"i'd do anything for him"
Natasha Romanoff landed softly on the rooftop, her feet barely making a sound as she rolled forward to dissipate the impact. She peered over the ledge at the scene unfolding below. Smoke billowed up from the streets, and in the distance, the unmistakable sounds of a fierce battle rang out. Natasha pursed her lips, her sharp eyes scanning for the one person she desperately needed to find.
"Peter!" she yelled out, hoping her voice would carry over the cacophony. "Peter, where are you?"
Only the groans of buckling concrete answered her call. Natasha swore under her breath and fired her grappling hook, swiftly lowering herself down the side of the building. She had to find him. The distress call she'd received from Peter just minutes ago had chilled her to the bone. His voice had been panicked, almost childlike, so different from the capable young superhero she'd come to know over the years. Something was terribly wrong.
As soon as her feet hit the pavement, she broke into a run. The streets were eerily deserted, shops left abandoned, windows smashed. Natasha's mind raced. What could have happened to empty the busy city so quickly? An attack? Some new supervillain making a violent debut?
She was so preoccupied with possible scenarios that she nearly tripped over a prone figure lying in her path. Natasha pulled up short, boots skidding on the gritty sidewalk. It was a woman, unconscious but breathing steadily. Natasha did a quick assessment. No obvious injuries. Just knocked out somehow. She looked around warily. Whatever had incapacitated this woman could still be lurking nearby. Natasha drew her stingers, electricity crackling at the tips, and continued on high alert.
The trail of bodies eventually led Natasha to what had clearly been an epicenter of destruction. Cars lay flipped and crushed, storefronts had exploded outward, rubble littered the streets. Natasha picked her way through the debris, making note of places to take cover if attacked. Still no sign of Peter.
A flash of red fabric caught Natasha’s eye. She hurried over and pulled a half-buried object from beneath a chunk of concrete. Peter’s mask, ripped right down the center. Natasha's heart seized. Where was he? Was he hurt? Unmasked?
“Peter!” she yelled again, no longer caring who or what heard her. She had to find him.
Natasha closed her eyes and forced herself to focus. She visualized Peter's last known location based on the coordinates from his distress call. The clock tower. She oriented herself and took off in that direction. As she ran, she tried Peter's communicator again.
“Peter, can you hear me? Please respond,” Natasha said urgently into the device on her wrist. Only static answered her.
By the time Natasha reached the soaring tower, she was breathing hard. She grappled up the side and swung herself onto the observation deck. What she saw there turned her blood to ice.
Peter knelt hunched on the ground, still in the tattered remains of his spider suit, maskless. His shoulders heaved with sobs. And there, lying far too still on the ground next to him, was a petite blonde girl. Gwen Stacy, if Natasha recalled correctly. Peter had talked about her during one of their training sessions, his voice tender whenever he mentioned her name.
Natasha hurried over and crouched beside Peter. Up close, his anguish was even more apparent. Tears streamed down his cheeks and his breath hitched raggedly. Natasha placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Peter,” she said softly.
He flinched at her touch and looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes. “Ms. Romanoff?” he rasped in surprise.
“I got your distress call,” she said. “What happened here?”
Peter just shook his head mutely, his gaze dropping again to Gwen's lifeless form. Natasha gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze.
“Hey,” she murmured. “It's going to be okay. I promise.”
Peter let out a harsh, scornful laugh. “No, it's not,” he choked out. “She's dead. Gwen is dead. And it's all my fault.”
Natasha considered him thoughtfully. She knew from experience how damaging misplaced guilt could be. Whatever role Peter may or may not have played in this girl's death, heaping the full responsibility onto himself would only destroy him.
“Why don't you start from the beginning,” Natasha suggested gently. “Walk me through what happened here.”
Peter dragged a shaky hand over his face, wiping at the tears still spilling from his eyes. Natasha waited patiently. She knew this kind of trauma required time to process before it could be put into words.
Finally, haltingly, the story came out. Peter had gotten a tip from an informant about the Green Goblin's - Harry Osborn's - whereabouts. He'd gone to investigate and stop whatever maniacal plan Harry was cooking up this time. But he'd underestimated just how unstable and dangerous Harry had become under the influence of the Goblin serum.
