the dirt.
“Oh,” Happy muttered. “She never mentioned you.”
Peter chuckle numbly, “You’re not the first to say that.” He wiped his dirt covered finger on his shirt. “We uh…ended on bad terms, I guess.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Happy said. “I would have invited you to the funeral if I knew who you were.”
Peter just shrugged, “I went to the public one, plus I don’t think she would have wanted me there.”
It was Peter’s fault she was dead; he just wasn’t strong enough in the end.
He saw Happy shake his head out of the corner of his eye, “No, she would have.”
Peter turned to him, his eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what I did.”
Despite Peter’s tone, Happy just smiled at the boy. “Doesn’t matter, I may not have ever heard about you but I know she loved you, dearly.”
Peter glanced back at his drawings, “I never said she didn’t.”
Happy stayed quiet. They sat there for a few moments, the wind blowing around them before Peter pulled out two blue and red gloves.
“What are those?” Happy asked in curiosity as Peter laid them on her grave, Peter bit his lip. “Just a promise.” He mumbled before he smiled at Happy. A promise to stay away from Spider-man until he knew he would never fail anyone again.
"I better go, thank you for taking care of her funeral, I heard it was lovely."
Happy nodded at Peter, “Anytime.” As Peter stood to leave Happy pulled out a small rectangular card, he looked and saw that it had Happy's information, his business information. It left an unwelcome sour taste in his mouth. “Call me if you ever need anything, alright?” He said while he passed Peter the card. Peter looked at Happy with a sad smile before bobbing his head.
“Alright, I will.”
Happy patted Peter on the back before he sat back down on the bench. “Take care, kid.”
Peter smiled. “You too, Happy.”
~~~~~
Peter left the office that the executor for Aunt May’s will was in, after three weeks he had finally confirmed his identity and had given enough proof for everything to go to him. With a deep breath he got in his car and turned on the engine. Pulling up a map in his phone he started his journey to Gotham, he had nothing left here for him.
The drive would only be a couple hours anyway.