Six Months Later - A Saturday Morning in October
The Parker living room had been transformed into what could only be described as the most elaborate superhero headquarters that couch cushions, bedsheets, and the contents of May's linen closet could provide. Fort walls constructed with engineering precision that would have made Richard Parker proud stretched across the room, creating a maze of tunnels, secret hideouts, and what Peter had designated as "SHIELD headquarters" with a hand-drawn sign taped to the coffee table that featured remarkably detailed sketches of Captain America's shield.
"Okay, listen up, team," Peter announced with the serious authority of someone who had not only read every Captain America comic book at least three times, but had also organized them by publication date and cross-referenced them with historical accuracy. "This is Operation Cookie Liberation, and it's our most important mission yet."
Mary Jane Watson, now six years old with brilliant red curls that caught the October sunlight streaming through the windows, had seamlessly integrated herself into the Parker boys' elaborate fantasy games over the past months. She sat cross-legged behind the "prison bars" made of dining room chairs, wearing one of May's old scarves as a makeshift lab coat and holding a wooden spoon like it was some kind of scientific instrument.
"Got it, Captain," she said with mock seriousness, then immediately broke character to add, "But Peter, why does the Red Skull want to steal cookie recipes anyway? Couldn't he just, you know, buy a cookbook? They have them at the library."
"MJ, that's not how evil schemes work," Peter explained patiently, adjusting the red towel cape May had helped him fashion with safety pins. "Villains never do things the easy way. It's like... it's like a rule. If they did things the easy way, they wouldn't be villains, they'd just be people who wanted cookies."
"That actually makes a weird kind of sense," MJ admitted, tucking a curl behind her ear. "Okay, so I'm Dr. Watson, brilliant scientist who's discovered the secret to making cookies that taste like happiness itself."
"Exactly! And you've been captured by the Red Skull—that's me—because I want to use your happiness cookies to make sad cookies instead, which will make everyone in the world miserable so they're easier to control!"
Three-and-a-half-year-old Harry Parker emerged from behind the couch wearing a red, white, and blue striped shirt that May had found at a thrift store, a pot lid strapped to his arm with one of Ben's old belts, and an expression of determination that suggested he was taking his superhero responsibilities very seriously indeed. His emerald green eyes sparkled with excitement as he struck what he clearly believed was a heroic pose.
"Never fear, Dr. Watson!" Harry announced, his voice carrying the kind of dramatic flair that suggested he'd been practicing in the mirror. "Captain America is here to save you from the evil Red Skull and his diabolical cookie plot!"
"Harry, you can't just say 'diabolical,'" Peter protested with six-year-old indignation. "You have to earn the right to use advanced villain vocabulary. What does diabolical even mean?"
Harry paused, clearly stumped. "It means... really, really bad? Like, worse than when you put ketchup on mac and cheese?"
"That's actually a pretty good definition," MJ said approvingly. "The ketchup thing is definitely diabolical."
"Hey!" Peter protested. "Ketchup on mac and cheese is a perfectly reasonable food choice! Uncle Ben does it!"
From the kitchen, Ben Parker's voice carried over the elaborate play structure with the warm amusement of someone who had been eavesdropping with great enjoyment: "I heard my name being taken in vain! Are my culinary choices being maligned by superheroes?"
"Uncle Ben!" Peter called back. "Tell them ketchup on mac and cheese isn't weird!"
"Peter, my boy," Ben replied, appearing in the doorway with a dish towel thrown over his shoulder and flour in his hair, "I've learned that defending my food choices to a room full of six-year-olds is a battle even Captain America couldn't win."
"See?" Harry said to Peter with vindicated satisfaction. "Even Uncle Ben knows it's weird."
"That's not what he said!"
"It's what he implied," MJ added helpfully, grinning at Peter's outraged expression.
"You're all against me," Peter declared dramatically, throwing his red cape over his shoulder. "This is what drives people to become supervillains, you know. Mockery of their perfectly reasonable condiment choices."
"Poor Peter," May called from the kitchen, where she was apparently collaborating with Ben on some kind of baking project that involved a suspicious amount of giggling. "Oppressed by anti-ketchup prejudice. However will you cope?"
