Peter had been staring at the wall for hours when Aunt May had finally come to knock on his door and tell him that he needed to get ready for school. He hadn’t gotten any sleep after he had returned from patrol. Ironman- Tony Stark! -had told him to take an early night, that he looked like shit. (Peter didn’t mention that he was wearing a suit and there was no possible way that Mr. Stark knew that). That had been at 1 in the morning, and Aunt May came to knock everyday at 7:05.
Peter had to admit that he really did look like shit when he saw his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His eyes were puffy and rimmed red, accented by the dark bags under his eyes. He could at least fix the greasy look to his hair with a quick shower. Standing under the almost scalding water he let a few more tears slip from his eyes. No one would know.
When he stumbled out to their kitchen a few minutes later, Aunt May was just finishing cooking breakfast. He grabbed a few pancakes and ate them plain, before darting around her to scoop eggs right out of the pan.
“Peter.” She said. He knew that she would chastise him for using a metal fork on her good pan, just like always.
“Sorry.” He mumbled, hanging his head.
“Peter.” She said, gentler this time, “Please look at me.”
She looked tired, too. Her graying hair was tied back into her usual low ponytail. Peter didn’t know if had just gotten off of a shift or was getting ready to go into one.
She stepped forward then, gently pulling him into her arms. He trembled once, twice, and then a third time before biting down on a sob that had escaped him. Her thin arms tightened around him, fiercely as if she thought she could protect him from everything the world had to throw at them.
“I am so proud of you.” She whispered to him, one hand reaching up to run through his still damp hair. “Don’t you ever forget that.”
He pulled himself out of her grasp a few minutes later, already knowing that he’d be late for school. He didn’t want to go, all he wanted to do was curl back into his bed and sleep for an eternity.
The school day had passed normally. Peter was sure that he hadn’t learned a thing, however, his mind a million miles away. After he was asked by a teacher if he was alright for the third time, he was sorely tempted to just bail out for the rest of the day. At lunch he found that he wasn’t hungry, and decided to save the money for another time. The second half of the day was very much the same, with the exception of his english teacher actually sending him to the guidance counselor's office. He sat through that visit in total silence.
“Do you need to talk about it?” She had asked him. It was like she was stepping on eggshells around him. An uncharacteristic shot of anger rose in him. He hated the message that was obviously written across his being, the giant DAMAGED that was apparently on view for all to see.
“Uncle Ben’s dead. There’s not much to talk about.” he snapped back at her, rushing out with the sound of the bell. The day was finally over. He couldn’t wait to get away from the confining walls of the school.
Luckily enough, he managed to miss Flash completely. He wasn’t going to stick around to test his chances, though, and quickly hightailed it in the opposite direction of the school. Peter made the split second decision to grab some eggs with the lunch money he had left over, remembering the empty carton on the counter that morning.
He grabbed the first ones he came across in the corner convenience store. When he got to the front of the till, he just dumped all of the money from his pocket into the cashier’s hand. For a moment, the man was silent before hesitantly saying, “I’m sorry, do you have another dime?”
Peter didn’t. He knew he didn’t. Still, he searched through his pockets. He knew it was in vain. His hands started shaking, and his eyes burned with tears. To his embarrassment, they started to slide down his cheeks. In that moment, it was exactly a year before. He was fifteen again and in a different convenience store- unable to pay for his chocolate milk. He remembered rushing out in anger, Uncle Ben on his tail and telling him that he needed to grow up. And then…
Then he heard the gunshots. He heard Uncle Ben hit the ground and all he could see was blood on his hands. All over a fucking dime.
“Kid?” The cashiers voice startled him from the memories. Peter was shaking his head, muttering sorry over and over again. Crying.
Pathetic, Peter thought savagely about himself.
“It’s okay.” the man told him, looking at him with pitying eyes, “I got it. You can take the eggs.”
Peter grabbed the eggs and ran out of the store. He was embarrassed, but couldn’t get himself to shut up. He didn’t watch where he was going, relying solely on muscle memory. He didn’t realize where he was walking to until he was pressed against the cold metal gate of the cemetery.
Uncle Ben’s grave had just started growing grass. The headstone had only been placed there a month ago- through almost a year of saving for it. His legs felt like they gave out from under him, his knees digging into the soft soil.
He missed Uncle Ben. It hurt so much, and he couldn’t figure out why it wasn’t getting better. He just wanted it to be better.
He wasn’t a hero. He couldn’t save anyone. The tears came faster and the breaths were harder. Uncle Ben was gone, dead. There wasn’t a thing Spiderman- let alone Peter Parker -could do about it.
He cried until he felt like he couldn’t anymore. At some point he had to assume he was screaming, and was surprised that no one had called the police on him. His throat was raw. His nerves were frayed. The last thought he had before he fell asleep in the soft grass was that nothing was ever going to be the same.
He woke up with his head in Aunt May’s lap. She softly carded her fingers through his hair. At some point she had to have thrown a blanket over him. His stomach growled loudly, causing her to chuckle.
“I thought you might be here.” she said when she noticed him looking up at her. She had changed out of her nursing outfit and into a pair of sweatpants and a t shirt with a cardigan. He noticed that the sky had turned dark around them.
“I’m sorry.” He said hoarsely. Tears welled in his eyes again. So many words rushed past him; he was sorry he couldn’t be a better nephew, that he wasn’t a good kid, that he lied to her, that he got Uncle Ben killed.
Aunt May cleared her throat, wiping at her own eye. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, dear. I miss him too. Everyday.”
Aunt May had no reason to continue to look after Peter. She was Uncle Ben’s wife, sure, but that didn’t mean she needed to keep a moody teenager whose parents abandoned him. But, through all the years she still cared for him. He swallowed past the stone in his throat when he thought of how she taught him how to ride a bike, and was the one who continuously patched him up when he crashed it. She worked endless hours to support both of them, and worked even more at home.
“I got eggs.” He said.
Her lips quirked into a smile, “I knew you would.”