"We fought all through the city streets. He was out of control," Peter explained, his voice hitching. "I tried to keep him contained, but then he grabbed Gwen..."
Peter faltered again. Natasha remained quiet, letting him take his time. She glanced over at Gwen's body, taking note of the bruises, the oddly bent limbs. The injuries were consistent with a bad fall. Natasha felt that chill run through her again. Whatever had happened, Peter blamed himself completely.
“He took her up to the top of the clock tower,” Peter finally continued, each word heavy with anguish. “Said if I didn’t stop pursuing him, he’d kill her. I - I tried to get up to them in time. But the Green Goblin, he dropped her. I shot out a web to catch her but...but it wasn't enough.” Peter dropped his head into his hands. “I wasn’t enough,” he choked out.
Natasha considered her next words carefully. The wrong thing now could shatter Peter's spirit completely. She knew from her own battles with inner demons how dark these moments could become.
“Peter, listen to me,” she said. “Are you listening?”
He raised his head slowly to meet her gaze. The depth of despair in his eyes made Natasha's heart ache for this boy who had already suffered so much loss in his young life. She clasped both hands on his shoulders firmly now, willing him to accept the absolution she offered.
“This was not your fault,” Natasha told him emphatically. “The Green Goblin murdered this girl. Not you. There was nothing more you could have done. Do you understand me?”
Peter just stared back at her dully. Natasha gave him a little shake.
“I need to hear you say you understand, Peter,” she pressed. “You cannot carry the weight of this. It will destroy you.”
Peter dropped his eyes again. “I should have saved her,” he whispered.
Natasha suppressed a sigh. She had suspected it would not be so easy to convince him. The poor kid was drowning in survivor's guilt. And she knew exactly what that was like.
“Peter,” she said gently. “I know you feel responsible. But this guilt...it’s misplaced. You didn't fail Gwen. You did everything you could against an unpredictable and dangerous enemy. No one could ask any more of you.”
When Peter didn't respond, Natasha tried another tack. “Do you remember what I told you the first day we trained together?” she prompted. “About how being a hero doesn’t make you invincible? That some fights you just can’t win, no matter how hard you try?”
Peter gave a slight nod, his eyes glistening.
“This was one of those fights, Peter,” Natasha told him. “It hurts like hell. But it was not your fault. The blame lies squarely on the Green Goblin’s shoulders.”
A long moment passed as her words sank in. Then Peter lifted his head to meet her solemn gaze again.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” he whispered roughly, like the words were being dragged up from the depths of his soul. Natasha let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. It was a start. The road back for Peter would be long and difficult, but at least she'd cleared the first and biggest hurdle - freeing him from the binds of guilt. Now she could begin guiding him forward into grieving and healing.
Natasha helped Peter to his feet. He swayed slightly, his eyes darting reluctantly back to Gwen’s body. Natasha grasped his chin and gently turned his face away.
“Hey,” she murmured. “Don’t look back now. Look at me.” Peter’s dark eyes finally focused on her. Natasha offered him a sad smile. “It’s going to be okay,” she said again, willing him to believe it. “I’ll make sure of it. But right now we need to get you out of here. Can you walk if I help you?”
Peter started to answer, then paused, blinking hard several times. “Ms. Romanoff, I...I can’t see so well,” he mumbled.
Natasha frowned, quickly assessing him again. The shock was hitting him harder than she realized. She needed to get Peter warm, hydrated, and rested immediately.
“Alright, holding on tight,” Natasha instructed, ducking under Peter’s arm and wrapping her own around his back. Slowly, painstakingly, they made their way back down the clock tower. Peter stumbled several times, his coordination thrown off. But Natasha held him steady.
“I’ve got you, Peter. I’ve got you,” she soothed each time he faltered.
They had just reached solid ground again when a series of small explosions rocked the tower above them. Natasha immediately shielded Peter with her own body as flaming debris rained down around them.
“Well, if it isn’t the itsy bitsy spider,” a familiar malign voice rang out. Natasha swiveled her head to see the Green Goblin swooping down through the smoldering rubble. “Looks like someone’s having a bad day,” he cackled, fixing his crazed gaze on Peter.
Fury surged through Natasha’s veins. How dare this lunatic show his face now after the havoc he’d just wreaked. She pushed Peter behind her and stepped forward, stingers raised and ready.
