5 times peter grieved natasha
The First Time
Peter knocked hesitantly on the door to Natasha's room. He knew she wouldn't be there to answer, but part of him still hoped to hear her voice call out "Come in, Peter."
No response came. The room remained still and quiet, just as it had been for months now. Natasha was gone, lost in the fight against Thanos. But Peter couldn't accept that.
"Nat?" he called out softly. Still nothing.
Peter slowly turned the knob and entered the room. It looked untouched, like she had just stepped out and would be back any minute now. Her bed was neatly made, clothes hung in the closet, shoes lined up by the dresser.
"Hey Nat, it's me," Peter said, wandering over to the bed and sitting down. He looked around, taking in all the little details that made this Natasha's space. The photos of her and the team, the books on espionage and Russian history, the ballet slippers peeking out from under the bed.
"I really need to talk to you," Peter went on. "Things haven't been the same since, well, since everything happened. The team feels different now. Quieter. Everyone tries to pretend they're fine but I can tell they're all still grieving. I know I am."
Peter paused, trying to imagine Natasha perched on the edge of the bed, listening intently.
"I guess I just really miss you," he continued softly. "Miss our training sessions, and how you'd patch me up after battles. How you always knew the right thing to say when I was feeling low. Do you remember that time after I messed up that mission, and you told me failure is the best teacher? You made me feel like I could get through anything."
Peter felt tears welling up in his eyes. He quickly brushed them away. Natasha wouldn't want him to fall apart like this. She'd tell him to be strong.
"I'm trying to keep going like you taught me," Peter said. "But it hurts, Nat. It hurts every day without you here. The team needs you. I need you."
Peter waited silently for a response he knew would never come. Finally he stood up, taking one last look around the room.
"I guess I should go," he said quietly. "But I'll come talk to you again soon, okay?"
With that, Peter forced himself to walk out of the room, leaving behind his grief for now. Natasha's memory would give him the strength to carry on.
The Second Time
A few weeks had passed, and Peter once again found himself missing Natasha deeply. He decided to retreat to her room, hoping to feel closer to her there.
As he entered, his eyes immediately fell upon her plush armchair in the corner. Natasha used to sprawl out on it, book in hand, whenever she wanted to unwind from a stressful day. Peter smiled slightly at the memory.
"Hey Nat," he said. "It's me again."
Peter crossed the room and sank into the armchair. It still held a faint scent of Natasha's floral shampoo.
"Remember how you'd sit here and read for hours?" Peter asked the empty room. "I'd always try to guess what kinds of books you liked based on the covers. Spy thrillers, biographies of powerful women, Russian classics..."
Peter's voice trailed off as he glanced at the bookshelf, taking in the eclectic mix of titles. He smiled sadly.
"I miss those quiet nights when I'd finish patrol and find you curled up here reading," he went on. "You'd ask me how everything went, and actually listen when I rambled about school and friends and superhero stuff. You always cared."
Peter felt that now-familiar ache in his chest. He took a shaky breath.
"I wish I could talk to you about how lost I feel right now," he said. "The future used to seem so bright, like anything was possible. Now it's like there's this cloud hanging over me that just won't go away."
Peter wiped at his eyes, trying to pull himself together.
"But I know you'd tell me to keep fighting, right?" he said, a bit more steadily. "That I'll find my way again. That things will get better. You always knew just what to say."
Peter sighed deeply, letting the silence wash over him. For now, being here in this room was enough. Natasha's presence surrounded him, even if she was only there in spirit.
Finally Peter stood up. "Thanks for listening, Nat," he said softly. "I'll be back soon."
The Third Time
Peter returned to Natasha's room a few days later, after a particularly draining day of school and Spider-Man patrols. As he entered the room, his exhaustion seemed to melt away, replaced by a sense of peace.
This time, he wandered over to Natasha's closet, smiling at the rows of black tactical suits, red-haired wigs, and other tools of disguise. He remembered how Natasha would always emerge looking like an entirely different person.
"Hey Nat," Peter said, leaning against the closet doorframe. "I could really use one of your pep talks tonight. School was awful. Flash is bullying me worse than ever, and I just found out I failed my Spanish quiz. Then during patrol, I screwed up and let a mugger get away. I feel like I can't do anything right."
Peter shook his head, frustrated with himself. "Anyway, I know you'd tell me not to be so hard on myself," he went on. "That no one is perfect, not even the amazing Black Widow herself. You'd remind me of all the good I do as Spider-Man, and how I always try my best, and that's what matters."
Even imagining Natasha's reassurances made Peter feel a little lighter. But he wished desperately that she could be here to say the words herself, to pull him into one of her comforting hugs.
"I miss you looking out for me," Peter said, his voice breaking. "The team tries their best, but it's not the same. No one gets me like you did."