"I'll cope by taking over the world with my army of sad cookies!" Peter announced, climbing onto the coffee table and spreading his arms wide. "And then everyone will have to eat mac and cheese with ketchup!"
"That's definitely a supervillain origin story," Harry agreed sagely, raising his pot lid shield. "A tragic one, too. I almost feel sorry for you, Red Skull."
"Don't feel sorry for me!" Peter protested. "I'm supposed to be menacing! Fear my evil cape of... of... evil cape-ness!"
"That's not a real phrase," MJ pointed out, rattling her chair-prison bars. "And also, your cape is just Aunt May's old beach towel. I can see the little seahorses on it."
Peter looked down at his cape with wounded dignity. "The seahorses add character. Evil seahorses."
"Evil seahorses," Harry repeated thoughtfully. "You know what? I can work with that. Evil seahorses are definitely something Captain America would fight."
The truth was, Ben was grateful for the elaborate game and the easy banter between the children. Peter had been staying with them for the past week while Richard and Mary were traveling for work—some kind of collaborative research project with Oscorp that had required them to fly to several different facilities across Europe. Richard had seemed unusually tense before leaving, mentioning something about "complications with Norman" and "intellectual property concerns" that had made Ben uneasy, though he'd tried not to show it.
Peter, for his part, was handling his parents' absence with the resilience that had always amazed Ben and May. The six-year-old had simply unpacked his bag in what had become "his" room—the small den that they'd converted into a guest space with Superman sheets and a bookshelf full of science books that were probably too advanced for him but which he read anyway—and settled into the Parker household routine as if he'd always belonged there.
Which, in many ways, he had.
"Alright, Red Skull!" Harry announced, brandishing his pot lid shield with the kind of theatrical flair that suggested he'd been studying action movies. "Your reign of cookie terror ends today! Surrender now, or face the full might of this shield!"
"NEVER!" Peter declared, assuming what he probably thought was a menacing stance but which mostly made him look like he was trying to balance on a tightrope. "My evil plan is already in motion! Soon, all the cookies in New York will taste like... like... brussels sprouts!"
"Brussels sprouts?!" MJ gasped with genuine horror. "Peter, that's the most evil thing I've ever heard! You can't make cookies taste like vegetables! That's against the laws of nature!"
"And deliciousness," Harry added with deep concern. "What about chocolate chip cookies? And snickerdoodles? And those amazing double-chocolate ones Aunt May makes?"
"Especially those ones!" Peter cackled, getting into character. "Those will taste the most like brussels sprouts of all!"
"Your evil plan ends here!" Harry declared, charging forward with his shield raised. "I'll never let you destroy the sacred trust between children and cookies!"
"That's actually a really good superhero speech," MJ commented approvingly. "Very inspiring. I feel motivated to escape and help."
What followed was an elaborate battle sequence that involved considerably more creativity than actual combat skills. Harry used his shield with surprising effectiveness, bouncing it off couch cushions and catching it with the kind of precision that made Ben wonder if the boy had been practicing. Peter countered with dramatic cape flourishes and what he described as "evil energy blasts" accompanied by sound effects that were probably disturbing the neighbors.
The battle raged across the living room, with both boys putting considerable effort into their performance. Harry launched himself off the couch with increasingly acrobatic moves that made Ben grateful May wasn't watching, while Peter provided running commentary on his own villainous tactics.
"You cannot defeat me, Captain America!" Peter announced, standing on the coffee table with his arms spread wide and his seahorse cape billowing dramatically. "I have the power of advanced evil science and really good balance!"
"And I have the power of justice!" Harry replied, scrambling up onto the opposite end of the couch. "And friendship! And the unshakeable belief that cookies should always taste good!"
He threw his pot lid shield with surprising accuracy, the metal disc spinning through the air with perfect form. Peter, caught up in the drama of the moment, dodged with such theatrical enthusiasm that he lost his footing on the coffee table.
For a moment, it looked like he was going to fall backwards onto the hardwood floor in a way that would definitely require ice packs and possibly a trip to the emergency room.
