Bruised But Not Broken - Irondad/spiderson

The Only Comfort I need

The city lights clash with my blurred vision as I stumble towards my home. I can see it in the distance; I've almost made it. The night sky has darkened since I left the compound, and the cars have become louder, honking and speeding past me as I stumble along the footpath, one foot dragging after another. The exhaustion is overwhelming, and my body refuses to cooperate. I'm even weaker than when I first started walking home, each step a struggle.

I stumble through Aunt May's building's glass doors, only to find an 'out of order' sign on the elevator. The desk clerk's horrified expression meets my gaze as I struggle over to the stairs and begin my ascent. Each step feels like a monumental effort, my body protesting with every movement. The sound of my own panting breath echoes through the stairwell, a stark reminder of my physical struggle.

The old wooden banister feels rough beneath my fingers as I ascend, offering little comfort. The dim light flickers overhead, creating odd shadows that dance along the walls, enhancing my sense of isolation. Each floor seems to stretch on forever, and I can almost hear the creaking of the building settling as I push on.

By the time I reach the fourth floor, sweat beads on my forehead, and my legs burn with fatigue. I pause for a moment, leaning against the wall, trying to catch my breath. Just as I start to regain my composure, I hear a faint, familiar melody drifting through the air—a song Aunt May used to hum while baking. It's both comforting and nostalgic, pulling me through the last leg of my journey.

I finally reach her door, the wood warm beneath my hand as I knock softly. The music stops, and for a moment, there's silence. I wonder if she's busy with her gardening or lost in one of her novels. But then I hear shuffling footsteps, and the door creaks open. Aunt May stands there, her expression shifting from confusion to terror, seeing my bruised body hunching at her door.

"Aunt May?" I manage to whisper, my voice barely rising above a tremor.

Her eyes widen, taking in the sight of me. I can see the wheels turning in her mind, a battle of concern and fear. She steps aside, her grip tightening on the door as if it could shield her from the truth.

"What happened?" she asks, her voice faltering.

"I messed up and - well, everyone hates me for sure, I panicked, and I jumped out of a window..." I wince, waiting for her reaction.

Aunt May closes the door behind me, the sound echoing in the stillness of her home. "Sit down," she urges, gesturing toward the worn armchair by the window. I sink into it, grateful for the cushion beneath me, my limbs aching as I try to gather my thoughts.

Aunt May kneels in front of me, her hands gentle yet firm as she takes mine in hers. "Honey, whatever happened, it's not your fault. You're safe here. We'll figure this out together."

As her words sink in, I feel a flicker of hope piercing through the haze of fear. But it's quickly overshadowed by the memory of letting Mr Stark down and breaking his room. He's going to kill me.

Aunt May's gaze holds mine, steady and reassuring. "You need to talk about it," she says softly. "I can't help if I don't know what's going on."

Taking a deep breath, I hesitate. Memories swirl in my mind—Mr. Stark's disappointment, the shattered glass window, the feeling of impending doom. "I... I messed up," I finally admit, my voice cracking slightly. I was trying to help, but everything just went wrong."

Her thumb strokes the back of my hand, grounding me in the moment. "It happens to everyone, sweetheart. Even the best of us trip sometimes. The important thing is how you get back up." I can feel the weight in my chest lift just a little, but the knot in my stomach remains. "But what if he doesn't forgive me?" I ask, the fear creeping back in.

Aunt May leans closer. "Then we deal with that too. You're not alone in this." The sincerity in her voice is a balm to my frayed nerves. I wasn't sure how to process the possibility of facing Mr. Stark—the hero who had become my mentor—but I knew Aunt May was right. I wouldn't face it alone.

"Okay," I say, more firmly this time.

"I'll talk to him. But I don't know if I can ever look him in the eye again."

"You will," she reassures me. "Just remember: honesty is the first step." I nod slowly, grateful for her unwavering support. As I sit there, the shadows of fear begin to recede, little by little. I could take that step after all.

"I know I'm supposed to be staying at Mr. Stark's house, but do you think I could stay here tonight, Aunt May?" I ask, my voice laced with uncertainty as I glance around the familiar warmth of our living room.

She meets my gaze with a knowing look, her eyes softening with concern. "Peter, this is your home. You're always welcome here," she reassures me, her voice gentle yet firm. "Now, let me check on you. After that fall, your ribs must be hurting pretty badly."

I shift uncomfortably, the weight of her worry pressing down on me. "It should already be healing, May. Really, don't worry about it," I mutter, trying to brush off her concern despite the dull ache that lingers in my side. "I know I'm supposed to be staying at Mr. Stark's house, but can I stay here tonight, Aunt May?" I ask carefully.

She gives me a knowing look. "Peter, this is your home. Of course, you can stay here. Now, let me take a look at you. Your ribs must be broken after that fall." 

"It should already be healing, May. Don't worry about it," I mutter.She extends her slender hands toward me as I push off the couch. I grasp her hands, feeling the warmth of her touch, and she gently pulls me up. "You should really get some rest; you need it," she murmurs softly, her voice laced with concern. With her guiding me, we make our way to my small room, the faint glow of the evening light spilling in, casting a comforting warmth across the space.