I’m crying again, aren’t I?
The world is always moving. Maybe there was a spell somewhere that could be waved around and boom, time could be slowed or come to a complete stop. It isn’t that crazy of a notion, after all, the Avengers had saved half of the universe (including him) by going back in time.
Peter wishes with all his heart that he could go back in time. He would be very grateful if at least time could be slowed down a little, so he could- so he could what? What could he do?
We tampered with the stability of space-time to resurrect countless lives. You wanna do it again now just because yours got messy?
His breath hitches. He pulls himself into a position he is familiar with, his knees drawn tightly to his chest and his arms around his legs. He lays his knees on his pointy kneecaps, and with a pang, he realizes they’re bonier and poking him in the forehead. He’s gotten skinnier.
He bites his lip, remembering the time Aunt May grabbed him by the neck and rubbed her knuckles against his head, scolding him to stop being so distracted and come down with her to eat.
“Did you just noogie me?” Peter exclaims, spinning around in his chair to look back at her in surprise.
“No,” she sniffs, crossing her arms. “I dutch-rubbed you.”
“Aren’t you Italian?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.
Aunt May looks at him for a few moments before bursting into laughter. Her laugh, as usual, was one of the most contagious sounds ever, so Peter joins in immediately.
He’s never going to hear her laugh in real life again. He only has a blurry video of her, laughing hard at Happy, who’s recording himself telling her a joke to her. It was a weird and cringy joke, but Aunt May always had a weird sense of humor like that.
In books and movies, many characters said that they always did chores or other time-consuming things to pass the time to try not to think of their loved ones who had just left them. Peter has no idea how to stop thinking about his loved ones. They’re in his mind, twenty-four-seven, consuming his thoughts until he can’t even remember when dawn became dusk, the days and weeks bleeding together.
He sews himself a new suit, one made just by him, just like the first time, pricking his fingers a bunch of times. He cries as he thinks of Aunt May and how she would have helped him and how they would have laughed together, making countless mistakes, but they would be together and he would not feel so achingly alone. Of course, he probably would not even be making a suit if she wasn’t gone.
It’s all his fault. All his fault.
“Everything Spider-Man touches comes to ruin.”
Everything Peter Parker also touches comes to ruin.
He can feel Aunt May’s hand gently resting on his nape. She ruffles his hair playfully, huffing in amusement. Peter does not move from his curled position. Does not lift his head.
“Silly!” She teases. “I will not have you blaming yourself. You are a great and sweet kid, Peter Benjamin Parker. Do you understand? Do you understand me?”
“I’m sorry Aunt May,” he chokes out loud, his voice cracking, tears flooding his face once more. His shoulders shake and his vision is cloudy and suddenly he’s on the dusty carpeted floor, sobbing his heart out.
“May,” he gasps. His throat is closing- and he can’t- he can’t-
Breathe, he hears her say. “It’s okay Peter, just breathe with me, honey. Do you feel the floor? Yes, that’s it, baby. Just squeeze my hand and- breathe in, hold, breathe out. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. You’re doing so good, baby. It’s okay. It’s okay. I got you. I got you.”
“I miss you so much,” he cries out loud. “I miss you, I miss Mister Stark, I miss MJ, I miss Ned, I miss Happy, I miss Dr. Stra- Stephen-” he chuckles wetly, “he’s right, it’s strange calling him that.” And he laughs harder, still crying, as he realizes the pun.
“I miss you all,” he says at last, still on his knees, all alone in this dark room, not a single person in sight.
And he only has himself to blame.
He tells himself, no I will not pass by the bakery, I won’t I won’t I won’t- I made a promise- aaaand I’m here. Way to go Parker.
He hides behind a brick wall near the shop, so she couldn’t see him. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know what to do. He feels his throat closing up again, and it’s becoming a more and more frequent thing. He’s had panic attacks, anxiety attacks, all the attacks since he was five, but ever since that day, they started to increase. He should probably talk to someone about this.
Yeah, right, he scoffs. Who was he gonna tell? Some random therapist? “Oh sorry to bother you, but you see I kinda almost messed up the universe- multi-universes actually, all because I don’t know how to use a phone and don’t know when to shut up and don’t know when to quit and don’t know when to stop being the most selfish asshole in all the universes. Also, hi, my name is Peter Parker, who technically does not exist, because I asked Dr. Stra- sorry Stephen- to erase Peter Parker from everyone’s minds so the universe does not get destroyed again. Actually, now that you know that name, something terrible might happen to you, because anybody who associates with me will come to ruin.
Okay, so maybe he has some problems. Nothing a few pills wouldn’t solve. Except those don’t work on him anymore, and he once tried to overdose himself, but that didn’t work out too well for him either. Except managing to freak Aunt May and Mr. Stark out. That was another story.
