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“We’re sorry. You have reached a number that is no longer in service.”
Peter hung up and redialed. He must’ve pushed a number wrong.
“We’re sorry. You have reached a number that is no longer in service.”
He frowned and stared down at the phone screen as if it held the answer to why the number wasn’t working. He knew it was the correct number. Although it’d been five years for everyone else, it’d only been a blink for him. There was no way he’d forgotten May’s number.
He tried dialing one more time even though he knew it was pointless.
“We’re sorry. You have reached a number that is no longer in service.”
He blew out a heavy breath and tried not to panic. Just because May’s number was out of service didn’t mean anything bad had happened. Maybe she’d been snapped too. That seemed like the most likely explanation. But even if she hadn’t, five years had passed. There could be any number of reasons for why she’d changed her number. Maybe it’d been a reminder of him that’d been too painful. Although didn’t most people keep their numbers when that happened to preserve old voicemails and relisten to them?
In fact, that nudged something in the back of his mind. A memory hit him along with a shot of adrenaline. May had a voicemail from Ben that she’d kept, and she’d listened to it over and over when he’d first died. As far as he knew, she still listened to it sometimes, just not everyday. His stomach clenched. She wouldn’t get rid of her number by choice. Not if it meant losing that last piece of Ben.
Maybe something had happened financially and she couldn’t afford her phone anymore? But he knew he was grasping at straws. If anything, losing Peter would’ve relieved some financial strain. Or maybe… His brain wouldn’t even go there. Wouldn’t acknowledge the other possibility. He shook his head. She had to have been snapped. She had to have been.
But then what could he do? He took another deep breath and looked out at the beautiful blue sky and lush rolling hills, the magnificence of the scenery in direct juxtaposition to his mood. Any other time he’d be over the moon to be in Wakanda, but even before the phone call mishap, he’d barely been keeping it together. He’d arrived there in terror along with everyone else, hoping for a miracle for Mr. Stark. The man’s heart had stopped on the battlefield but that hadn’t phased Dr. Strange. He’d portaled him to Wakanda along with some other girl that looked to be about Peter's age, who he’d later found out was Princess Shuri.
When Dr. Strange had returned to the battlefield half an hour later it was with the news that they’d managed to restart Mr. Stark’s heart but they couldn’t make any further promises yet. Dr. Strange had transported whoever else wanted to go to Wakanda, which had been quite a few of them, but not all.
Now, it’d been almost 24 hours since Peter had arrived. Initially he’d gone straight to Mr. Stark’s room to see him, and eventually he’d fallen asleep for almost sixteen hours. He’d been exhausted. The fight in the city, on the spaceship, on the alien planet, and at the compound had all occurred in the span of less than twelve hours for him. And he hadn’t escaped the final fight unscathed. His concussion, broken nose and broken ribs had mostly healed, but he was still sore. Things with Mr. Stark had improved as well, but not quite enough that the medical personnel were ready to guarantee he was going to survive.
“Peter?”
He turned and it took him a couple seconds to acknowledge the other man. “Hey Mr. Rogers.” Maybe he needed some more sleep.
“It’s Steve, son.”
“Right.” He nodded. But really, no way was he calling Captain America by his first name the day after he’d officially met him.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but have you had a chance to shower?”
He blushed but the other man probably couldn’t tell behind all the dirt and grime on his face. He’d accidentally seen his reflection a couple hours after he’d arrived and he’d looked a mess then, and since he hadn’t had a chance to clean up yet, he definitely didn’t look any better.
“Oh. Uh, no. I don’t, um, know where it is.”
“The shower?” Captain American frowned. Great, the man probably thought he was an idiot. “There isn’t one in your room?”
“My room? I don’t…I don’t have a room.” He frowned. He’d passed out in a comfy lounge chair in Mr. Stark’s room, and even after he’d awoken, he hadn’t left the man's room until about fifteen minutes ago when he’d suddenly remembered May and realized he should try calling her.
