i am really sad tonight idk i just keep crying loool

//

Forty-eight hours after Peter Parker died, his identity was released to the world. He was unmasked at the scene, and now everyone knew who Spider-Man was. It was all over the news, and suddenly you felt even worse about everything that was happening. 

You didn't leave the house, because most people recognized the girl that Spider-Man always had to save.

For once, you wished you weren't that girl.

You just wanted to be free of the pain you suffered again and again. You wanted to be able to breathe without feeling like your chest was collapsing in on you, or go outside to get the mail without your neighbors whispering about you and pointing out your red eyes and messy hair.

You just didn't care about yourself anymore. You could care less whether you lived or died.

Every morning, you woke up with a brief minute of not knowing who you were, what you had to do, or what you were going through. And then it call came back in a gut-wrenching rush. Your heart would shatter all over again, and the time it took the repair it the night before would go to waste.

The day after it happened, you didn't really do anything. You went home, waited, and waited, and waited...

And then you got the invitation to the funeral.

It was nothing but another reminder of what had happened. 

Your mother brought you one of her old black dresses and bought you new shoes. She got you ready that morning, brushing your hair. If she hadn't, you would have gone without your hair being combed out. You didn't bother with makeup.

At the visitations, your heart broke because the casket was closed. Not that it mattered, because he wasn't alive, but you just wanted to see his face one more time.

You touched your hand to the black exterior of the casket. The tears had been pouring all morning, and there was no sign of stopping just yet. All around you were slideshows of pictures of baby Peter, little kid Peter, pre-teen Peter, and teenage Peter. Vases full of bright flowers were lined up on the velvet red carpet underneath the casket. 

And standing to the left of the casket was Aunt May, holding a crumpled up tissue in between her shaking hands. 

"May," you said, and she threw herself forward, letting out a sob and wrapping her thin arms around you. You put your hands on her back and closed your eyes, your head tilted up towards the ceiling. "I am so sorry."

She shook her head and pulled back, keeping just your hand. With her other, she dabbed away the tears that were leaking out of her eyes and cleared her throat. "You were with him the last few moments before he died. Please, what did he say? What were his last words?"

You opened your mouth, then closed it. 

Peter never said last words to you.

"He... he saved my life," you told her. "And he did so without any thought but keeping me and everyone else around alive. Your nephew was selfless, and he was good, and I was so blessed to get to know him. I loved him so much, May." You squeezed her hand. "I can't explain to you how good he was."

"I know," she said, nodding. "He was good, wasn't he?" She kept hold of your hand and pulled you to the side. "Can you stand here with me? He would want you here."

"Of course," you said, although all you wanted to do was sit in the back of the funeral home and cry until the preacher came up to speak. 

For the next hour, you stood next to her and greeted every weepy family member and friend of Peter's. You shook their hands and hugged them and all the while, they told you what a shame it was. You were far too young and far too pretty and far too sweet and far too-

You just wanted it to be over. 

Finally, the last person came in. 

It was just a kid.

"Miles!" May greeted, reaching out to embrace him. He gave her a quick hug, then touched his fingers to the casket. "How are you holding up, honey?"

"I should be asking you that, May," he said, but his eyes were red. With the back of his pointer finger, he swiped away what must have been a tear. "How have you been?"

She lifted her frail shoulder. "I am surviving."

He nodded, then looked to you. "I don't think I've met you before."

"No, you haven't," you said. You held out your hand. "I'm ___ ____, Peter's - Peter's girlfriend." What were you called now? A wife with a deceased husband was a widow, but there was no name for you.

"He told me about you," Miles said, nodding. "And I mean, he talked a lot about you. He loved you a lot, you know?"

"I know," you said quickly, trying to hide your hurt. "I know he did."

"Sorry," he blurted. "I... know how you feel. Two years ago, my dad was killed in a shooting. And it was rough. And when Peter stepped forward to help, I pushed him away, because I didn't think he understood. And he didn't push or anything, just... helped me. And he became a really good friend of mine. And a mentor." He nodded. 

"Well, I'm glad you're here, Miles," May said, going to hug him again.

You sat next to Miles during the preaching. 

As the preacher read the obituary, Miles leaned over and whispered to you, "Did you know?"

"About Spider-Man?" you breathed under your breath.

"Yes," he said. 

"I did," you said. "But doesn't everyone know by now?"

"True." He almost smiled and looked over at you. "Who did this to him?" 

"I don't know," you said. "But he was murdered. And it was unfair, because they used me against him, and the police have no leads."

He nodded. "We'll figure it out. Together?"

"Together," you replied. 

You turned back to look at the preacher. Without looking at you, he said, "I have something else to mention."

You looked at him. 

Under his breath, barely audible, he said, "I'm also Spider-Man."