“Walk away now while you still can, Goblin,” she warned in a deadly calm voice.
The Green Goblin tutted condescendingly. “And what are you going to do about it, Little Miss Muffet?” He fired off another round of explosives, forcing Natasha to dive and roll for cover.
When the dust settled, the Goblin was gone. Natasha swore vehemently in Russian. She hurried back to check on Peter, who was huddled behind a parked car, arms wrapped around himself.
“Peter, are you hurt?” she asked worriedly, scanning him for new injuries.
He shook his head, then met her intense gaze. “We can’t let him get away this time,” Peter said firmly.
Natasha hesitated. Going after the Green Goblin again now was extremely risky, especially with Peter in such a weakened state. But the raw anger and need for justice burning in the young hero’s eyes swayed her. This was a fight he needed to face - and finish - for his own healing.
“Okay,” she agreed finally. “But we do this together. You copy?”
The barest hint of a smile ghosted Peter’s face. “Copy that.”
They took off after the Green Goblin, Natasha supporting Peter as he swung them up onto the rooftops. The trail was not hard to follow, with the Goblin’s manic laughter echoing through the concrete canyons. When they landed on a skyscraper several blocks away, the Goblin was waiting for them.
“End of the line, bug brains!” he shrieked, hurtling another round of explosives their way.
Natasha pushed Peter clear and then dove in the opposite direction. She came up firing her stingers. The Green Goblin dodged the first two shots but howled as the third found its mark, hitting him square in the shoulder.
“Why you meddlesome little -” Another of Natasha’s stings cut off his enraged threat. She pressed her advantage, driving him back with a barrage of attacks. But the Goblin quickly recovered and swooped at her, sharp claws extended. Natasha barely avoided being sliced to ribbons as she rolled under the razor swipe.
“Natasha, look out!” Peter’s warning shout alerted her just in time to twist away from the Goblin’s follow up blow. She backflipped away and then had to keep moving as a hail of explosives pursued her across the rooftop. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Peter scaling the buildings on sticky webs, trying to get into position above their foe.
Natasha fired at the Green Goblin again, forcing him away from Peter’s angle of approach. “Come and get me, freak show!” she taunted. With an enraged snarl, the Goblin dove right for her. At the last second, Natasha dropped and slid beneath him. She snapped both feet up as he passed, catching him in the back and using his own momentum to launch the Goblin up into the air.
“Now, Peter!” she yelled.
Peter dropped down on a web line and slammed both feet into the Green Goblin while he was still off balance. The impact sent the villain hurtling back down, where he crashed to the roof in a limp heap.
Wary of another feint, Natasha cautiously approached the unmoving figure while Peter swung down to join her. But the Goblin did not rise again. His mask had been ripped away, revealing the battered and broken features of Harry Osborn beneath.
“Is...is he dead?” Peter asked unsteadily.
Natasha checked for a pulse. “No. But he won’t be causing any more trouble for a long time.” She looked back up at Peter. “It’s over.”
The relief that flooded his face brought tears to Natasha’s eyes. She cupped his cheek gently. “It’s done, Peter. You stopped him. For Gwen.”
Peter just nodded, clearly beyond words now. Natasha wrapped a steadying arm around his shoulders and keyed her communicator. “Hawkeye, we need medical evac and clean-up at my location. Target is down.”
She felt Peter start to sway against her as the adrenaline drained from his system. Natasha carefully lowered him to sit propped against the side of the stairwell bulkhead.
“Hey, just breathe,” she soothed, noting his pale complexion and the sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Help is on the way.”
Peter gave her a ghost of a smile. “Thank you,” he rasped. “For coming when I called. For everything, really.” He blinked hard against the threatening tears. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Nat.”
Natasha had to swallow past the sudden lump in her own throat. “Of course, Peter,” she managed. “Whatever you need. Anytime.” She pulled him into a fierce hug, feeling his shoulders shake with silent sobs. Natasha just held him tighter. “I’ve got you, kid. It’s going to be okay,” she whispered into his hair. “I promise.”
They remained like that until Clint arrived with the quintet. Peter kept his eyes squeezed shut, even as Natasha and Clint supported him onto the jet and got him settled on the med bench. Natasha gripped his hand the whole way back to headquarters, murmuring soothing words whenever the grief overwhelmed him again.
