Spiderson Oneshots

Death's an Old Friend of Mine--Cassie and Peter

Warnings: Long, language, major character death

Peter's P.O.V.

I, Peter Parker, know death. I've greeted him many times on the doorstep of the places I call home. He'd bear news of the pain I'd be feeling. He's a postman, and he's bringing pain by the truckload. It was like the lyrics to some horrible children's game. First is the mom, and second is the dad. Third is the uncle, and fourth is the iron-dad. Fifth is the widow, and sixth is the multiverse. Isn't life a joy? Except there's no way to win.

I, Peter Parker, like to pretend that I know life. That I know what it's like to laugh after a dad joke or pout after a 'go ask your mother' even though she just said no. That I know what it's like to have inside jokes or get a hug when I want one. That I know what it's like to have game nights or playtime with dad.

But in truth, I know only the dark parts of life. I know the pain, the sad, the suffering, the mourning, and the death. The world is separated by an invisible line between the light and the dark, and I'm stranded in the dark. I know the loneliness that envelopes me like it was my true mother, and I know the death that controls me is like my true father. I am a slave to Father Time and the thing that has befallen me from his hands is the scraps and leftovers of his control. I only have scraps of memories left and leftovers of time. And like a servant, I will not beg for more, but only take what I have, lest he take that too.

For so long, I've lived behind a mask of 'I'm fine.' It's hard, wooden, and unyielding. In the face of anything but fire, it will not crumble. And the fire to destroy my mask needs to be fed time. It's the perfect plan. Fed scraps of time and guaranteed a life of safety.

Sometimes, in my scraps of time, late at night, I go to their graves. Masked in reality, but open to the air on the inside. The only people who really cared are at my feet. Kings want people to be at their feet. I am content with being a servant; I don't want people at my feet. It always ends worse than I thought.

I'll sit there, knees hugged close to my chest and a hand lying on the ground. Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can feel a hand in mine. I never look; they always disappear. Sometimes I'll ask Karen to play a waltz, and in my mind's eye, I see the ghosts awake, twirling and dancing around me. I will sell my scraps of time to let them be alive again. To let them live the life I could never have. They dance around me in circles, and my masked face won't be able to hide the smile. Contentment is what they have gifted me, and it is something I could never afford.

I've memorized every headstone in the cemetery. Lines upon lines of people that I'll only know by names and dates. Yet each of them holds a special place in my heart because they were there when no one else was. Each person has a home in me, and I'll always be able to fit more. I carry their souls and let them live through me. The last time I lived for myself brought me to the brink of death. I live for the dead because if I'm gone, who will offer them a home?

I can no longer find comfort in my solitude because I'm always thinking of them. Of all the lives I couldn't save. The spider gave me strength but not the strength to hold the weight of the world. I hold lives in my hands, and I can't bear it.

---~---~---

Scott Lang had a daughter. Her name: Cassie. Before he was on house arrest and before everything, he asked me to babysit her. May was a friend of his, and when he went on late-night excursions that were really crimes, she volunteered me to babysit.

Cassie was eight at the time. I never had to do much but turn on a Disney movie or play games. I found myself enjoying it. She was kind and seemed to like me. She was really smart too--not just book smart, but street smart. But sometimes, I'd have to comfort her. She was lonely, she said, because her dad didn't make her popular. She said people found her weird. She said she didn't have many friends. So I told her that I was her friend. Even if she almost nothing about me. Even then, I was a master of disguise.