Well. At least he could swing himself around like a madman and try to pretend nothing else existed except the thin web holding him as he flung it around in the air.
“Excuse me,” someone says, and Peter jumps five feet in the air. Thankfully, he does not attach himself to the brick wall he was hiding behind, or something else that would have immediately outed him as Spiderman.
Instead, he stretches his arms defensively, gulping as his eyes rise to meet MJ’s unimpressed ones.
“You know, you can just come in, instead of lurking around- hey are you alright?” She asks, her brows furrowing in concern.
“Huh?” Peter croaks out. He can’t believe he didn’t notice her approaching, there was literally a bell on the door she had just opened for god’s sake. He must have really been lost in his thoughts.
He also has no idea why she’s looking at him with such a stricken expression. Wait. Has the spell come undone? His eyes grow wide, “do you re-
“You’re crying-” they both speak at the same time.
“Huh?” Peter says again, lifting up his hand to feel his cheeks, and yeah, he had totally been crying.
MJ looks at him intently. “Do- do you want to come in? Coffee… helps. I mean, for me it does. I mean, you did order that the last time you were here-” her eyes leave his, and she touches her hair, a nervous tick for when she’s uncomfortable. “Uh, not that I remember, I just have good memory, is all. And coffee always helps me, so…” she trails off, and Peter immediately replies.
“Yes! I mean, uh, yeah. Coffee. That um, totally helps. Me, I mean. And you. Because you just said that…” Peter should shut up now. He was trying to make her feel less awkward, because it hurt, seeing her so nervous, but of course, he just made everything more embarrassing.
He quickly wipes his tears away, looking down, his cheeks reddening. He hears MJ huff in amusement.
“Come in, or we’re gonna stand here forever,” she says, tugging her hair behind her ears.
Peter nods in agreement, rushing inside so she could close the door and stop letting the cold air escape in. Under her breath, he thinks he hears her mutter something like, “wow and I thought I was awkward.”
His cheeks redden again, but he can’t help but smile. He knows that fond tone very well, and for the life of him, he can’t figure out why it’s directed at him, a person she’s technically only has seen once, and he definitely acted like a creepy weirdo then too.
She walks around to get behind the counter. “So, what kind of coffee would you like?”
“Black,” he says instantly. It’s what he ordered last time too, only because it reminded him of her. It’s what she always drank. He usually went for the most sugary drinks, something MJ and Ned always teased him about.
“Can you believe it, Peter getting any more hyper?” Ned would laugh and MJ's shoulders would shake too, and Peter would look indignant and shout out, “Hey!” and then he would laugh with them too.
It’s quiet in the bakery, they are the only ones there. Peter has no idea why he is here. This is such a bad idea. He’s always full of bad ideas. It’s like a train wreck, and he sees that it is going to happen and he’s the reason for it, but he could never stop himself.
“You’re like me,” Mr. Stark smiles sadly after Peter had impatiently tried to improve some machine even when Mr. Stark had warned him that something might happen. Something did happen. An explosion happens. The machine blows up in his face and only his Spidey tingle saves him from melting half his face off.
These are words that Peter wanted to hear for so long, from his hero, from his mentor, from the person he looked up to like a son would his father. Peter barely remembers his parents, but he imagines that he had loved them once like he has come to love Tony Stark.
But Mr. Stark looks so weary and Peter knows he does not imagine the guilt and tears in his mentor’s eyes. He reaches out to grasp Mr. Stark’s hand, wishing he could take all the pain and weight off his shoulders.
Mr. Stark looks up at him, and suddenly his eyes are glimmering and he squeezes the hand Peter has handed to him. “No. Don’t be like me. You are better than me, kid. I know it.”
Peter wants to laugh. And cry again. Even if there are millions of years and lifetimes, there is no way that Peter can ever be better than Mr. Stark. He doesn’t even want to be. Mr. Stark sacrificed his life to save the universe. He was not perfect, but he tried so hard, and Peter knows that one of the reasons he had worked on the time travel theory and made it a reality was because of Peter himself. He remembers Mr. Stark’s face as Peter faded away in his arms after Thanos’ snap. The scared, stricken, helpless look on his face. It was something Peter would never forget.
“Hey. Earth to Peter Parker. Here’s your black coffee.” MJ pushes a cup towards him.
He blinks. “Oh. Wow, I’m so sorry. Thank you very much!” He lifts the steaming cup to his face, relaxing as he takes in the aroma of the brewed drink.
“Um,” he says looking at the cup and then back to her. “I’m really sorry, but I haven’t paid you yet.”
MJ waves a careless hand. “Psh, don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”
“No,” Peter says, shaking his head. “Please, let me pay you.”
