The Incident
It had been three months since Titan. It had been five years and three months for some.
Peter preferred to ignore that fact, ignore that he had been dead for five whole years, a third of his life span. It had been three months since he hopped through that portal and right back onto the battlefield he had died on. It had been three months since he had been reunited with May who had luckily blipped alongside him. He didn’t know what he would do if he had left her all alone for that long
In the last three months Peter had done nothing. Sometimes, he would go to the compound to see the remaining Avengers, stay and train for a bit before getting driven back. Never by Happy. Happy had been at the lake house with Mr Stark for three months.
Mr Stark, Peter’s mentor, had saved the universe single handedly. He had placed all the infinity stones in his gauntlet, he had snapped, he had survived albeit barely. Peter had only seen him twice after he snapped. Once when he was dying and again once he was in stable condition. That was two months ago.
Now, Peter was preparing to go on another patrol whilst May was preparing for another late night shift at the hospital. Peter had been patrolling a lot more recently, enjoying the freedom. People yelled in joy at seeing their friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man back after so long. Five year olds saw him for the first time, other five year olds saw him for the hundredth.
Peter slipped his mask over his head as his bedroom door opened, May leaning against the door frame in her work uniform.
“Don’t forget, be back by two am. I will be back around four so reheat some leftovers and have a shower before you go to sleep.” May lectured him, counting all the steps of post-patrol on her fingers.
Peter rolled his eyes with a small smile, “I know May, I’ve done this before.”
May walked up to him, pouting, “I know hun,” She rubbed circles onto his suit covered shoulder, “I just want to make sure you’re alright.”
Peter laughed, “I’m okay May, I promise. I’ll be back by one thirty anyways, just a quick patrol.”
May sighed, placing a quick kiss to his cheek, leaving him protesting as she backed away, “Fine. Just be careful.” She turned around, walking to their front door, “I larb you!”
Peter groaned, opening his bedroom window and sitting on the window ledge, “Love you too May.”
The sound of the door closing echoed through the apartment.
—
Peter had been swinging for a few hours. It was nearing half twelve, and all he had done was stop some petty grand theft auto and muggings. Crime rates had been all over the place ever since the blip. The first few days nobody had left their houses, off visiting their recently returned family members instead. A week later, people decided to take advantage of the new confusion that took the city by swarm by trying to get away with some quick crime. That was when Peter upped his game. He had nothing else to do; school had closed for the rest of the year as they worked to accommodate the sudden surge in students. So he decided to patrol more, help more people, and try to gain some normalcy.
With a sigh, Peter landed on a nearby rooftop, lifting his mask enough to only show his mouth, taking a deep breath. He wasn’t usually this busy on patrols but at least it meant he could help more people. Even if it left him exhausted. The sound of cars racing past and horn blaring blended into that background noise he knew all too well. The lights of nearby buildings were all on. People in their homes, people stuck at work, people in the local stores.
Peter often found himself watching people as Spider-Man, living their daily lives. There was something in knowing that everyone he saved had their own story and that he had the opportunity to be a part of it that intrigued him. It made every cut and bruise worth it to know that he had changed so many peoples stories, saved somebody's child, sibling, parent friend, grandchild.
With another sigh he stood up, interlocking his fingers and leaning back, stretching with a yawn. It was nearing one am, nearly half an hour before he planned to turn in for the night. Peter was about to double check his web-shooters when he heard sirens rush past, his spider-sense making the back of his neck tingle.
One last job.
He swung through the streets as fast as he could, relying on his advanced hearing and spidey-sense to lead him the right way. Lights blurred into solid smudges of yellow and white, the cars below him seeming as if they weren’t moving as he swung in sync with them. The sirens started to get louder and louder as he got closer and closer.
Eventually he was able to see the reflection of the blue and red sirens on two cop cars and one ambulance. He looked around, trying to figure out where he was when his heart stopped. They had stopped outside Queens Memorial Hospital. The hospital. Where May worked. Where May is. Peter’s heart sank as the cars parked haphazardly from the front entrance, the cops emerging from their cars but making no move to enter the building.
Peter tried to get closer, trying to listen to what they were saying.
There were two cops, both standing side by side, staring at the hospital instead of doing anything. The man on the left turned to his colleague, “...about ten minutes ago.”
The woman on the right nodded, face stoic as she observed the busy hospital in front of her, “So what are we dealing with?”