Instead, something strange happened.
Peter seemed to hang in the air for just a moment longer than gravity should have allowed, his body adjusting mid-fall with impossible grace. He didn't just land—he touched down in a perfect crouch that would have impressed an Olympic gymnast, his feet making barely any sound on the floor.
"Whoa," MJ breathed from her chair prison, her green eyes wide with amazement. "Peter, how did you DO that?"
Peter looked around with the confused expression of someone who wasn't entirely sure what had just happened. "I... I don't know. I just... really didn't want to fall on my butt in front of everyone?"
"That was AMAZING!" Harry said with unabashed admiration, jumping down from the couch. "You looked like a real superhero! Like you could actually fly or something!"
"I can't fly," Peter said automatically, but there was uncertainty in his voice as he stared at his hands. "Nobody can fly. That's not... people don't just..."
Ben, who had been watching from the kitchen doorway with growing concern, felt a familiar chill of recognition. The same chill he'd felt when Harry made things happen that shouldn't be possible. When objects moved in ways that defied explanation, when problems solved themselves just a little too conveniently.
But this was different. This wasn't Harry's accidental magic—this was something else entirely.
"Peter," Ben said gently, moving into the room with careful casualness, "are you okay? That was quite a fall you almost took there."
"I'm fine," Peter said, though he was still staring at his hands like they might hold some kind of answer. "I guess I'm just getting better at... at landing? Maybe all those gymnastics classes Mom signed me up for are finally paying off."
"You take gymnastics?" MJ asked with interest. "That explains so much. I always wondered how you could climb trees so well."
"And how you never get hurt when we're playing tag," Harry added. "You're like... impossible to catch, but in a good way."
May appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and leaving a faint dusting of flour on the fabric. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and she had the kind of warm, slightly chaotic energy that made children feel immediately comfortable around her.
"What's all the excitement about?" she asked, looking around at the elaborate fort construction with obvious affection. "I could hear superhero sound effects from the kitchen. Very impressive ones, I might add."
"Peter did this amazing flip thing when he fell off the coffee table," Harry explained eagerly. "Like, he was falling backwards and then he just... didn't. He turned it into this perfect landing instead."
"Did he now?" May said, her tone carefully neutral as she exchanged a quick glance with Ben. "Well, that's certainly... athletic of him."
"It was like something out of a movie," MJ added. "Peter, you should definitely consider a career in stunt work. Or maybe actual superhero-ing, if that ever becomes a real job."
"MJ, superhero-ing isn't a real job," Peter said with the patient tone of someone explaining something obvious. "It's more like... like a calling. You don't do it for money, you do it because it's the right thing to do."
"That's very noble of you," Ben said, ruffling Peter's hair affectionately. "But maybe we should focus on more realistic career goals for now. Like finishing first grade."
"I'm already reading at a fourth-grade level," Peter pointed out matter-of-factly. "Mrs. Henderson says I might be able to skip second grade if I keep improving at this rate."
"Show-off," MJ said, but she was grinning. "What else are you freakishly good at?"
"I'm not freakishly good at things," Peter protested. "I just... pay attention. And I like learning stuff."
"He's being modest," Harry said loyally. "Peter's good at everything. He helped me build the best sandcastle at the beach last month, and he knows all the constellations, and he can solve those puzzle games that make my brain hurt."
"Those are just logic puzzles," Peter said, clearly embarrassed by the attention. "They're not that hard once you figure out the pattern."
The doorbell rang, interrupting what was clearly building into a mutual admiration session between six-year-olds.
"I'll get it," Ben said, grateful for the distraction. Peter's increasingly frequent moments of impossible coordination were something he and May had been quietly discussing, and he wasn't ready to address it head-on yet. Not when there might be other explanations. Not when Peter was so obviously happy and well-adjusted despite everything.
But when Ben opened the front door, his heart immediately dropped to somewhere around his shoes.