“Look, I’m not gonna let someone who looks like they just had a panic attack pay for a coffee. Don’t worry about it, okay?”
Peter ducks his head. “Thank you,” he whispers. He feels tears prickle his eyes again. He pinches himself to try to stop it, but that just makes his eyes tingle even more. Gosh. Why was he such a weak, crybaby?
“Hey,” he hears MJ say. She sounds a bit panicked, which causes him to lift up his head and instinctively look around for any threats. He finds none and looks back at her.
“You’re crying again,” she says softly.
“Oh,” he says, wiping the tears away again. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Do you- do you want to talk about it? I mean, I know I’m a complete stranger, so-”
“Your name, is it Michelle?” he asks, pointedly looking at her nametag. The name sounds foreign and strange on his tongue.
MJ shakes her head. “You can call me MJ.”
"MJ," he mouths her name, tilting his head slightly. "You can call me Peter. Just Peter. There, not strangers." He tries to grin, but he still feels strange like he's somewhere far away and his voice is still croaky and his eyes are still damp.
But then he sees her blush again, her smile a little startled, but growing and unrestrained.
His grin becomes more natural.
Warmth blossoms in his chest, but at the same time, he wants to run as far away as possible. His eyes are drawn to the scar that is slowly fading away at the side of her head. The wound may fade away entirely, but Peter’s not going to forget it any time soon. Why is he here again? He needs to get away from her, as far as possible. His friends, MJ and Ned, they don’t deserve this. They are happy without him. He only causes ruin, everywhere he goes.
“Peter, then. Um. Do you want to talk about it? You- you don’t have to. But if you want, I’ll listen.” He looks at her, and her eyes are so warm and accepting. She looks back at him with so much kindness and it hurts and it hurts and he feels his eyes burn and his lungs feel like they are drowning every time he looks at her.
He sees it in the way her brows are slightly furrowed, like she’s trying to remember something, trying to figure him out. He sees it in the way her left hand opens and closes like she’s stopping herself from reaching out. He sees it the moment she tugged her hair behind her ear, a gesture she only does when she is comfortable and around someone she trusts. He sees it in the way her lips part a bit, like she wants to ask a question, but she does not know what she wants to say.
And Peter knows. That she remembers him. Not him. But something is familiar to her, and it shows in every one of her unconscious behaviors.
“I-” his voice cracks again. “I’m sorry. This is so stupid. I’m so stupid. I don’t know why I keep crying. I’m so sorry MJ. If I’m creeping you out or something. I’m-”
“No! You’re fine. This, it’s not stupid.” She hesitates for a moment, before plowing on. “It’s okay to cry, you know. I- I don’t like to cry. Especially in front of people. I used to think it was weak. But now I realize that it’s anything but that. I think it means that you have too much inside you, and that you’ve been strong and alone for too long.”
Peter stares at her. Her cheeks are turning red and she’s playing with her hair, but she’s looking straight at him, challenging, willing him to accept her words.
He bites his lip. “Thank you,” he says softly. “I’m sorry, I just, I guess, I just have a lot of negative self-talk in my head.” He laughs quietly, remembering Peter number three’s words. I’m lame. He had also said, I love you guys. He was so sweet, like the nicest older brother ever.
“Yeah,” MJ laughs as well. “I’m familiar with that. I have a saying… which you actually completed the first time we met, before I fully said it. Expect disappointment-”
“Then you can never really be disappointed,” he finishes.
They both laugh, Peter a little harder than what was probably normal. “Yeah. I have a problem with that. I think I am just too optimistic. I always think that there is a chance, that something better has to happen. But lately… I just, I don’t think that’s true anymore. I don’t have the energy-” he cuts himself before he can say more.
“I know what you mean,” MJ says. She really does look like she knows exactly what he’s talking about. “But,” she chews on her lip, thinking. “That’s a good thing. That you don’t give up. That you keep going. You’re right, you know. Life has its ups and downs, but I think something good will always come along the way. You just have to try to reach for it before it disappears from your grasp.”
Peter’s eyes widen. He really didn’t expect this. MJ, who’s always been pessimistic, even though Peter knows how badly she wishes she wasn’t. She looks like she truly believes her words and it gives him a very warm feeling spreading throughout his chest. He wants to believe her words. He also suddenly wants to hug her.
Instead of doing that, he blurts out something else. “My aunt. May. She died. Two weeks ago.”
Shit. Why did he say that? Why was he always blurting out things to her like this? He promised himself. Why is he here?
MJ’s eyes grow big. “I’m so sorry, Peter. I- I know Mrs. Parker. I didn’t know she was your aunt. I’m so sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine- it must be really hard.”
