I'm just lowering your expectations
He stood at the end of the hall, trying to steady his breaths, keeping them controlled as they left his lungs. His skin felt hot, and his vision was unsteady. He felt like he was going to vomit. Mr. Stark gestured him forward.
“C’mon, kid,” He was saying, muffled through the beat of his own heart, his expression pinched with lines of trepidation, but understanding. “You can’t just stand out here all day,” He added.
He attempted to fall into humor, his most familiar defense, but his mouth wouldn’t move, his brain filled with static as he grasped for words. Tony watched him for a moment, soft and determined, as if he could read his mind, but decided to keep its contents to himself.
It was a quick thing, after he knew that his Aunt was alive, and after Tony and Happy realized that in his world, she wasn’t. Tony made a call, and by morning they were clambering into his car, headed for the heart of Queens. The apartment building was the same, and Peter had to stop himself from muttering each turn as they winded down the streets, stopping in front of the old complex with a brick exterior and a low stoop to reach the buzzers. Tony had walked right in, no hesitation, his strides long and his posture rigid. Peter wondered if he had said anything to his aunt before this. He wondered if he had spoken to her at all since his death.
He stood at the end of the hall, frozen, and Tony kept beckoning him forward, as if he were coaxing a frightened animal into the trap. He felt like the walls were closing in on him. He hated that he wasn’t brave enough to face this with a firm resolution. He hated that he felt like he needed to be brave. This used to be his home, didn’t it?
Peter swallowed, inhaled, then began approaching. Each step thudded through his entire body, shocking his nerves with sharp, cold anxiety. Tony placed his hand on his shoulder once he was close enough, facing him with the kindest look in his eyes, one that made Peter want to cry, if he could manage it.
“Don’t be scared,” He said, gently, and Peter knew he shouldn’t be, somewhere in the more rational part of him. He knew he wouldn’t be met with anger, or disgust, or rejection. He knew that the grief he had experienced over the death of his Aunt had been transferred through universes, changed only by circumstance, plunging this May Parker’s world into depression, desperation. At least, that’s what it had done to Peter.
He wasn’t afraid of what he would be facing, he knew it would not be malicious, but that’s what made it all the more painful. How could he be expected to get his Aunt, his family, his life back, only for the uncertainty of being ripped away again? How could he give himself to May knowing it wouldn’t be permanent? How could he undo the grief and despair when he knew it would just be replaced again?
He didn’t want to hurt his Aunt all over again. He didn’t want to hurt all over again. But…at the same time, he had missed her more than anything. All of those nights, all of the hypotheticals, how he had begged just to see her one more time.
He straightened his shoulders, wiped his nose, and nodded. “I’m not scared,” He said, and he meant it, even when there were still doubts lingering at the back of his mind. He had regretted too much already in his life, he wouldn’t let himself lose the opportunity to see May, for however long he had her.
Tony squeezed his shoulder, once, then twice, his eyes glistening. “Are you ready?”
Peter didn’t trust himself to say any more, so he nodded, as firmly as he could muster, and then they were knocking. The door rattled a little, and Peter knew it was because the chain on the other side had been hanging loose. He knew that for the longest time, the knob had to be turned the wrong way for the key to be shimmied in. He knew that the peephole had long since been fogged, forgotten too many times to be adequately cleaned. He knew so much that he had forced himself to forget, and it all came back at him full force, right as the door began to creak.
It opened, slowly, the hinges loud and the frame a little crooked. A woman stood there, looking tired, rubbing one of her eyes as she already began a greeting. “Tony, you really have to stop scaring me, calling me out of nowhere and leaving me cryptic…” Her gaze landed on Peter, and her voice jumped. “Messages,” She finished, lost in a breath, her eyes huge behind wire framed glasses.
She was wearing a tank top with a coffee stain near the bottom and yoga pants. Her hair was tied up high, even when stray curls splattered with gray curved down the sides of her face and the back of her neck. She was wearing a ring on her hand, the same one that Peter had tied around his neck for the past year. She looked older, even when the lines of her face had remained soft, where she would smile. He felt his eyes well up, the same way hers began to, almost in sync.
He tried to find the right words to say, the perfect reunion consummated with a greeting or even a quip. Instead, hot tears spilled past his cheeks, and Tony’s hand on his shoulder was so warm, and May was looking at him with so much hope. He sobbed, loudly, and surged forward, crashing into his Aunt where she stood.
He felt bad, as an afterthought, stumbling into her so quickly that she took a step back, but it quickly melted away when he felt her arms around his back, just as tight.
