Gwen Stacy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spidergwanda) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sunchime2019-01-12 10:31 pm
spidergwanda) wrote in sunchime2019-01-12 10:31 pmEntry tags:
spidergwanda) wrote in sunchime2019-01-12 10:31 pm
may parker
hittin this one up first
Bam, crazy lights. He'd fallen like thirty feet, down two fire escapes and directly onto a mugger. That had hurt like hell, but with his healing factor he'd managed to walk it off faster than the mugger had. And from there, he'd staggered out into the city, half panicked, definitely concussed, just trying to figure out what the hell had happened. New York. But not his New York. He'd managed to stumble back to his apartment somehow, only to discover (AFTER he'd snuck in through the window) that it was inhabited by a completely different family. So back out onto the street he went, exhausted and starving, looking up at the billboards and realizing all the other things that were different. The ads, the skyline, his ... face on the news ...?
No, not his. A different Peter Parker's. Older than him by ten years at least, and blond. Dead for a solid three weeks by now, but this TV station had gotten an interview with his Aunt at her house. He knows that house. They'd lived there right up until a Chitauri ship had flattened it in the first invasion of New York. But Aunt May ... she looks so much older than he remembers. Will she even recognize him? Does she know what happened to him?
He's still wondering all of that when he rings her doorbell in the middle of the night. A light snow is coming down, settling on his gross clothes and even more gross backpack. (His suit is beyond trashed; he'd fished a backpack out of a dumpster and stuffed what he could in there.) Bedraggled would be a kind description at this point. But despite the differences in age, the dark brown of his hair, the blood smeared on his face - it's clearly Peter Parker. And he desperately wants to see his Aunt again.
"Aunt May?" he calls out. Voice cracking a little. "It's me." That last part comes out terribly softly. He still has no idea how she's going to react; he has no guarantee that it will be a good reaction at all. If she doesn't want to help him, he'll understand. But he also might just go lie down in a dumpster and die. Peter Parker, death by dumpster after everything else that's happened today. Seems about his luck.
no subject
The chaos in the immediate wake of Peter's death had, in some ways, made it a lot easier to deal with. She had other people who needed her help -- another Peter -- and they had all been so swept up in it that there hadn't been time to be so weighted down with grief. For a little bit, just a little bit, it had been like her Peter hadn't really died at all, like he was just...somewhere else. But afterward, when the dust and snow had settled, it had only gotten harder. She didn't think she'd feel quite so lonely when all those others had gone home. It had been nice having a full house again, even if just for a little while.
But now she's terribly aware of just how big this house is without her Peter, and it feels so empty without him. MJ comes around, and Miles comes around, of course -- but at the end of the day, it's a silent house she bids goodnight, with no promise of nighttime homecomers.
It's probably just as well that she can't sleep when the doorbell rings. She's tense when she goes to answer it, expecting another misguided fan, maybe, but the baseball bat is still in her hand when she opens the door. But the lone figure on her doorstep isn't even wearing a costume. He doesn't need to, not with those eyes -- that face. That voice. She'd heard her name in that voice before, with that little catch, and it sticks in her heart. She's struck with a double dose of déjà vu, and it hits hard.
"Peter?"
Her voice is barely audible, but the neighborhood is so quiet. Already, without thinking, she's tossed down the baseball bat, taking one halting step to him at a time, her hands raised to touch his face.
no subject
He's looking at her in turn as well. She's so much older than he remembers? His May had complained about gray hairs but didn't seem to actually have any; this May is all silver and looks like she's just had the hardest month of her life. Which, y'know, she almost certainly has. But May is May, and - oh, god, when she reaches out for him he can't take it. From the first instant he'd started to realize he probably wasn't coming home from Titan, he'd desperately wanted to see his Aunt again. Out of anyone else in the whole damn world ...
"Y-yeah," he chokes out. "It's me, May. Sorry - sorry it took so long." She's not his May and he's not her Peter, but - does that really matter? If May decides it matters then fine, he'll just be heartbroken, but. May is May is May. He lets out a strangled little noise and steps forward, putting his arms around her. (His grip is that same blend of gentleness and super strength that her own Peter had had. Impossible to fake, surely.)
no subject
"It's alright," she says, her voice almost a whisper, "it's alright." This -- this she can do. She pulls back after a moment, studying Peter's smudged face with serious, concerned eyes.
"Oh, Peter," she murmurs, cupping his cheek in one hand, and she frowns, resolute. There is an unsettling normalcy to all this that she's been desperately craving. "God, look at you. Let's get you inside and cleaned up." She pauses, then grimaces just slightly. "You smell like a landfill."
no subject
So, in other words, a fairly normal night by Parker standards. Nostalgic, even. Peter coming home late at night after some crazy fight, bruised to hell, but more or less intact. (Though, maybe her Peter swam in less garbage on the average night.)
He disengages from the hug a little when she cups his face. Wincing a little out of embarrassment more than anything else. His Aunt May knows too, but it's a new thing for them. He's not quite at the point where he walks in the door while openly sporting bruises. "Sorry," he says with a watery smile. "I guess my money has the wrong president on it, so I had to figure out something else." Which did not include theft, thank you very much.