By the time they landed at the compound, Peter had finally drifted off into an exhausted sleep. Natasha stayed close as the med team transferred him to the exam room to assess his injuries. Thankfully there was nothing life-threatening, just some burns, scrapes and deep muscle bruising. Still, Natasha insisted he be kept overnight for monitoring and fluids.
She maintained her bedside vigil late into the night, unwilling to leave Peter’s side until she was certain the demons would not trouble him. When bleary, red-rimmed eyes finally blinked open, Natasha was right there waiting.
“Hey,” she greeted him softly. “How are you feeling?”
Peter grimaced as he tried to shift his battered body. “Like I got run over by the Goblin about ten times.”
“Sounds about right,” Natasha said with a sympathetic smile. Her expression turned serious then. “But really, Peter. How are you doing?”
He glanced away with a heavy sigh, emotions playing across his face. “Honestly? I have no idea. It still doesn’t feel real. Gwen is..." His breath hitched on her name. "But you were right. About the guilt. I know in my head now that it wasn't my fault she..." Peter trailed off again, unable to finish.
Natasha nodded solemnly. “I'm glad to hear that. But don't expect those feelings to just disappear overnight. There will be a lot of ups and downs ahead.” She clasped his hand. “But I’ll be right here to help you through it.”
Peter managed a wan but grateful smile. “Yeah. I know you will.” He hesitated, chewing his lip. “Nat, there’s something...something Gwen said to me. Right at the end. Her last words.” His eyes searched Natasha’s, conflicted emotions swirling in their depths. “She made me promise not to give up. On being Spider-Man. On...on helping people.”
Natasha considered him thoughtfully. She knew how heavy a dying wish could weigh on a person. But she also trusted Peter’s strength and good heart.
“I think you have to do what feels right to you,” she advised. “But for however long you need, your spot on the Avengers will be waiting.” Natasha smiled tenderly at him. “And so will I.”
Peter’s eyes shone with bright, unshed tears. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Natasha gave his hand one more reassuring squeeze. “Now get some more rest. Doctor’s orders. I’ll go bust Clint out of whatever air ducts he’s crawled into and make sure he brings you back something to eat.”
That finally elicited a small huff of laughter from Peter. “Okay. And, Nat? Seriously...thank you. For everything.”
Natasha paused in the doorway and met his earnest gaze. “Always, Peter. That’s what family is for.”
The Day Of The Funeral
Natasha paused outside the simple wooden door, steeling herself before entering. Funerals were never easy, even after all this time. But she would not fail Peter today.
Inside, the small church was already filled to capacity with mourners. Natasha picked her way through the somber crowd until she reached the front pew where Peter sat alone, staring down at his tightly clasped hands.
Natasha slid in next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Peter started slightly at her touch before glancing over, eyes ringed with dark circles that told of his sleepless night.
“Hey,” Natasha murmured. “How are you holding up?”
Peter just shook his head mutely. He nodded toward the open casket at the front of the church where Gwen lay, golden hair fanned around her, looking deceptively peaceful. Natasha gave Peter a comforting squeeze.
“I know,” she said softly. “It's...a lot.” What else could she say? That the pain would fade in time? It seemed a cold comfort now when his grief was still so raw. So she simply sat with him in supportive silence as the church filled to capacity around them.
All too soon, the priest stepped up to begin the service. Natasha felt Peter tense, his breath coming shorter. She took his hand and anchored him as the priest spoke of life and loss, of cherishing those we hold most dear.
Peter remained dry-eyed through the opening prayers and hymns. But Natasha noticed his jaw clenching tighter with each passing minute. Her heart ached for him. She wished she could shield Peter from having to face this. But she knew the only way to move forward from tragedy was straight through the pain.
When the time came for friends and family to share remembrances, Peter stood on shaky legs to take his place behind the lectern. Natasha watched closely, ready to go to him if this proved too much. But Peter's voice remained steady as he adjusted the microphone.
"Gwen Stacy," he began simply. A few more breaths before he continued. "I can't adequately express what Gwen meant to me in just a few words. She was my closest confidante, my biggest supporter, my best friend."
Peter faltered briefly. Natasha offered him an encouraging nod. After another bracing breath, he pushed on.