“I’m sorry.” Steve apologized, looking slightly chagrined. “We must’ve missed you. You have a room. We all do. T’Challa was nice enough to accommodate us. Come on, I’ll show you.” Mr. Rogers beckoned him forward, and Peter automatically followed.
After a short walk, Mr. Rogers stopped in front of a door. “Here we are. This is your room.”
At least his room wasn’t too far from the medical wing. Not that it mattered. He didn’t have any intention of staying in it. As soon as he cleaned himself off, he planned to head back to Mr. Stark’s room.
When he made no move to open the door after a few long seconds, Mr. Rogers reached out and opened it for him.
“Go shower son.” Mr. Rogers said and the suggestion came out like a gentle command. “And then maybe take a nap. You look a little rough.”
“I’m fine.” He denied automatically.
Captain America cocked his head to the side and studied him intently for a few seconds with a slight smirk.
“What?”
“Nothing.” The man shook his head. “You just remind me of someone.”
Peter frowned but didn’t care enough to ask. Now that he was faced with the idea of a hot shower, he found it was all he could think about. “Ok, well um, thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” Mr. Rogers gave him a slight nod and then turned and walked away, heading toward medical wing.
Peter sighed and walked into his room. It looked like something out of sci-fi movie. Windows composed the entire back wall and light streamed in, illuminating the interior with all its sleek lines, metals combined with woods to make the space feel a mix of modern and natural. Calming earth tones in the space set a calming mood, but Peter couldn’t take the time to appreciate it. He headed straight toward the only other door in the room, which he assumed was the bathroom.
The bathroom décor matched the rest of the room. He almost felt like he’d stepped into a spa. Wow. This place was nice. It reminded him of Mr. Stark’s living spaces except with more of a nature twist. Mr. Stark. He really needed to shower so he could go back and check on the man. Pepper had been with him when he’d left, so he hadn’t been alone, but Peter didn’t trust that something wouldn’t happen while he was gone.
He quickly undressed and stepped into the shower, scrubbing all the dried blood, dirt, and grime off his body, the water turning a dirty grey as it swirled down the drain. Any other time he would’ve slowed down and savored the luxury, but right now he couldn’t, not with his thoughts filled with Mr. Stark and May. As soon as he was clean, he turned the water off and stepped out, eyeing his dirty clothes warily. He’d changed out of his suit and into a pair of scrubs when he’d initially arrived in the medical wing, but after 24 hours, he really didn't want to get back in them. He stepped out and searched the wardrobe in the room, not surprised to find it stocked with clothes in different sizes. Mr. Stark did the same thing in his guest rooms. Peter picked out a pair of black sweatpants and a grey sweatshirt in his size. He threw them on, and was about to leave, when the desk computer in the corner of the room caught his eye. If May was dusted or…not, there should be some record of it online.
His feet made their way over to it, and as soon as he sat down, the screen lit up. It only took him a few seconds to find the browser icon and click on it, Google coming up as the default home page. He settled his fingers over the keys but paused, breath quickening. He knew what he needed to search, but he was afraid to find the answer. The only way he managed to force his fingers to move was because he still held onto hope that everything was actually ok, and he wanted that reassurance.
‘May Parker Queens New York City obituary,’ he typed in, fingers stuttering over the last word. He took a deep breath and clicked ‘enter’.
The results came up and his heart stopped. The first link had a match for all his keywords. He clicked on it, still hopeful. It was probably just her obituary from being snapped.
But no. The short paragraph popped up on the screen and his eyes skimmed over it, taking in all the important information in a matter of seconds.
‘May Parker…’
‘…lost her brave battle against breast cancer on June 23, 2021 at the age of 51.’
‘Preceded in death by her husband Ben Parker and her nephew Peter Parker.’
‘A funeral service is scheduled for June 26th at…’
The words blurred in front of him. He tore his watery eyes away from the screen and let out an anguished sob, head falling into his hands. She was gone. She’d been gone for two years. He’d missed her funeral. Thought after thought struck him like bullets, tearing his heart open. He was alone. He’d been resurrected from the snap just to find himself the sole survivor of his family. He had no one left.