The other cop shuffled on his feet, looking down. He was nervous, Peter realised. That couldn’t be good. “A bomber. He’s in the ER waiting room, he’s got everyone locked in. He’s demanding somebody get an Avenger before he even starts negotiating.”
Peter’s breath caught in his throat. This was bad. Really really bad. Nerves clouded his rationality as he continued to listen for anything that could help him.
The lady frowned, “So what are we going to do?”
The cop sighed, turning to his partner with a sad look in his eyes, “I don’t think there’s much we can do right now. All we can do is wait for back-up and the bomb defusal team.”
The other cop nodded her head silently, hands clenching as they waited for the rest of their team.
Peter had heard enough. If the cops weren’t taking action, he was going to have to.
He had been to the ER enough times when he was younger for all the stupid things little kids did- mostly broken arms-, he knew the room off by heart. If he could just get around to the small window that was on the back wall, luck might just be on his side and it may be open. If it wasn’t…Peter had no back-up plan so he better hope that it was.
He leaped up from the lamp-post he had positioned himself on, using his webs to swing around the corner and towards the ER. It didn’t take long but each and every second was agonising knowing that he was wasting time. With a quiet thud he attached himself to the side of the building, right next to the window.
This was it. The moment of truth. Holding his breath, Peter reached out and tried to raise the window. It went up without a sound. It took all of his effort not to cheer out loud. He wasted no time slipping in through the window and scurrying onto the ceiling of the room.
Taking a quick scan of the room, he took in all the details he could. The rows of half-broken seats, the people hidden under them, the abandoned clip-boards and other medical equipment, and the man. He was tall, about 6”, with short brown hair. He had dark bags under his eyes, looking as tired as Peter felt. Strapped to his chest was a mess of wires and a small rectangle which- by his spider-sense going off- must have been the bomb. Peter looked back at the civilians. There were kids, teens, adults, some people with casts, some cradling limbs that probably needed casts.
Peter’s heart sank as he made eye-contact with someone. Aunt May. His breath got caught in his throat and it took several seconds for the sudden choking feeling he felt to dissipate. How? How was she here? Then he realised that she wasn’t meant to be here. Somebody had to take the shift off and May had volunteered to take their place instead of going in the following morning. By some sick twisted fate, May just had to have been in the ward on a day she wasn’t even meant to be in the building.
May’s eyes widened as she spotted Peter in his spider-suit on the ceiling. He could have sworn he saw her mouth mutter what was most likely a swear as she shook her head slightly in disbelief.
Peter shook his head, trying to forget that he had seen her. He had a job to do, he had to focus. He quickly tried to come up with a plan. Distract the bomber, web his hands up, let the civilians out and hopefully the bomb defusal team would be there by then.
Take a deep breath in. Let it out. Go.
In a flash Peter jumped off of the roof and into the centre of the room. He landed with a thump that echoed through the room. All eyes turned to him, some widening in hope, some in shock, some in nervousness. Only one pair widened in anger.
“Spider-man!” The bomber growled, his teeth bared into a grimace. His eyes shot venom at Peter, eyes widened as if he were in shock.
“Good night, isn’t it? Although, I’m pretty sure all these people would prefer to spend it at home.” Peter tried, keeping his tone calm and collected as not to escalate the situation.
The man grunted in anger, “I asked for an Avenger.”
Peter placed a hand on his chest, “Am I not enough for you? Geez, I'm hurt! Besides, the Avengers are all busy, they don’t have time for this.”
“This is what I mean!” The man yelled, waving his arms around like a cartoon character, looking at each and every person in the room, “They only help us when we are on the verge of death, never when we need help with mundane stuff!”
Okay, this was making no sense.
“Okay, big guy, I think it’s best if you just calm down-”
“Calm down?! I am trying to make a point!” The guy continued, “Ever since the Blip, all the remaining Avengers just disappeared. Nobody came to help! Nobody came to support those who were at their lowest!” The man continued to wave his arms around. Peter followed them both closely. “Then everyone came back and the mayhem was twice as bad! And they’re still nowhere to be seen! The Avengers only care when they have loads of people to save from death, they don’t care about those who aren’t dying!”
Peter froze. The man was…kind of right. Ever since he Blipped back, the world had been in disarray. And nobody was helping. Some people had reasons for their absence- like Mr Stark, his brain so helpfully supplied- but the world needed guidance, somebody to help them, a structure to keep them following the track of life.
Peter held his hands out, palms out flat. “I hear you, okay? I understand what you’re saying, but trying to bomb a hospital won’t make people listen to you the way you want them to.”