"We always joked that Gwen was the genius meant for big things, while I would barely scrape by. But the truth is, I was always learning from her. Gwen knew who she was and what she stood for. Her moral compass never wavered. And she made me want to be better, to live up to her standards.”
Peter gazed around the church, taking in the somber crowd. “I see Gwen’s warmth and light reflected in all your faces. She touched so many lives in ways big and small. Her loss...” His voice cracked before he could go on. “Her loss leaves a void that can never be filled again. But I hope we can honor Gwen’s memory by living each day with more kindness, more passion, more joy. The way she did.”
Tears slipped down Peter's cheeks now. His hands trembled around the edges of the lectern but he stood tall. Natasha had to press her own eyes closed against the surge of emotion.
“I loved Gwen with my whole heart,” Peter continued thickly. “Whatever life lay ahead for us, I know she would have made the world a brighter place. That light is gone too soon.” He paused to swipe at his eyes. “But it will keep shining in my heart as I live on without her. I'll carry her spirit with me to face each day. And I hope you will too. Because that’s the gift Gwen gave us all. Her light.”
Peter stepped back from the microphone then, shoulders hunched and shaking. A breathless silence hung over the church for a long moment before applause began, the sound rippling outward until the rafters resounded with the ovation for Peter's heartfelt eulogy.
But Peter seemed oblivious to it all. He stood rooted at the lectern, staring down unseeingly as the tears continued to slip free. At last, he turned and stumbled blindly away, pushing past the two boys who had risen to support him and rushing out a side door into the brightness beyond.
Natasha was on her feet instantly to follow. By the time she made it outside, Peter had collapsed on a stone bench in the memorial garden, face buried in his hands as he gave way to gut-wrenching sobs.
Natasha sat down and pulled him into her arms, letting his head rest on her shoulder. “I know, I know,” she murmured softly as the storm of grief poured out of him. “Just let it out, Peter. I’m here.”
She held him through the deluge, keeping up a steady stream of comforting words and rubbing gentle circles on his back. When at last Peter quieted, reduced to the occasional hiccuping aftershock, Natasha handed him a tissue to wipe his tear-ravaged face.
“I can’t believe I lost it up there,” he rasped, clearly embarrassed.
“You did beautifully,” Natasha assured him. “I can’t imagine the strength that must have taken, getting through her eulogy like that. I am so proud of you, Peter.”
He managed a wavery but grateful smile at the praise. Fresh tears shimmered in his eyes but did not fall. They sat without speaking for a few minutes, Peter drawing comfort from Natasha’s supportive presence.
In the distance, the tolling of the church bells marked the end of the service. Natasha gave Peter’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Are you ready for this last part?”
Peter’s face spasmed with pain but he nodded resolutely. Natasha stayed close as they slowly walked back for the procession to the cemetery. She felt Peter falter as the casket came into view, borne aloft on the shoulders of somber attendants. Instinctively, Natasha reached for his hand again, threading their fingers together.
“One step at a time,” she whispered. “You can do this.”
Somehow, step by agonizing step, they made it to the graveside. Natasha kept her eyes fixed on Peter’s ashen face, holding his gaze when it threatened to stray to the yawning darkness at their feet. She willed him to feel her strength, her compassion, her love, as the final words were spoken and handfuls of dirt hit the casket lid.
Peter remained mute and hollow-eyed through the muted conversations after, accepting hugs and handshakes from the mourners on autopilot. He answered questions about how he was coping with a ghost of a smile that convinced no one. Natasha stayed glued to his side, deflecting further strained small talk to give Peter space to breathe.
When they had fulfilled the requisite obligations, Natasha guided Peter back to her car. Away from prying eyes at last, the rigid control fell away again. Peter slumped against the window, fresh tears tracking down his cheeks.
Natasha reached across the console to rest a hand on his wrist. “It’s over, Peter,” she said softly. “You made it through the worst part.”
“It doesn’t feel over,” he admitted hoarsely. “Today didn’t feel real. Saying goodbye like that...” He looked at her almost pleadingly. “How do I keep doing this without her, Nat?”
“Oh Peter.” Natasha’s heart broke for his pain. “I wish I could take this away for you. But it will get easier in time. Let yourself grieve. Honor Gwen’s memory. And know I’m here for whatever you need.”
