Just Another Day in the Life of Peter Parker

Dancing With Death

TW: May be a little triggering to people. Alludes to an atrempt of unalicing themselves but they don't.

The clouds opened, releasing a misty drizzle that coated the earth in a white cloud. It was the kind of rain that didn't make you dripping wet, but left everything it touched soggy and damp. Peter didn't care. The six-year-old sat in the misty downpour, his black suit darker with dampness. He didn't care about anything anymore.

Water pooled around the headstone, coating the black lettering in a sheet of raindrops. Peter traced his finger through the names of Mary and Richard Parker. It was hard to fathom that they were really gone. Everyone expected him to be in tears and to be clinging to his aunt and uncle like there was no tomorrow, but he wasn't. He just felt... empty. That was all. And a longing feeling to be left alone. He didn't want them to be gone. Not forever. Now all he had left of his parents was the golden laugh of his mother echoing around his mind and his father's strong, steady grip lingering on his palm.

All he wanted was to feel it one more time. To hear them one last time. "Why would you do this?" Peter whispered, turning his hazel eyes to the grey sky. "Why did you take them away?"

A hand rested on the boy's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Peter spun around at the touch, heart racing at the sight of the hooded figure towering over him. Dark swaths of fabric draped the man, lined with the occasional silver and gold threading. Peter couldn't see his face, but the hand on his shoulder was a deep, rich brown, almost black. And in the other hand was... a scythe.

The man pulled back his hood to reveal a mournful, dark face, with high cheekbones and glittering eyes. "I didn't want to," he said softly.

"Who are you?" 

The man sat down next to Peter, and it was then that the boy realised that the man wasn't completely there. There was a slight transparency to his skin that Peter could see the faint silhouettes of trees through. "I am the Grim Reaper. But you can call me Death."

Peter blinked. Was this man joking? he couldn't be the Grim Reaper... could he? "If you are Death, then why are you here? To make me feel bad?"

Death shook his head and wrapped his arm around Peter's narrow shoulders. "I came to apologize and because your parents wanted me to tell you that they love you."

"If you care so much, then why did you take them away?"

"Look up at the sky." Peter did, squinting as the rain continued to fall. "Behind those clouds lie the universe. Everything happens in the universe for a reason. Every breath, every drop of water, every birth and death and love. The universe knows where everything fits." Death looked back at Peter. "It was time for Mary and Richard to continue on. Their life continues, just not here."

Peter kept quiet, fiddling with a loose thread. "So..." he started, pondering on what he had been told, "they're not gone?"

"No. "

"Will I see them again?"

"Yes. When your time comes. But that," he said giving the boy a pointed look, "is not now."

Peter frowned. "When will it be?"

Death spread his hand to the sky above them. "Only the universe knows. But when it is time, you will know."

Peter nodded. For some odd reason, talking with Death helped him feel a little better. It felt nice to know that somewhere, beyond the universe, his parents were still there and that they still loved him. 

The two sat there for a long while, talking in soft voices mingling with the soft patter of the rain. When May found Peter, Death had already gone and the young child was watching the sky with the faint echo of a smile in his eyes. He gave his aunt a small half-smile and let her scoop him up into a hug. As they left, he gave one last look back at the grave and promised that he would be back to talk with his new friend.