The bomber scoffed, spit flying everywhere, “You’re here now, doesn’t that mean I got half of what I wanted?”
“What you want is for people to respect your opinion. Killing innocent people won’t help people respect you.”
“I don’t care who I kill! I’m past the point of caring about morals. All I want is for the world to wake up and realise that the people who swore to protect us aren’t doing their job. Where are the Avengers? Where are they!” The man began to yell louder and louder with each word, spinning around as if the Avengers were going to just magically appear. Dr Strange might be able to, Peter thought, but that wasn’t the point.
This was just getting worse by the second. The man was obviously not in a mentally stable state. He was shaking his head to himself, muttering gibberish, eyes wet with tears that were probably more from anger than sadness. The bomb strapped to his front felt like a weight, a reminder that if Peter were to take one wrong move, it was game over.
As if on cue, the previously locked door burst open, four or so cops storming in with guns and bullet-proof shields up.
“NYPD! Hands in the air!”
The bomber’s head whipped up instantly, back into a wild expression. The man bared his teeth, lunging for the nearest officer, taking them by surprise and sending them both to the floor.
Then it turned into chaos.
There were people shouting, screaming, and loud banging from every direction. The civilians instantly jumped up from under their seats, all of them rushing like a tsunami towards the door, their rapid footsteps echoing through the room like bullets. Two of the cops went to help them get out in an orderly manner. The other two cops tried to wrestle the man to the ground.
Peter felt frozen. He stood there like a statue, all the yelling and screaming digging straight into his brain like burrowing ants. His mind raced back to the fight on Titan, the constant fighting and bodies that had surrounded him, the screams of peril and cries of those mourning. The panic when he saw a body in the distance, a small crowd all yelling at each other. The yellow glow of a portal, the darkness it left behind once it closed.
A shout brought him back to reality.
“Spider-Man! Come help us!” As if it was the key to the lock on his body, Peter sprung back into action, ignoring the pounding in his head and fear in his chest. He ran over to the cops who were wrestling the bomber to the floor. The man was thrashing around wildly, hands dangerously dancing in front of the bomb as he continued shouting. One wrong move and it would go off. Peter tried to track the hands, waiting for an opportunity to web them down but the man was too frantic, hands moving that fast they turned into blurs.
It felt like he was getting his eyes tested as a kid again, following the hands like a doctor would ask you to do with their finger. The hands still danced along the line of life and death everytime they got too close to the bomb, making Peter’s heart lurch every time.
It was only a matter of time. It was bound to happen with the way the cops were handling the man.
“Stop, you’re making him too erratic!” The cops didn’t listen, “He’s getting too close he’s gonna-”
Beep.
The hands had gotten too close. The man had accidentally pressed the button.
Beep.
Peter’s senses went haywire. He webbed the officers and held onto them as he webbed himself, flying to the opposite side of the room.
Beep.
He realised too late there were still civilians in the room.
He met eyes with Aunt May. She smiled.
Boom.
He would have screamed if he hadn’t been blown backwards into the wall and knocked out.
—
The thing they don’t tell you about a disaster is the silence that follows. The ringing in his ears felt like static, his head pounding as if he’d been slammed with a sledgehammer. Left was right and right was left. Up was down and down was up. He could have been upside down and somehow twisted into a knot for all he knew. Dust and smoke built up in his chest, leaving him coughing till he was dry heaving. The ringing didn’t change.
He could feel rubble under his fingers. Rock and glass and metal coated the floor like some kind of screwed up carpet. He was nearly completely certain there was glass in his hands and legs, the stinging all too familiar. The ringing in his ears started to die down.
Peter opened his eyes, blinking away the fuzz. Dots danced in front of him. He didn’t know whether or not it was his vision or dust. He could see blinding lights, almost like car headlights but smaller. Flashlights. With a quick scan around him, he could see one of the cops he had pulled back lying a few feet away, still unconscious with a nasty gash on his calf. The other cop was nowhere to be seen.
Peter stood up on wobbly legs which threatened to buckle after every step. He had to go help. That’s when he remembered. May. She had still been in the room, the room the bomb went off in. A force seized his heart, twisting it and squeezing until it was drained of any other emotion but fear. He felt sick, scenario after scenario flashing across his mind, each as bad as the other.
He limped around, spinning in circles as he tried to look for a familiar head of long brown hair, a pair of glasses, anything that would make it May. There were still unconscious people all around but he just walked past them without a care. All that matters is that he finds May. May, May, May.