Peter sniffled and wiped at his eyes. “Thanks, Nat. For everything. I...I don’t think I could have made it through today without you.” He hesitated, an unreadable emotion flickering across his face. “You’ve come to feel like so much more than a friend or mentor. More like...” He broke off suddenly, dropping his gaze.
“More like what?” Natasha prompted gently.
Peter looked distinctly embarrassed now. “Nothing, it’s stupid.”
“Peter.” Natasha ducked her head to meet his downcast eyes. “Talk to me.”
He hesitated another long moment before finally mumbling, “More like...like a mom.” Peter cringed as soon as the words left his lips. “I’m sorry, that was so dumb to say. Please just forget it.”
Natasha sat back, stunned into momentary silence, as Peter fixed his gaze stubbornly out the window again. A tumble of emotions swirled within her - uncertainty and trepidation but also unexpected warmth.
“Peter,” she finally said, waiting until he reluctantly met her eyes. “You don’t ever need to apologize for how you feel.” She offered him a tender smile. “Especially not for something that means a lot to me too.”
Peter’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really? You’re not just saying that?” He ducked his head again. “Cause I know it’s kinda silly for me to think of you that way when -”
“It’s not silly at all,” Natasha cut him off firmly. She took his hand again, holding his gaze earnestly. “I care about you more than you know, Peter Parker. If you ever want or need a mother’s love - well, you’ve got it unconditionally from me.”
Peter’s eyes shone with more tears, but happier ones this time. He clutched Natasha’s hand tightly. “I - thank you,” he stammered. “Just...thank you. For everything, M-mom,” he finished in a whisper.
Natasha had to blink back her own tears now. On impulse, she pulled Peter into a fierce embrace. “Anytime, son,” she whispered back. “I’m so proud of you.”
They stayed like that for a long moment, holding each other through tears of shared grief but also newfound joy. Finally Natasha drew back, cupping Peter’s cheek tenderly. “Ready to head home now?”
Peter nodded, scrubbing the last dampness from his eyes. Natasha gave his hand one final squeeze before shifting the car into drive. They rode in comfortable silence until Peter spoke up hesitantly again.
“So...this might be weird to ask,” he began. “But can I, uh, call you Mom now? All the time?” He flushed, clearly out of his depth navigating this new dynamic.
Natasha considered for a moment. As much as she already loved the sound of that word from him, she understood his uncertainty.
“How about just when it feels natural,” she suggested. “No pressure either way. And it’s still Nat when we’re in the field,” she added pointedly.
Peter laughed, the sound rusty but welcome. “Okay, deal. Wouldn’t want Hawkeye getting jealous if I suddenly switch up on comms.”
“Oh, I’ll deal with Barton,” Natasha said wryly. “This is way more important.”
Peter’s shy smile was all the confirmation she needed that she’d made the right call offering him this relationship. Natasha returned the smile warmly. There would still be hard days ahead, heavy silences where Gwen’s absence weighed too much. But with Peter’s hand clasped in hers, Natasha knew they would make it through the darkness together.
Natasha would help Peter carry the burden until he grew strong enough to stand on his own. And from the young man she’d come to know, he would take this tragedy that had broken him and eventually mold it into the heroic heart of Spider-Man again.
But that was the work of tomorrow. For now, Natasha simply guarded his rest, grateful that the boy who had come to feel like a son was safely home.
One Year Later
Natasha paused outside Peter's bedroom door, listening to the sounds of him rustling around inside getting ready. Her heart felt heavy, especially considering today's date. The first anniversary of Gwen's death. But Natasha would make sure Peter didn't have to face it alone.
She knocked lightly before poking her head in. "Hey. You about ready?"
Peter turned from packing his backpack, his eyes shadowed with remembered grief. But he managed a small smile. "Yeah. Just grabbing a few things."
Natasha nodded. "Take your time. I'll be downstairs when you're set."
She left him to finish up and headed down to the kitchen. Clint sat perched on a stool eating cereal, but quickly set the bowl aside when Natasha entered.
"How's he holding up?" Clint asked quietly with a sympathetic glance upstairs.
Natasha sighed, crossing her arms. "As well as can be expected. He's determined to go back to the clock tower today. Says he needs the closure."
