Bruised But Not Broken - Irondad/spiderson

The Only Comfort I need

The city lights smear together as I stagger down the footpath, neon and headlights bleeding into one another through my blurred vision. My apartment building looms ahead, close enough to taste, but every step feels heavier than the last. Cars roar past me, horns blaring, engines snarling, the noise crashing over my skull like waves. My body is done. It stopped listening to me blocks ago. One foot drags, the other barely lifts. I feel weaker now than when I first left the compound, like whatever was holding me together is slowly unraveling.

I push through the glass doors of the building and freeze.

ELEVATOR OUT OF ORDER.

The desk clerk looks up just in time to see me sway. Horror flashes across his face as I veer toward the stairwell instead. I don't wait for him to say anything.

The stairs are dim and narrow, smelling faintly of dust and old paint. Each step sends a sharp protest up my legs. My breathing echoes too loud in the enclosed space, ragged and uneven, like I'm being chased even though I'm alone. My fingers scrape along the wooden banister, the surface rough and splintered beneath my skin, grounding me just enough to keep moving.

The overhead light flickers as I climb, casting warped shadows that stretch and shrink along the walls. The building groans around me, settling and shifting, every sound amplified in the silence. Floor after floor blurs together.

By the fourth level, my legs are shaking. Sweat beads along my hairline, sliding down into my eyes. I stop, pressing my shoulder against the wall, fighting for air. My vision pulses at the edges.

Then I hear it.

A soft, familiar hum drifting down the hallway above me.

Aunt May.

The song she always hums when she bakes. When things are calm. When the world feels normal.

The sound wraps around me like a lifeline, pulling me through the last flight of stairs one painful step at a time.

Her door comes into view. I raise my hand and knock, barely more than a tap.

The humming stops.

For one terrifying second, there's nothing.

Then footsteps.

The door opens.

Aunt May's face shifts the instant she sees me — confusion melting into shock, then outright fear. Her eyes track the bruises, the way I'm hunched forward like my body might fold in on itself.

"Aunt May?" I whisper, my voice barely holding together.

She steps aside immediately, ushering me in, her hand tightening on the doorframe as if she needs something solid to hold onto.

"What happened?" she asks, voice unsteady.

"I—I messed up," I say, the words tumbling out wrong. "I panicked. I jumped out a window. Everyone hates me. Mr Stark definitely does."

She closes the door behind me with a quiet finality that echoes through the apartment.

"Sit," she says gently, guiding me toward the old armchair by the window.

I collapse into it, my body sagging in relief the moment it's supported. My limbs ache in a deep, bone-level way that makes it hard to think.

Aunt May kneels in front of me, her hands wrapping around mine, warm and steady.

"Peter," she says softly, firm despite the tremor underneath. "Whatever happened, we'll deal with it. You're safe here. I promise."

Something in my chest loosens at her words — just a fraction — but the fear doesn't leave. It clings stubbornly.

"But I broke things," I say, voice cracking. "I let him down. He's going to hate me."

Her thumb brushes the back of my hand, grounding me in the present.

"Honey," she says, "even the best people mess up. What matters is that you're alive, and you came home."

I swallow hard.

"What if he doesn't forgive me?"

"Then we face that together," she says without hesitation. "You're not doing this alone."

I nod, shaky but real.

"Okay," I manage. "I'll talk to him. I just... I don't know if I can look him in the eye yet."

"You will," she assures me. "Honesty comes first."

The fear recedes slightly, replaced by exhaustion so heavy it feels like gravity doubled.

"I know I'm supposed to be staying at Mr Stark's," I say quietly, glancing around the familiar room, "but can I stay here tonight?"

She doesn't even hesitate.

"Peter, this is your home."

Her gaze sharpens with concern as she looks me over again. "After a fall like that, your ribs have to be killing you."

"They'll heal," I mutter. "Really. Don't worry."

She gives me a look that says she absolutely will worry anyway.

"You need rest," she says, offering her hands.

I take them. She pulls me gently to my feet, steadying me as my legs wobble.

Together, we walk down the short hallway to my room. The light spilling in through the window feels warm, familiar. Safe.

For the first time all night, my body starts to believe it might be okay.