Peter quickly wiped his eyes. Natasha would tell him not to dwell on what he'd lost, but to appreciate the time they'd had.
"I know I can't bring you back," Peter said. "But I'm still going to make you proud, Nat. That's a promise."
Peter took one last look at the disguises, imagining Natasha slipping into a new persona. Wherever she was now, he hoped she was at peace.
The Fourth Time
Peter returned once more to Natasha's room. He no longer bothered knocking - he knew now that she would never respond. Still, her presence could always be felt within these walls.
Today Peter felt drawn to Natasha's photo wall. It was covered in snapshots of her fellow Avengers, candid shots and official portraits spanning many years. Peter smiled as he looked over the collage of memories.
"Hey Nat," he said. "I was feeling kind of down and lonely tonight. But being here, looking at all these pictures of our family...it helps. It reminds me that even if you're gone, I'm not alone."
Peter's eyes lingered on a photo of himself and Natasha, taken shortly after he'd joined the Avengers. She stood behind him, hands resting fondly on his shoulders. He remembered how excited and honored he'd felt to be taken under her wing.
"I hope I've made you proud since then," Peter said. "I'll never be as cool and confident as you, but I try to approach every mission with the skill you taught me."
Peter's gaze shifted to a photo of Natasha mid-laugh, head thrown back in carefree joy. It had been captured at one of Tony's parties, a rare moment of levity. Seeing her so happy made Peter's heart ache.
"I miss your smile," he said softly. "And your laugh. No one else has one quite like it. I'd give anything to hear it again."
Peter slowly moved down the photo wall, taking in the team during brighter, happier times. It gave him hope that he would find moments like that again, even without Natasha there to capture them.
"Thanks for the memories, Nat," Peter said. "I'll keep making you proud."
The Fifth Time
Today was Natasha's birthday. Or at least, the birthday she had chosen for herself when she'd left her past behind to start a new life. Peter wished he could celebrate with her, share stories and laughs over cake. But visiting her room would have to suffice.
"Happy birthday, Nat," Peter said, placing a small cupcake with a candle on her dresser. "I know you said birthdays weren't a big deal to you, but I wanted to do something to mark the occasion."
Peter paused, imagining her wry, amused smile at the gesture.
"I hope you're having a good day, wherever you are," he went on. "Eating all your favorite foods, dancing to cheesy pop music, watching trashy TV..." Peter laughed slightly, picturing it.
"We all miss you like crazy, but I know you'd tell us not to mope," he continued. "You'd say life's too short to waste on sadness. So today I'm going to follow your advice. I'll enjoy every minute, appreciate every breath, and be grateful."
Peter grasped the pendant she'd given him, running his thumb over the engraved arrow. He wore it every day since her passing.
"Keep watching over me, okay?" Peter said. "I'm trying to make you proud. And I hope I'm still making you laugh with my lame jokes. Though let's be honest, my jokes could never beat yours."
Peter smiled sadly. He lit the cupcake candle in her honor, then turned to go.
"Enjoy your day, Nat," he said. "Wherever you are."
The One Time
Today felt different as Peter entered Natasha's room. The familiar comfort had been replaced by a sense of unease. He knew why.
The team was packing up the compound, getting ready to relocate. That meant dismantling Natasha's room, boxing up her possessions. Erasing all traces that she had ever been here at all.
Peter dreaded it. This room held so many memories, both real and imagined. It had become his sanctuary, a place to still feel connected to her. He wasn't ready to let it go.
Sitting on the edge of Natasha's bed, Peter pulled out the photo of them together. He gazed at it silently before speaking.
"Hey Nat. I guess this is goodbye." Saying the words aloud pained him. "Everyone keeps saying it's time to move on, time to accept that you're really gone. That holding on to the past prevents us from moving forward. And maybe they're right."
Peter sighed, looking around the room that had become a second home.
"It's just hard to let this all go," he continued. "Your room, your things...they're all I have left of you. But I know you'd tell me that's not true. That you're still here, as long as I carry you in my heart."
Peter closed his eyes, summoning an image of Natasha's face - her smile, her wise green eyes. He focused on capturing every detail before finally letting the image fade. Then he opened his eyes.
"Goodbye, Natasha," he whispered. "Thank you for everything you gave me. I'll keep your memory with me, always."
Peter placed the photo in his pocket, close to his heart. Then he stood, taking one final look around. This wasn't truly goodbye, he knew. Natasha's lessons, her laughter, her light - they would never leave him.
Peter walked to the door, resting his hand on the knob. He smiled sadly.
"See you around, Mom."
Then he stepped forward into the future, ready to honor her by living his best life. The life she had prepared him for. Natasha would always be with him.