Clint frowned thoughtfully. "That's rough. But the kid's tough. He'll get through it."
"I know he will," Natasha said. "I just wish today didn't have to hurt so much along the way."
At that moment, soft footsteps sounded on the stairs and Peter entered the kitchen, looking pale but composed. "Ready when you are," he said in a carefully neutral voice.
Natasha put a hand on his shoulder, meeting his mournful eyes. "It's going to be okay," she promised softly. Peter managed a small, grateful smile in return.
Clint cleared his throat awkwardly. "You, uh, need anything before you go, kid? Back-up, punching bag, shoulder to cry on? You got it."
That coaxed a hint of real warmth into Peter's subdued features. "Thanks, Clint. I appreciate it."
Clint waved them off with an encouraging nod as Natasha ushered Peter out to the car. The silence lingered during the entire drive through the somber, rain-dampened streets back to that fateful clock tower. Natasha kept shooting Peter worried glances, but his gaze remained fixed distantly out the window.
When they finally pulled up in front of the towering edifice, Peter visibly steeled himself before stepping out. Natasha quickly came around to join him.
"Peter, we don't have to do this," she said gently. "It's okay if it's too much."
But Peter shook his head, jaw set stubbornly despite the sheen of tears in his eyes. "No. I need to, Mom. I need to be here today."
Natasha linked her arm through his. If this was what he truly needed for closure, she would stay by his side every step of the way.
They made the long ascent together in silence. The knot in Natasha's stomach drew tighter with every echoing footfall. This was the last place she wanted Peter to be today when the grief was sure to crush him again. But the quiet determination on his face kept her doubts at bay. She had to trust Peter to know what was best for his healing.
When they finally stepped out onto the open observation deck, Peter froze. Natasha felt him start to tremble as he took in the scene of Gwen's death. She kept her eyes fixed on Peter's ashen face, watching his fragile composure rapidly crumble.
"Oh god," he choked out. "I can still see her there...see her falling..." He squeezed his eyes shut but could not block out the memories.
Natasha quickly guided Peter across to sit on a concrete bench, keeping one arm securely around him. "I know, I know," she soothed as harsh sobs tore from his throat. "Just let it out, Peter. I'm right here."
She held him through the storm, murmuring soft words of comfort as his body shook. The raw anguish pouring out of him made Natasha's own eyes burn with tears. But she blinked them back, staying strong while Peter broke.
When the outpouring finally eased, Peter slumped forward, utterly spent. Natasha gently brushed the damp hair back from his forehead.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly.
Peter nodded wearily. "Yeah. I just..." He glanced around again with a deep, shuddering breath. "It all came flooding back, being here. I could see it happening again." His face crumpled once more. "If I had only been faster, fought harder, maybe..."
"Peter, look at me," Natasha interrupted before he could spiral down that dark path again. She turned his chin until their eyes met. "We've talked about this. What happened to Gwen was not your fault. You cannot keep blaming yourself."
Peter held her solemn gaze for a long moment before giving a small, jerky nod. Natasha let out a relieved breath. The rawness of his grief made old insecurities resurface. But they would work through it together.
Natasha kept close as they slowly made their way back down the tower. Peter remained subdued on the drive to the cemetery, lost in melancholy memories. When they arrived at Gwen's simple gravestone, he hesitated, uncertainty flickering across his face.
“You don’t have to do this either,” Natasha reminded him gently. “There’s no right way to get through today, Peter.”
“No, I want to,” he said after a moment. “There’s something...something I’ve been meaning to tell her.”
Natasha nodded understandingly and hung back a respectful distance while Peter approached the grave. He stood silently gathering his thoughts for so long that Natasha wondered if he would find the words this time.
But finally, voice hushed with emotion, Peter began to speak.
“Hey Gwen. It’s been a year since...” His breath hitched. “Since I lost you. And I’m still trying to figure out how to do this life without you in it.” Peter swiped at the tears slipping down his cheeks. “But there are some things I need you to know.”
He sank down to sit cross-legged on the grass. “I never got to tell you how I felt, not really. Never got to admit how much I loved you. Way before we ever dated. You were it for me, Gwen. My best friend. My home.”