Two men in dark suits stood on his porch, their expressions carrying the kind of careful gravity that Ben recognized with horrible, familiar certainty. One was older, with gray hair and the weathered face of someone who'd delivered difficult news many times before. The other was younger but had the same official bearing, the same terrible professional sympathy in his eyes.
"Mr. Parker?" the older man said gently. "I'm Agent Morrison with the State Department. This is Agent Chen. May we come in? We have some information about your brother Richard and his wife Mary."
Ben's mouth went completely dry, his hands suddenly unsteady on the doorframe. "Are they... is everything alright?"
"Sir, I'm afraid we have some very difficult news to share."
From the living room came the sound of renewed superhero battle, Harry's voice calling out with innocent joy: "Red Skull! You can't escape justice forever! Captain America always finds a way to win!"
Ben's legs felt suddenly unsteady, the cheerful sounds of children playing seeming to come from very far away.
"Please," he said quietly, stepping aside to let the agents in. "Please come in."
As the agents entered, Ben caught a glimpse of the living room where Peter was helping Harry rebuild their fort, both boys completely absorbed in their architectural project. MJ was providing commentary from her position as liberated scientist, and all three children were laughing with the kind of pure, uncomplicated joy that made the world seem safe and manageable.
In about thirty seconds, Ben was going to have to destroy Peter's world completely.
"Boys," Ben called out, his voice carefully controlled despite the way his heart was hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape. "Could you come here for a minute?"
"But Uncle Ben," Peter called back, not looking up from the couch cushion he was carefully positioning, "we're right in the middle of the most important part! Harry's about to reveal Captain America's secret strategy for defeating the Red Skull's brussels sprouts cookies!"
"Boys, please. Right now."
Something in Ben's tone cut through the game atmosphere immediately. Peter's head snapped up, his brown eyes instantly alert with the kind of intuitive understanding that had always made him seem older than his years. There was something about the quality of Ben's voice that triggered every instinct Peter had developed for recognizing when adults were trying to prepare children for bad news.
"Uncle Ben?" Peter said quietly, standing up slowly and unconsciously moving closer to Harry. "Is everything okay?"
Harry, picking up on the sudden tension with the sensitivity that often surprised adults who underestimated his emotional intelligence, abandoned his shield and moved closer to Peter with instinctive loyalty.
"MJ, sweetheart," Ben said gently, "could you go find Aunt May? I think she's in the kitchen finishing up that cake she was working on."
"But we're in the middle of our game," MJ protested, then stopped as she took in Ben's expression and the two strange men standing in the hallway with their serious faces and official-looking briefcases. Her voice got smaller, more uncertain. "Is something wrong?"
"Just go find Aunt May, okay? Tell her we have... visitors."
MJ nodded solemnly and slipped past the agents, her red curls catching the afternoon light as she headed toward the kitchen. Ben watched her go, grateful that at least one of the children would be spared the immediate impact of what was about to happen.
Peter was studying the agents with the analytical intensity he brought to everything that puzzled him, his young mind clearly trying to process the significance of official-looking strangers appearing at their door with expressions that suggested the world was about to change in ways that couldn't be undone.
"Uncle Ben," Peter said quietly, and his voice was steady but very small, "those men look like they have the kind of important news that changes everything. Like... like the kind of news that means things are never going to be the same again."
Ben's heart clenched at the devastating accuracy of Peter's assessment. The boy had always been too perceptive for his own good, too quick to understand the implications of adult behavior and facial expressions.
Ben knelt down to Peter's eye level, his hands gentle but solid on the boy's shoulders. Harry moved closer, instinctively understanding that something monumentally significant was happening even if he couldn't grasp what it might be.
"Peter, these men are from the government. They came to talk to us about your mom and dad."
Peter's face went very still, his brown eyes searching Ben's face with desperate intensity. "They're supposed to come home tomorrow. They said they'd be back tomorrow for Sunday dinner. Mom promised to bring me a souvenir from London, and Dad said he'd help me with my science project on Monday."
"I know, buddy. I know that's what we all expected."
Agent Morrison stepped forward slightly, his voice infinitely gentle in the way that professionals learn when they have to deliver the worst possible news to people who don't deserve to hear it.