Peter tries to swallow around the lump in his throat. “Thank you,” he whispers for the third time.
There’s a warm hand on his shoulder. His head swivels up in surprise. MJ stares back at him steadily. There’s a tissue in her other hand.
“Here,” she says softly, pointing a finger at her face.
“Oh,” he says again, his face turning red. “I’m crying again, aren’t I?”
He takes the proffered tissue and wipes his face. The tears still don’t stop. He can’t believe that he still has tears left to cry. He feels like a small child, but at the same time, so so old. He has always felt like this, always so far apart from his peers, even before the damned spider bit him. He wishes an adult was here. He knows he’s capable of handling things like living alone, paying rent and taxes, and other adult stuff. But he wants Aunt May. He wants to see her grow old and happy and he wanted to have the opportunity to have given her that comfortable life. He wants to see her smile again, to feel her hand gently resting on his head, and he wants to hear her corny jokes and her laugh and he wants her to tell him to breathe and that everything is going to be okay and he wants her back. He needs her back.
Peter’s hands fly to his face as his shoulders start to shake uncontrollably. He’s not on the chair anymore, his legs crouched on the cold bakery floor. He hears her call his name, rushing towards him.
He feels MJ hesitantly put her hands around him, her grip becoming firmer by the second.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he gasps and he’s not sure who he’s apologizing to. “I’m so so sorry.”
A hand rubs his back gently. “Hey,” she whispers. “Don’t be sorry. It’s okay. It’s going to be alright. Let everything out. It’s okay.”
He sobs harder. He doesn’t know how to stop. He’s not sure he wants to stop. Because when he stops, he’s still going to be alone again, with MJ, but not his MJ, because this MJ deserves better, and better means not with him. Not with him who ruins and ruins and does not stop ruining.
MJ does not know what to do. She always feels like panicking when someone is distressed. Instead, she usually puts up a shield and pretends not to see. She always feels guilty about it, but she always thinks, there’s someone else who will help, right? Who would want her help anyway? She’s useless.
But there’s no one to help this boy, who’s now curled on the floor of the bakery, bawling his eyes out. She can see him trying to stop himself, trying to be strong, and trying to push her away. It’s so familiar to her. This boy and the way she sees herself in him. There’s the part of herself that she hates, that whispers that this kid is weak for crying like this, in the open, for her to see. But that part is wrong, so she ignores it, and crouches down to his level, to rub his back, and tries hard to remember what her mother would do in this situation.
She whispers nonsensical words, hoping they are at least slightly comforting. She wonders if his throat is aching, he had sounded croaky the whole time he talked to her.
Oh! So stupid. She should probably go get him a cup of warm water.
“Hey, hey. It’s alright, it’s alright, just wait here for a sec, okay? I’ll go grab something real quick.” She tells him and then rushes to grab a cup and heat up some water.
When she gets back a minute later, Peter is gone. She gapes, almost dropping the hot water. How did he even leave without her noticing? There was not even a sound. She had been so focused on wondering how to make him feel better that she hadn’t even noticed that she couldn’t hear his quiet heartbreaking muffled gasps anymore, like he was trying to make the least amount of noise he could.
MJ rushes out of the bakery to see if Peter was still in sight, but nope, there was not a trace of him. It was like he had just vanished.
Disappointed, she heads back inside. It’s almost nine o’clock, and the shop technically closed thirty minutes later, but this past month, most customers have come in the morning and afternoon and rarely this late in the night. Her shoddy lame-o of a boss isn’t here, so she decides to close up.
Locking the door behind her, she rushes off in the direction of her home, hoping that Peter lived close by or passed by this path when making his escape. Of course, she should have expected not to detect a glimpse of him by the time she reached her apartment. After all, expect disappointment, then you can never really be disappointed.
Oh well. She tries not to think about him, and the way he seemed like the only person who existed in this world, even when she first saw him. She never felt this way before (or has she?) and today, when she saw him again, poorly hiding behind the brick wall, shaking from the cold or from something else, she now suspects, her heart had skipped a beat. She had put Peter Parker out of her mind, after all, he was just another customer, but he had come back, and she instantly remembered him and his concerned, worried eyes as he stared intently at the wound on her forehead. He had looked so nervous and sad and seemed like he wanted to say so many things and there was so much in his eyes, so much that MJ couldn’t even put a name to even one emotion in them.
She feels like there is something missing, something she isn’t understanding. Like they were a puzzle and he was a missing piece. The missing piece.
Huffing exasperatedly, she digs out her keys from her bag and heads inside. “I’m home,” she calls out to her mother, who waves at her from the kitchen. She closes the door, never noticing someone staring at her from the rooftops with red-rimmed eyes.