Peter let out a ragged sigh. “I don’t think I can ever feel whole again with you gone. There’s this piece missing that I know nothing can replace.” He picked fitfully at a blade of grass. “But I’m starting to make my peace with it. I’ll always carry you with me, just like you said at graduation. My heart is yours, Gwen. It always will be.”
Peter lapsed into silence then, shoulders hitching with quiet sobs. Natasha had to brush away her own tears now. She hoped wherever Gwen was, she could hear those words meant for her.
After a long moment, Peter gathered himself and continued. “I still go visit your family when I can. Your little brothers are getting so big. They have your smile.” His face crumpled again briefly. “They miss you so much. We all do.”
Peter took a few more steadying breaths. “But I want you to know I’m okay. Or I’m getting there. Still taking it one day at a time. Some days are still really hard. But I’m not alone anymore.”
He half-turned to glance back at Natasha. “Mom’s been there for me since that night we lost you. She got me through the darkest times. And she keeps helping me find the light again.” Peter’s eyes shone with earnest love. “So I’m gonna be okay, Gwen. Don’t you worry.”
He shifted forward on his knees then, fingers gently brushing over the engraving of her name. “I’m always gonna love you, Gwen Stacy. That will never fade. Thank you for loving me. Keep watching over me...” His voice broke on a sob. “Please. I’ll make you proud, I swear it.”
Peter pressed his palm to his lips then placed it tenderly against the stone. “Goodbye, Gwen,” he whispered. “You’ll always be my first love.”
He slowly stood, swiping at his eyes, and made his way back to Natasha. She immediately folded him into a fierce embrace.
“Oh Peter,” she murmured into his hair. “That was beautiful. She heard you, I know she did.”
Peter clung to her, the ache of old grief pouring out of him one more time. Natasha held him through it, heart swelling with pride at the extraordinary young man he was becoming.
When Peter finally quieted, Natasha kept an arm wrapped securely around his shoulders as they made their way slowly back to the car. Peter leaned heavily against her, emotionally and physically drained.
Natasha settled him comfortably in the passenger seat before taking the wheel. “Why don’t we go back to your aunt’s place for a bit? Get away from the tower and distractions. I already checked with May, she’s got the guest room made up for me.”
Peter glanced over, gratitude shining through the lingering pain in his eyes. “Yeah, that sounds really nice actually. Just family.” He covered her hand lightly with his own. “Thank you, Mom. For always knowing exactly what I need.”
Natasha had to blink back a fresh round of tears at those meaningful words. However Peter saw her, she would live up to it. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Always. Now let’s go home.”
The rest of the drive passed in introspective but not uncomfortable silence. When they pulled up to the modest house, May was already waiting on the front steps.
Her face fell as she took in Peter’s obvious distress. “Oh, honey...” She immediately wrapped him in a tight embrace. Peter sank into his aunt’s familiar comfort, the dams threatening to break all over again.
“Let’s get you inside,” May murmured, stroking his hair. She shot Natasha a worried but grateful look over Peter’s shoulder. Natasha offered a sad, understanding smile in return.
May kept an arm securely around Peter as they went in. She settled him on the living room sofa, wrapping him in his favorite childhood blanket. Natasha sat down on Peter’s other side and took his hand again.
“Do you need to talk about it?” May asked gently, pushing his hair back from his forehead.
Peter shook his head, leaning into her touch. “No, I...” His breath hitched on a sob. “Can we just stay like this for a while?” he managed thickly.
“Of course, sweetheart. We’re right here.” May pulled Peter against her shoulder, holding him as the grief broke free once more.
Natasha moved closer, lending her own strength and comfort until the storm passed. She and May exchanged a look over Peter’s bent head, sharing a moment of wordless understanding and gratitude. No matter the sorrow, they would weather it together as a family.
Eventually Peter quieted, his ragged breathing evening out into sleep. May carefully shifted so his head rested in her lap. Her own eyes were wet as she gently stroked his hair.
“Thank you for taking care of him today,” May said softly to Natasha. “I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for him.”
“I’d do anything for him, May.” Natasha replied simply. And she meant it with her whole heart.
They sat in introspective silence as Peter slept, keeping vigil together to protect him from the demons that still lurked in the shadows. But the peaceful expression on his face now told Natasha the worst had passed. Time would ease the ache, and they would continue guiding him into the light.