"Peter, my name is Agent Morrison. I work with the State Department, and I help families when there are problems with people traveling overseas."
"What kind of problems?" Peter asked, though his voice suggested he was already beginning to understand that any problems serious enough to bring government agents to their door on a Saturday afternoon were not the kind that had easy solutions or happy endings.
Ben's hands tightened slightly on Peter's shoulders, anchoring them both for what was coming.
"Peter," Agent Morrison said carefully, choosing each word with obvious consideration, "yesterday evening, the airplane your parents were traveling on encountered severe weather over the Atlantic Ocean. Despite the best efforts of air traffic control and emergency rescue services, the plane was lost."
The words hung in the air like physical objects, too large and terrible to be real, too impossible to actually mean what they seemed to mean.
Peter stared at the agent for a long moment, his six-year-old mind clearly struggling to process information that was fundamentally incomprehensible.
"Lost?" Peter repeated finally, his voice very small and uncertain. "What do you mean lost? Like... like when Harry lost his favorite toy truck in Central Park and we spent three hours looking for it?"
Harry, who had been listening with the focused intensity of someone trying to understand adult conversation that was just beyond his comprehension, suddenly grasped enough to be frightened.
"Dad," Harry whispered, tugging on Ben's shirt with increasing urgency. "What does 'lost' mean when it's about Peter's mommy and daddy? That's not the same kind of lost as toy trucks, is it?"
Ben closed his eyes for just a moment, gathering strength he wasn't sure he had.
"No, Harry," he said very gently. "Not that kind of lost."
Peter was still staring at Agent Morrison, his young face cycling through confusion, disbelief, and the beginning of a terrible, adult understanding that was far too big for someone his age to carry.
"You mean..." Peter's voice was barely a whisper. "You mean they're not coming home tomorrow? They're not coming home for Sunday dinner?"
"No, son. They're not coming home tomorrow."
"You mean they're not coming home ever?"
The direct, devastating clarity of a six-year-old's question hit the room like a physical force. Agent Morrison's professional composure wavered slightly at the stark honesty of it.
"No, Peter. I'm very sorry, but they're not coming home ever."
For a moment, the house was absolutely silent except for the sound of Peter's breathing, which was becoming increasingly rapid and shallow as his mind tried to process the impossible.
Then Peter said, in a voice so quiet Ben had to strain to hear it: "But they promised. They promised they'd be back for Sunday dinner, and Mom always keeps her promises. Always. She never breaks promises, not even little ones about ice cream or staying up late. She never breaks promises."
"I know, buddy," Ben said, his own voice breaking around the edges. "I know they promised."
Harry, sensing the magnitude of what was happening even if he didn't fully understand the details, moved closer to Peter until he was pressed against his cousin's side, his small hand finding Peter's and holding on tight.
"Peter?" Harry said uncertainly, his green eyes wide with confusion and growing fear. "Are you okay? You look... you look really scared and really sad at the same time."
Peter looked down at Harry with eyes that suddenly seemed much older than six years old, eyes that held a kind of knowledge that children shouldn't have to carry.
"Harry," Peter said with careful control, his voice steady despite the tears that were starting to gather, "my mom and dad... they were in an airplane, and something really bad happened, and now they can't come home anymore. Not tomorrow, not next week, not ever."
Harry's eyes widened as he processed this information with the slow, careful consideration he gave to concepts that were too large for his understanding.
"Ever?" Harry asked in a whisper.
"Ever."
Harry was quiet for a moment, his three-year-old mind working through implications that were far too enormous and painful for anyone his age to fully grasp. Then he wrapped his arms around Peter's waist in the fierce, wordless hug of someone offering the only comfort he knew how to give.
"I'm sorry, Peter," Harry said into Peter's shirt, his voice muffled but absolutely sincere. "I'm really, really sorry. That's the saddest thing that ever happened."
And that was when Peter finally broke.
The tears came all at once—not the dramatic sobbing of a child having a tantrum, but the deep, wrenching grief of someone whose world had just fundamentally changed in ways he was only beginning to understand. His shoulders shook with the force of emotions too large for his small body to contain, and he made the kind of quiet, broken sounds that seemed to come from somewhere much deeper than his throat.