He could’ve been looking for minutes or hours, he couldn’t tell. It felt too long until he saw a familiar pair of glasses crumpled up and smashed beyond use. May’s glasses. That’s when he saw her. She was awake- for now, a bitter voice spat- and had managed to prop herself up on a large piece of a wall that had stayed standing. Her hands were clutching her side, face screwed up in pain.
“May!” He shouted, not caring he was still in his suit and people could hear him. She turned to look where he was, her face flooding with relief.
“Pete…” She whispered, trying to smile but it was more of a grimace due to the pain. Peter ran over to her, ignoring how the sting in his legs made him limp. He dropped down in front of her despite the rocks digging into his knees.
“May I- thank god you’re okay.” His aunt smiled as if it was the best thing she had ever heard.
“You…too. Peter I-”
Peter shushed her, wiping a strand of hair out of her face, “It’s okay, we’re okay. C’mon, let’s go get a-”
May coughed. It came out red.
“-doctor…”
May groaned, throwing her head back as her face crumpled up in pain. She was still holding her side. Peter watched as blood trickled through her fingers.
“May.” He whispered, “I-”
He inched forward, gently holding her hands before gently peeling them away from her side. Fear settled in his heart; he had no idea how injured she was, what to prepare for. She weakly tried to protest but her face was still scrunched up in pain.
Peter nearly gagged as he peeled her hands away and looked at her side. A chunk of flesh was missing, replaced with a chunk of debris lodged into it. Blood coated the area, every inch stained in red, making it harder to see the true damage.
“Fuck. Fuck okay I- shit!” Peter swore, quickly covering up May’s side with his own hands, the blood staining his suit.
“Somebody! Help!” He screamed for help, watching as May blinked slowly, looking at him with half-lidded eyes. Tears coated her face, her bottom lip trembling.
“Take…your mask…off.” May murmured, her words slurred as if she was drunk, “Let me… see … my nephew.” As he took his mask off, Peter realised tears had been flooding down his face. When did that happen? May reached out, gently holding his face with her hand, still soaked in blood. Her own blood.
“Pete. Peter. My baby.” Peter sobbed as May rubbed her thumb along his cheek, undoubtedly smearing blood all over it but he didn’t care.
“May, we’re going to get you some help, you’re going to be okay I-” He blinked the tears away, “Somebody! We need an ambulance!” Peter ignored the way his voice cracked, sobs still slipping through his lips despite his best efforts to stop them.
“Peter…it’s okay.”
He shook his head, “No- no it’s not. May, please…” He begged but May just shook her head slowly, eyes still drooping.
“Pete, you’re a…a good kid. You’re going to be great. I-” She hissed in pain as Peter accidentally put too much pressure on her side. “You have a gift. A p-power… and with great power…there must a-also come…great responsibility.” May had a small smile on her face, looking at Peter with a soft gaze. Peter had been reduced to a sobbing puddle, cries turning into borderline screams as he gasped for breath.
“I larb you…I love you, Pete. Never… never forget.” Her eyes began to close.
Peter shook his head, “No. No no no no no, May! Please just wake up, for me, please? Just hold on okay, I-” He spun back around, not caring that his face was still unmasked, “Somebody! Please help! We- we need an ambulance, please!” His voice wouldn’t stop breaking and he hated it. The lump in his throat, the scratchiness of his throat, the burning in his eyes. He hated it, he hated it all.
“I love you.” May whispered before she blinked. And then she didn't. Her chest stilled, her mouth didn’t twitch. And her eyes were still. Fucking. Open.
Peter was going to throw up, This couldn’t be happening, not to him, not to May. He had already suffered enough, why must the world take more. He screamed. He screamed for himself, for May, for everyone else he had lost. He screamed until his voice turned hoarse, and then he screamed some more. The tears never stopped. They poured down his face as if his eyes were waterfalls, tied to an eternity of never ending water. His lips went dry, his head pounded, everything ached but was numb.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He repeated it as if they were the only two words he knew, his tears dropping onto May’s lifeless body. He leaned forward, resting his forehead on hers, closing his eyes. He knew if he opened them, she would be looking right back at him, lifeless.
He didn’t know what to do, everything felt too much and too little. The flashlights got closer and closer, more people were starting to wake up- May would never get to wake up again, a bitter voice spat- and yet Peter didn’t help them. Instead, he did the only thing he could think of.
He ran.