And he had no home. He had nowhere to go. That last thought hit him so hard he buckled forward, falling from the desk chair to collapse onto the soft carpeted floor. He dug his hands into its plushness, not caring if he ripped it out, not caring about anything, as he cried and cried. His entire being was pain. How could one person have such bad luck? Why did he have to live though loss like this over and over? First his parents. Then Ben. And now May? And now he might even lose Mr. Stark. What had he done that the world saw fit to punish him this way? Anyone that ever got close to him died.
“Why?” He whispered, between sobs, face pressed into the floor. He didn’t know exactly what he was asking. Why did they all have to die? Why had he been brought back? Why couldn’t he have stayed dead? “Why?” He repeated, louder, and more desperate even though he knew it was pointless to ask. It wasn’t like he would get an answer.
He had no idea how long he laid there, sobbing uncontrollably, but eventually he exhausted himself and his tears tapered off until all that was left were intermittent weak hiccupping cries. He stared at the wall as the agony ebbed away and numbness crept in to take its place.
Eventually, he pushed off the floor with a sniffle, wiping the evidence of his anguish off his face. He had to pull himself together. For Mr. Stark. There’d be plenty of time to fall apart later, especially if the worst happened with his mentor, although he hoped the world wouldn’t be so cruel as to take him too.
‘Please. Please.’ He closed this eyes and begged, mouthing the words, afraid voicing the plea might jinx it, like telling someone your birthday wish.
He took a deep bolstering breath before stepping out of his room and making his way back to the medical wing.
When he entered Mr. Stark’s room, Ms. Potts graced him with a smile from where she sat in a chair next to the bed. Or wait, he supposed her name was Mrs. Stark now. At some point she’d told him they’d gotten married in the intervening five years. And they had a little girl together, but she was staying back at home with Happy.
“You look better.” She commented on his clean appearance. “Are you hungry? The staff brought some dinner by.”
He shook his head. No matter how hungry he was there, was no way he could stomach anything right now.
Mrs. Stark seemed to sense his mood. She frowned, concern lining her face. “What’s wrong honey?”
He shook his head and his gaze fell to his feet. May used to call him that. Honey. Hearing the endearment come from Mrs. Stark’s mouth made his throat tighten. He didn’t know how to form the words to explain what he’d found out.
Mrs. Stark stood and crossed the distance between them, her hands landing to rest comfortingly on his shoulders. “What happened?” He looked up at her as she searched his face for answers. “Something happened.” She stated.
He nodded.
“You can tell me.” She encouraged softly.
He swallowed hard and croaked out, “May.”
“May?” Her brow furrowed. “What about May?”
After a few quick inhales through his nose, he managed to say it. “She…she died.”
“Oh sweetheart.” Mrs. Stark lamented, pulling him into a hug. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Faced with the comfort of her embrace, he started crying again. She just held him tighter, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head.
“I’m sorry.” He mumbled into her blouse once he’d calmed down.
“Don't apologize. You’ve had a terrible couple of days.”
He snorted messily. That was the understatement of the century. He pulled away, wiping at his face again.
“I don’t want you to worry about anything, ok?” Mrs. Stark told him, making a point to look seriously into his eyes.
He chewed at his lip. “I-I don’t know what to do. I don’t…I don’t have anywhere to go.” Admitting it almost made him break down into hysterics again.
“Of course you do. You’ll come with us.”
Peter’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped.
“I know he wasn’t good at showing it back then, but Tony loves you.” She explained having seen his disbelief. “You’re not alone. You have a home with us.”
“But what if…what if Mr. Stark…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, the possibility too terrible.
Mrs. Stark winced. “The doctors say he’s doing a lot better, but if that happens, you’ll still have a home with me and Morgan. As long as that’s ok with you.”
He nodded, eyes welling up again. “That’s…thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me.” Mrs. Stark leaned forward to hug him again. “I know it feels like the world’s ending right now, but it’s going to be ok. We’ll figure it out together.”
“Ok.” He whispered. He just hoped it was true, but even if it wasn’t, at least he had somewhere to go. He had a home.
And he wasn’t completely alone.