Chapter Three (for real this time)
Aunt May notices it the moment they walk through the door.
May had intended to head back to Queens with Peter on her own, but Tony, who seemed just as on edge and exhausted as she felt, had jolted up from where he was crumpled in an armchair like he'd been shocked. He'd suggested that Happy bring them back home, saying that it was late and probably the best idea. May had been admittedly confused and caught off guard by the unexpected concern coming from the playboy billionaire, and she'd protested at first, saying they'd be fine, but eventually she agreed to let Happy drive them. Both her and Tony's nerves were frayed, there was no use arguing. A fight was the last thing May needed. No - what she needed was a long, hot shower, a glass of wine, and sleep. Yeah, that sounded nice.
Happy had been relatively quiet on the drive back, but he made sure to give Peter dirty looks in the rear view mirror every so often, as if to ram it home that Peter had fucked up, and fucked up majorly. Peter already knew that, though, and after a few minutes he grew tired of Happy's undisguised judgement and looked out the window, keeping his eyes glued to the passing city through the glass.
His aunt was also quiet, and Peter couldn't help but wonder whether it was due to exhaustion, anger, or disappointment. The most likely option was that it was a mixture of all three, and that fact caused guilt like a leaden weight to settle at the pit of Peter's stomach and make itself at home. He hated disappointing Aunt May. She'd always been nothing but kind to him, always cared for him, always done everything she possibly could for him and more. She'd made sacrifices for him, she'd gone out of her way to help him...Peter knew she deserved more.
Even now, after the fact, Peter still wasn't sure what exactly he'd been thinking.
Actually, he did know. Nothing.
He hadn't been thinking. He'd just been...acting. Acting, and in the most stupid way possible, too.
He knew what Tony and Aunt May probably thought he'd been up to. Fighting crime without telling anyone, being an independent Spider-Man. Trying to be an adult when he was just a dumb, immature kid, as Tony would probably put it. That, however, wasn't the case, and honestly, when he thought about it, Peter kind of wished it was. He knew he'd have to admit what he'd been doing soon enough, and telling them that he'd been out being a neighborhood hero would be easier than admitting the truth. At least saying that he'd been trying to help people, doing good, still held some dignity and self respect. There was some honor to be found in it, surely. Right?
Happy is still quiet when he pulls up to their block. Aunt May quietly thanks him, and Peter can hear the exhaustion in her voice. He gets out of the car without saying anything, and as Happy drives off into the night, he takes a moment to look at his aunt. In the dark, he can't help but notice how worn and drained she looks. She's pale, and there are dark circles under her eyes. Her shoulders droop a bit, she looks weighed down. She's worn out, and Peter's the reason why. It's his fault, and he hates himself for it, the guilt leaving an ugly, acidic taste in the back of his throat.
As the pair silently makes their way down the sidewalk towards the apartment building they call home, Peter feels his phone buzz in his pocket for what must be the twentieth time. It's probably Ned - no, it's definitely Ned, demanding to know where Peter is and what he's doing. Tony made sure he knew that Ned had been alerted as to his missing whereabouts, making him another name on the list of people Peter had upset tonight. He didn't have to look at the phone to know it was his friend, and he didn't, he hadn't since he'd felt the first buzz back at Tony's place. He didn't have the energy to deal with Ned right now, and maybe he felt a little guilty and didn't want to face him, too. It was definitely Ned, though - after all, he didn't really talk to people or have much in the way of friends. Of course there was the possibility that it was MJ, but she didn't text often, and Peter couldn't think of a reason why she would do so right now.
Pushing his best friend out of his mind for now, Spider-Man makes his way to the apartment he shares with his aunt. May is still quiet, in the elevator the only noise aside from their breathing and the hum and creak of the old machinery is the nervous jangling of the keys she's now holding, messing with. She's the first to step out of the elevator when the doors open with a slight rattle and tremble, and Peter follows two or three steps behind. She fumbles with the lock for a moment, and Peter feels yet another pang of guilt when he notices the way her pale, lean fingers are trembling.
God...he really, really messed up this time.
Eventually she opens the door, and Peter follows her inside, shutting it behind him, hearing the click, then turning the locks and the latch. One could never be too safe, especially when you lived in the city. It's just a fact of life in Peter's world.
Seeing as May hasn't said a word since they left Mr. Stark's, Peter figures he's just going to slip off to bed. If May wanted to have a conversation, she'd have said something by now, and it was already late. At this point Peter just wants to crawl into bed and crash. He's about to go off to his room to do just that when, to his surprise, May speaks.
Her voice is uncertain, a bit trembling, almost. Not from fear, just from unsteadiness, fatigue. Peter turns around to find his aunt staring at him, her eyes a bit narrowed. She says one word, just one word - his name.
"Peter?"
He stops mid-step, looking at his aunt and swallowing down the guilt that's been choking him for at least the last half hour, the lump in his throat.
"Yeah?"
"Um - what's that on your throat?" she asks, and Peter immediately knows what she's referring to. He swears in his head, his hand clapping to the side of his neck without meaning to.
"Oh, um - I bumped into something." he says before he can stop himself, and immediately he hates himself for lying. He hadn't even planned to! It doesn't matter, though, because Aunt May doesn't buy it.
"You bumped into something, and - and you hit your neck?" she says, and frowns at Peter. Her eyes are overflowing with concern and care, worry and exhaustion, and Peter feels the weight of the damned crushing him. "Peter, what...where were you tonight?" she asks, and Peter looks up and meets her eyes once more. He can't lie to her, he just can't.
"I...I was sleeping with someone."