Ben immediately gathered both boys into his arms, holding them tight against his chest while Peter cried with raw, devastating pain that made Ben's own eyes burn with unshed tears.
"I've got you," Ben whispered into Peter's hair, his voice thick with emotion. "I've got both of you. You're going to be okay. We're all going to be okay."
It was a promise he wasn't sure he could keep, but it was the only thing he could think of to say in the face of such absolute devastation.
From the kitchen, they could hear May's voice calling out with cheerful obliviousness: "MJ, sweetheart, what did you need to tell me? Did the boys finally manage to destroy the living room completely?" Then, closer and with growing concern: "Ben? Is everything alright?"
A moment later, May appeared in the living room doorway with MJ at her side, took one look at the scene—the agents with their careful expressions, Ben kneeling on the floor with both boys in his arms, Peter's shaking shoulders—and understood immediately.
"Oh no," May breathed, her hand flying to cover her mouth. "Oh, Ben. No. Please tell me this isn't..."
"Richard and Mary?" May asked, though her eyes already held the answer.
Ben nodded, unable to speak around the lump in his throat that felt like it might choke him.
"Plane crash," he managed. "Yesterday evening."
May's legs seemed to give out slightly, and she sank onto the couch, pulling MJ with her. Tears were already streaming down her face, but she was trying to hold herself together for the children's sake.
"Peter," she whispered, looking at the little boy who was still crying against Ben's shoulder. "Oh, sweetheart. Oh, my brave, wonderful boy."
Agent Morrison cleared his throat gently, his voice respectfully quiet. "I know this is an incredibly difficult time, and I'm sorry to have to address practical matters right now, but there are some legal issues we need to discuss. Arrangements, guardianship, the boy's custody and living situation..."
"We're his guardians," Ben said immediately, his voice fierce with protective authority that brooked no argument. "Richard and Mary named us as Peter's legal guardians in their will. We have all the paperwork, all the legal documentation. He stays with us."
"Of course," Agent Morrison said gently. "We just need to make sure all the legal requirements are properly handled, that everything is in order. The boy's welfare is our primary concern."
Peter lifted his head from Ben's shoulder, his face streaked with tears but his voice surprisingly steady given everything that had just happened.
"Uncle Ben?" Peter said quietly. "Does this mean I get to stay with you and Aunt May and Harry? Like, stay-stay? Not just for visits and vacations?"
Ben's heart clenched at the hope and fear warring in Peter's voice—hope that he wouldn't be alone, fear that even this small comfort might be taken away from him.
"Yes, Peter," Ben said firmly, meeting the boy's eyes with absolute certainty. "You get to stay with us. Forever and always. You're our boy now. You've always been our boy, but now it's official."
"Really? Even though I'm not actually your son?"
"Peter Parker," May said firmly, moving from the couch to kneel beside Ben and wrap both boys in her embrace, "you listen to me very carefully. You ARE our son. You're our son in every way that matters, and you always have been."
Peter nodded solemnly, processing this information with the serious consideration he gave to all important life decisions.
"What about my stuff? My toys and my books and my clothes and my pictures of Mom and Dad?"
"Everything that was your parents' belongs to you now," Agent Chen spoke up gently. "And everything that's yours will come here, to your home."
"But this already is my home," Peter said with simple, devastating honesty, looking around the living room with its elaborate fort construction and scattered superhero accessories. "This is where I belong. This is where my family is."
Harry, who had been unusually quiet during this exchange, suddenly spoke up with the kind of profound observation that sometimes came from very young children.
"Peter," he said seriously, "you know what this means?"
Peter looked at his younger cousin with curious, red-rimmed eyes. "What?"
"It means we're not just cousins anymore. We're like... like brothers. Real brothers who live in the same house and eat breakfast together every day and share all our toys and fight over who gets the bathroom first in the morning."
Peter considered this for a moment, then a small, genuine smile appeared through his tears.
"Yeah," he said softly. "I guess we are brothers now."
