Spider-Man Imagines

Tightrope (part nine) | Peter Parker (TH)

guys -

i keep my stories clean for a reason. i like to have books that kids can read, too, because a lot of wattpad readers are 10 - 15. i don't curse, i don't make sexual references, and i DON'T appreciate perverse comments. and telling me to just "get over it" is rude and inconsiderate. 

enough. please.

//

An hour or so later, you and Peter sat in the back of a limo, Happy in the driver's seat. It felt almost normal, like it was before Thanos showed up, being in here. Peter felt content, especially when you reached over and held his hand.

Happy glanced in the rearview mirror. He smiled, extra wrinkles around his eyes appearing. "I'm really glad to see you, kid," he said, nodding to himself.

Peter was surprised. "I-I'm glad to see you, too, Happy," he stammered.

He couldn't believe he actually meant something to these people. He was always annoying Happy, simply by making conversation, but Happy was smiling, and his voice was kind, and he seemed to genuinely be in a better mood.

You smiled at Peter and squeezed his hand. Peter smiled back, feeling happier than he had for a while.

Happy dropped him off at the end of his street. There was a lot of construction in front of the apartment building, but thankfully, it still stood tall and strong.

"Thanks, Happy," he said, leaning into the door.

"See you soon, Mr. Parker," he said back, and Peter shut the door and stepped up on the curb, taking your hand again.

He hurriedly walked into the lobby of the apartment. He hurried to the elevator and hopped a little as he waited for the doors to slide open. He was so excited to see his Aunt May.

The doors opened and you both cheerfully walked inside. He hit number seven and the doors shut slowly, the old elevator creaking, the sounds and smell so comforting. It felt like home.

He beamed at you. "I'm so happy you're here," he said, and he almost started to cry. "I'm so happy we made it. We made it."

It hit him then, how he really believed that he was going to die. He assumed that the war would never end, end if it did, it would end when every last superhero was dead.

But it had ended (for the moment, at least) and he was going to get to see his aunt again. He prayed that she wasn't worrying too much, but he knew her well, and she definitely was.

The elevator stopped and he pulled you off it, almost sprinting to his door. He patted his pockets quickly before realizing his keys were gone. He raised his hand and knocked loudly, tears filling his eyes at the sound of her soft footsteps on the other side of the door.

The lock slid open and the chain fell off, and it was cracked open. He saw her brown hair, all messy and greasy and tied up in a loose bun at the middle of her head. Her eyes were heavy with purple bags and she looked like she hadn't slept in years, but gosh, she was so beautiful, and she was his aunt, waiting for him, and he could not believe it, and Peter couldn't help but launch himself forward, dropping your hand and throwing his arms around her, yanking her close, lifting her feet off the ground. He was back in her arms, where he had always belonged. His Aunt May's arms, so bony and loving and warm. He started to sob into her shoulder, just feeling grateful to be with her again.

She was crying too, her hands in his messy hair. She wept against the side of his face, pressing kisses on his cheek and ear and temple.

"My boy," she said, "my boy, my Peter."

He inhaled the scent of her clothes and skin. Home. He didn't remember his mother well, since he had barely gotten to know her before she died, but he couldn't imagine anyone other than May being his mom. She was his mom, his home, and he was back in her arms, where he belonged.

He was six years old again and waking up in the dead of night with the stomach flu. She was ten years younger and holding him, kissing his sweaty forehead, singing to him, holding a tub under his chin in case he couldn't hold the contents of his rolling stomach.

He was eight years old and crying on the sidewalk, feeling the scratches on his knee and the redness of his cheeks as the neighbors made fun of him for crying, even if they would be crying too of they had just fallen and scraped the top layer of skin off their knee, too. She was kissing his cheek and telling him it was okay, and she was already planning on how many scoops of frozen yogurt he needed to feel better.

He was fourteen again and crying against her, barely able to hold her up when Ben was lowered into the dirt. She was crying against his neck and he was rubbing her back and it was just them, an aunt and her nephew, a mother and her son.

"I love you, May," he croaked, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm so sorry for scaring you. I love you."

"I love you too, baby," she said in a whisper, stroking his face and rocking him. "I am so glad you're home, you're safe..." She pulled away and cupped his cheek, her eyes darting around his face, taking in every inch of it. "You are never leaving the house again, you hear me, Peter Parker? You are staying right here with me forever. I'll pull you out of school," she said, and she laughed softly.

He laughed too, and grabbed her hand. He kissed her knuckles and May smiled, and then he pulled away and looked at you.

May didn't hesitate. She held out a hand and you took it. She tugged you into the embrace and everyone just held each other and cried and cried, until all of the tears were dried up.