“Peter,” She breathed, frantic and confused and desperate. He tried to respond, to give any indication that he was listening, but the only sounds that came from his throat were ugly, wet sobs. He felt like his lungs were going to explode, too tight and too small for the air he tried to gulp. “Peter,” May whispered, holding him closer as he hiccuped and wheezed. Her fingers were tracing little figure eights into his shoulder blades, and he had never missed something more.
Tony had shut the door behind them, and he wandered further into the apartment, giving them as much privacy as the entryway could offer. Peter knew this, faintly, hearing him putter around the kitchen, taking off his jacket and sighing heavily. He knew it but he didn’t, at the same time, too focused on the hair that tickled the back of his neck, at the lingering scent of laundry detergent on her shirt, on the hitch of breath that stuttered from his Aunt, her sobs coming evenly, soft and pitiful.
He wanted to stay here forever, safe in the arms of his Aunt, who seemed to be trying to collect herself. She was inhaling slowly through her nose, pressed to the top of his head, and then exhaling the same. She was catching her breath…
That wasn’t right.
He pulled away, untangling himself slowly, trying to wipe his face before straightening. She kept her hands on his shoulders, even when he was a little taller than her, now, and she sniffled. He knew his face was still pinched, his eyes sore and his cheeks hot, but it didn’t matter, May wouldn’t care.
He started to apologize, his lips moving to form the words, but he couldn’t manage to force a noise past the lump in his throat.
May lifted a hand, brushing his hair back on his forehead, tucking a strand behind his ear. “You’ve grown,” She said, achingly gentle, and he almost broke down again. She wiped an eyelash from his cheek, smiling even as her lips trembled. “My baby, you’re all grown up,”
He attempted to respond, to tell her just how much he’d changed, in the time that seemed to have separated them. He choked, quietly, on an inhale, his expression opening, trying to find anything to say. He just breathed, cracked and stuttered, and she looked at him, hands on his cheeks, like he was the most important thing in the world.
“Should…” He swallowed thickly, clearing the grief from his vocal cords. “Should I take my shoes off?”
She breathed a laugh through her nose, forceful against the pain still lingering in her voice, then nodded. “I’ll go make some tea,” She told him as he kneeled, untying his laces. She pressed a hand to his head, almost to steady herself, and then she was gone.
He tried to breathe; tried to force himself to pull all of his emotions back inside his chest, where he wouldn’t feel so exposed, so vulnerable. It only worked a little, and when he joined Tony and May in the kitchen, speaking softly to each other as the stove warmed up, his face was still a little wet.
He sat down, and both of them watched him like hawks, Tony’s stance a little more relaxed while May seemed to be white knuckling the counter to stop herself from going to him. He wiped his face, and when Tony offered a tissue, he took it and muttered his thanks. He didn’t know what to say, even now, and he just folded and twisted the kleenex between his fingers, trying to force himself to settle into the chair, looking around the apartment. It had been years since they had lived here, in his world, with everything that changed with the Blip and then after Mysterio…
“Is something cooking?” He felt himself saying, faintly, and his hands were suddenly still in his lap. Tony’s eyebrows shot up, and he turned to look to May, who was already rushing towards the oven, her face pinched with panic.
“Oh my god,” She laughed, a little too forcefully, reappearing around the counter with a pan held between a towel. “I almost forgot, I was just—I almost forgot when you knocked,” She set it down, the metal making a grating noise against the marble countertop. It smelled like cookies, and they hadn’t even begun to burn.
He stood, wandering his way towards the trash under the sink, kicking the cabinet shut when it began to creak open again. He grabbed a cooling rack from under their pots and mixing bowls, and as he was placing it next to the pan on the counter, he realized his Aunt was watching him, her eyes wide and her mouth pulled in a pitifully fond line.
“Sorry?” He said, and she shook her head.
“You know where everything is,” She was still shaking her head, looking a little dazed. “You’re really him, aren’t you? This isn’t a dream?”
He swallowed thickly, not trusting his vocal cords to produce anything more than strangled syllables, so he nodded.
“He’s the real deal,” Tony confirmed, moving just past her shoulder, a spatula in hand as he moved the cookies onto the cooling sheet.
She laughed, a little strained, and then she was sitting heavily on one of the stools. “Come here,” She waved him closer, brushing her hand on his arm once he was in reach. He took the seat next to her, and their knees bumped as he shifted a little to hook his legs around the chair. “Tell me everything,” His eyes snapped to hers, serious and stern. It was just like the day he’d come home with a black eye after Germany, or when he would be late back from patrol. He forced himself not to cry, setting his elbows on the counter and leaning his weight onto them.