"And I've always wanted a big brother," Harry said with deep satisfaction, as if this had been a long-standing wish that was finally being fulfilled under tragic circumstances. "Especially a big brother who knows how to do really good Captain America impressions and can help me reach the cookies on the high shelf and teach me about science stuff."
Despite everything, Peter laughed—a small, watery sound, but genuine and sweet.
"I can definitely help you with all of those things," Peter promised solemnly.
MJ, who had been watching this entire exchange with the wide-eyed gravity of someone witnessing something she understood was monumentally important, suddenly spoke up from her position on the couch.
"Peter," she said quietly, her green eyes serious and kind, "I'm really sorry about your mommy and daddy. That's probably the saddest thing I've ever heard, and it makes my heart hurt just thinking about how sad you must feel."
Peter looked at her over May's shoulder, his eyes still red from crying but no longer actively leaking tears.
"Thanks, MJ," he said simply. "I'm really, really sad about it. Probably the saddest I've ever been in my whole life."
"But you know what?" MJ continued with the earnest intensity that made her such a good friend. "You still have Uncle Ben and Aunt May and Harry. And you still have me. And we all think you're absolutely wonderful, and we're going to take really good care of you and make sure you always know how loved you are."
"That's right," Harry chimed in, nodding with sage three-year-old wisdom. "And brothers don't let each other be sad alone. So whenever you're sad about your mom and dad, I'll be sad with you, and that way it won't be so scary."
Peter smiled again, stronger this time, and hugged Harry tightly.
"Thanks, guys," he said, his voice still thick but steadier. "I think... I think I'm going to be okay. It's going to be really hard for a really long time, and I'm going to miss Mom and Dad every single day forever. But I think maybe I can learn to be okay again. Eventually."
After the agents left with promises to handle all the necessary paperwork and arrangements, the house felt strangely quiet despite being full of people who loved each other. The elaborate superhero fort seemed suddenly trivial in the face of such enormous real-world tragedy, though none of them had the heart to dismantle it yet.
"What do we do now?" Peter asked, looking around at his family with the practical question of someone trying to navigate an entirely new reality.
"Now," Ben said gently, "we take things one day at a time. We eat dinner together, and we tell stories, and we read bedtime books, and we wake up tomorrow and figure out what tomorrow needs from us."
"And we make sure you always remember how much your mom and dad loved you," May added softly. "We'll tell you stories about them, and look at pictures, and make sure you never forget how proud they were of their brilliant, kind, amazing son."
"And we keep playing games," Harry said with practical three-year-old wisdom, "because games make sad feelings a little bit smaller and more manageable."
Peter looked at the ruins of their Captain America game, then at Harry, then at the pot lid shield lying forgotten on the floor.
"You know what?" he said thoughtfully. "I think Captain America would understand about this. About having to keep going when something really terrible happens. That's kind of what superheroes do, right? They find ways to keep protecting people and helping people even when their own hearts are broken."
"That's exactly what superheroes do," Ben agreed, his voice warm with pride and love. "They find strength they didn't know they had, and they take care of the people they love, and they never give up hope that things can get better."
"Then I guess that's what I'll do too," Peter said with quiet determination that was remarkable in someone so young. "I'll be like Captain America. I'll keep going, and I'll take care of Harry and MJ and you and Aunt May, and I'll try to make Mom and Dad proud of the person I grow up to be."
"And we'll take care of you right back," Harry said firmly, picking up his pot lid shield and offering it to Peter. "Partners?"
Peter took the shield, hefting its familiar weight, and managed a genuine smile that reached his eyes for the first time since the agents had arrived.
"Partners," he agreed. "Always and forever."
Outside, the October sun was beginning to set over Queens, painting the Parker house in warm golden light that made everything inside seem safe and protected and precious. It wasn't the same house it had been that morning—it was now home to different joys and different sorrows, different hopes and different fears.
But it was still a home filled with love, where a six-year-old boy who had lost everything could begin to discover that sometimes, when the worst possible thing happened, it could also reveal just how much love there was in the world waiting to catch you when you fell.
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