“It’s not going to be pretty,” He warned her, already knowing any protest he would make would be rebutted. “It’s long, and sad, and I’m…I’m not the same as he was, not entirely,”
He felt her hand on his, warm and rough from years of volunteer work. He turned his palm, just enough so that she could hold his hand properly; so that he could wrap his fingers around hers. “Lay it on me,”
He looked to Tony, a quick glance, and he wasn’t sure what he was hoping to find. Permission? Sympathy? Prohibition? His mentor bowed his head, slightly, and he wet his lips, starting from the beginning, when he walked into this very house and saw Tony Stark sitting on his couch.
His voice was a little rough by the end of it, and he willed himself not to twitch when he skipped through the past year, leaving out the pieces of Dr. Strange’s spell, of his loneliness. He wasn’t sure how to phrase it, similar to how he’d felt describing the events to Tony, who he knew was sniffling again at the revelation that he did not survive in his universe. He needed her to know how much he missed her. He needed her to know why.
“We moved in with Happy,” He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the sting in his chest. “And there…was something that happened. I was trying to help someone, someone who was dangerous, and he got angry, and we…” He needed to push through it, but his breaths were coming too harsh, too loudly. “We fought there. We fought, and you,” He looked to May, his lashes heavy with tears. She was so calm, rubbing her thumb up and down his hand, never taking her eyes off of him. He felt his expression crumble. “You were right in the middle of it. And you were trying to protect me. You…it was my fault.”
She moved to comfort him, her hands quick to find his shoulders, pulling him into a hug, but he froze. Everything was too much, too loud and too tight and too heavy. There was a flurry of movement, and he ducked under her grip, stumbling over the stool and grabbing onto the counter, shaking.
“Peter,” Tony murmured, gently, and he’d almost forgotten he was there. He stood next to his Aunt, a hand on her arm, and she looked absolutely devastated. His throat squeezed painfully, and he felt awful deep in his bones. His stomach flipped, and his lungs shuddered, and he wouldn’t stop trembling. He felt exposed; he felt claustrophobic. “Peter, it’s okay,”
“It wasn’t your fault,” May breathed, her lips pulled down into a impossibly perfect expression of anguish.
He reeled back further, finding it hard to keep his breath. “You don’t know that. You can’t know that. You don’t get it,” He knew they were approaching again, and he wanted to feel better, to feel anything but the guilt clawing its way through his insides, to stop shaking. “You died because of me. You wouldn’t have even been there if it weren’t for me. You…you’re still alive because I’m not here,”
“Don’t say that,” May shouted, her voice uneven and raw, her tone louder than he’d expected. She pulled away from Tony, marching over to him and grabbing his arms. He inhaled sharply, and she moved to cup his cheeks instead. “Don’t you ever say that, Peter Benjamn Parker. Don’t even think for a second that things would be better if you weren’t here. Because that is absolute bullshit,”
He steadied himself a little, holding onto her by the crook of her elbows. “But you’re still alive, and Tony is still alive, and—”
“And we are miserable without you. Don’t you get that? I haven’t been happy since you died, Ned hasn’t been happy, he,” She pointed towards his mentor, standing a ways behind them, looking so helpless. “Hasn’t been happy. Can’t you see that? Can’t you see how awful it is that we had to keep living because of your selflessness?”
He felt himself still, his gaze dropping, a sinking sort of feeling flooding through him. “But I didn’t make that choice,” He muttered, wanting so desperately for her to understand, for anyone to get it. “I didn’t die, May, you did,”
Her lips parted, and there was a second where it seemed almost like he had left her speechless. Then, she was hugging him, her hands on his back, her hair in his nose. He had to sink his head to bury it in her shoulder, hunching his shoulders and clinging to her. They just kept going in circles, it seemed, and it only ran their grief further into the pits of their stomachs.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” She sniffled. “I’m sorry that you had to do it alone. I know what that’s like, and I know that I can’t fix it for you,”
“You’re here,” He leaned his forehead into her shirt, knowing that he was getting it wet with the mess on his face. “You’re here, and that’s really nice for right now,” He exhaled, feeling like his ribcage was collapsing with it. “But I have to go back, and when that happens, its going to be so horrible,”
She lifted a hand to his hair, petting it gently and keeping him steady. “I know,” She did, didn’t she? “So lets focus on the right now, okay?”
He was so tired, and he knew that he would need to spend a lot more time in this world if he expected to fix any of it, and he really didn’t know how he was going to say goodbye. “Okay,” He agreed, softly, and she pulled him a little closer.
“I larb you,” She told him, and he was crying all over again.