PETER WOKE TO HIS ENTIRE BODY ACHING. It wasn't much of a surprise to him, he had been out on patrol that night, as he was every night, and he hadn't properly stretched after chasing down that robber all around Manhattan, which was more of a feat than most would give him credit for, what with his webs and all. Whatever the case, he was at least glad to be in his pajamas.

'Am I dying?' he thought to himself, collapsing back, his entire body screaming in protest as he tried to push himself up on the top bunk of his bunk bed.

"Peter, time to get up."

"May?" he croaked, finally able to sit up, prying his eyes open to find his aunt standing in his doorway, a laundry basket in her hands, "What time is it, it's summer."

"But I don't want you lazing around all day," she countered, "I know you're out doing your Spider-Man stuff, but you need to find a balance."

Peter winced at her words, guilt forming in the pit of his stomach. Ever since she had found out about his being Spider-Man back in sophomore year, the two had been trying to repair their shaky relationship, her trying to be okay with what he was doing and him trying to make up for that full year of lying and sneaking around. She wasn't happy with what he did, but she knew better than to take the responsibility from him.

There had been many times when he thought of quitting. He tried not to think of the main reason, of the time when Tony Stark had to drive all the way back into the city because his aunt couldn't get through to him, prying him out of bed and forcing him to walk around, then to apologize to May who had been distraught beyond belief for her nephew, and for herself; she had seen too much loss in her lifetime.

The guilt was what propelled him forward. He vaguely wondered if it was healthy to obsessively focus on an event he would never get to fix, endlessly trying to make up for it, but he had been managing since Winter Formal, so there wasn't any reason to start changing it up now.

His stomach churned as he was overcame with a wave of guilt, and he sighed, shaking his head. It was more manageable nowadays, but there were times when it hurt more than anything. He shook his head as he jumped down from his bed, now just wanting to lay there and never get up, at least not until his rounds later that night.

He heard his phone ring and he grabbed it quickly, wincing at the sound; his senses were dialed higher than usual, and that made for a very uncomfortable experience overall. He reminded himself to ask Tony if there was anything that could be done about that, since his sheets weren't the most comfortable to sleep on.

He took a deep breath as he caught sight of Ned's selfie on his screen. He couldn't help but smile at the picture—it always made him smile—but it was strained, the rest of his body fighting against the habit, his brain reminding him that he wasn't feeling up to anything if Ned wanted to suggest they do something.

Of course, because Ned was a better friend than Peter deserved, the boy did have something planned. "Dude, there's a new science exhibit open, you mentioned it a while ago, do you wanna go?"

Peter fought back a sigh, not wanting to hurt Ned's feelings as he replied, "Aw, man, can-can we go another time? I—" he paused, debating on whether or not he wanted to lie, opting on the truth in the end, "I'm not feeling up to anything today."

Ned made a sound that had been a staple for him ever since Winter Formal, a sound of understanding but clear worry, and Peter sighed, hoping he wouldn't tell Michelle who would, in her own way, try to help him; she meant well, but her words were never the ones he needed, they weren't soft enough; maybe later on, he wouldn't need soft, but he needed it now.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Ned asked, but Peter had already told him 'no' halfway through, so the boy simply sighed, "Okay, Peter. Well, I'll talk to you later. I hope you feel better."

Then Peter was alone again. He scrolled through his notifications, finding a voicemail from Michelle who was clearly trying to make him feel better by mentioning something funny that had happened in a book she read, and he tried to smile, he really did, but he couldn't, because the girl she had mentioned in the book had black hair and wore six inch heels, and they both knew who that reminded them of.

Then he was crying, skin screaming as he swiped at his eyes with too much ferocity, his sweater scratching painfully, and he was shaking and sobbing and shoving his face in the pillow on his bottom bunk, not caring that he had forgotten LEGO parts strewn about which dug into his skin painfully, and he reveled in the pain, because it didn't match to the aching in his heart.

May was in his room before he could even make any real sound to alert her, sitting on the edge of the bed, and maybe he had cried out, because she was shushing him as she cradled him close, running her hand through his hair, smoothing it down and rubbing soothing circles into his back, and he gripped her arm, sobbing.

"I miss her," he cried, and she shushed him, holding him tighter, and he just cried harder, "I want her back, May. I want her back."

"We all do, honey," she whispered, and she was crying as well, "You know we all miss her, but we can't do anything about it anymore. You know that. But we know how you feel, and you're not alone."

He shook his head furiously, because no one knew how he felt. He knew it wasn't fair, everyone had known her too, some better than even himself, but they didn't feel the same way, they didn't understand.

They hadn't seen her as she was dying. They didn't hear her. They didn't hold her.

"Twice," he choked, and May didn't know what he meant, she could never know what he meant.

She had never once believed Spider-Man had been responsible for the death of her husband, but he wouldn't chance it. He could never chance it, not after all that they'd been through, not after it'd happened again. 

"It'll get easier, Peter," she said, and he knew that, it had gotten easier for both of them over the past two years, but that didn't mean it still didn't hurt to think of.

He felt bile rise in his throat, and he ripped himself away from her, stumbling to his door and very nearly ripping it off his hinges as he threw himself towards the bathroom, making it to the toilet just in time to throw up the contents of his empty stomach, sobbing as he tried to breathe, coughing fiercely.

May was next to him suddenly, and his senses were so out of loop he could hardly think, but he could feel her fingers through his shirt, rubbing circles into his back, but it felt as though he was separate from his back, like he was miles away and could only feel the ghost of the very precise touch.

"Go back to sleep, Peter," May suggested, when he was finally finished, panting on the floor of the bathroom, drenched in sweat and tears.

"I'm such a baby," he seethed as he made his way to his room, kicking the doorframe only to shout, bursting into tears all over again.

"Peter..." May whispered, and he sniffed, waving her away.

"Just go pack, May, I'll be fine," he said, trying to muster a smile, but that only made her more concerned, her entire face crumbling under the screaming furrow of her brow.

May's boss was going to a conference, and each was allowed to bring an assistant, and despite her age, she was the most conversational and social of her employees, and she couldn't risk screwing up the chance to make allies, so she insisted that May accompany her in order to make sure that everything ran smoothly. Peter had convinced May that he would be fine for the week that she was gone, but she wasn't so sure.

"I don't have to go, Peter, there are younger women who can do the same thing I can," she said, and Peter shook his head vehemently.

"If this goes well, you get a bonus, so you can go buy yourself clothes that aren't from the Goodwill," he said, balling his hands into fists, "I'm sixteen, almost seventeen, I'll be fine."

"You'll call if you need anything?" she asked, and it was as if she was already leaving.

"I promise," he sighed, knowing fully well that he wouldn't do that, "And I promise, I'll call Mr. Stark if there's any problems when I'm out."

"Thank you," she whispered, giving him a sympathetic smile, "Just get some rest, Peter."

He nodded, falling into his room and closing the door behind him. He was immediately hit with a wave of exhaustion, and he fell onto his bed, sighing. He hated how much of a crybaby he was, it was something Flash used to point out all the time, and Peter never understood why it bothered him so much. Gwen always told him there was a lot to Flash that people never knew, but Peter never believed her.

Now, he'd never know.

He bit his lip, thinking of Captain Stacy. The man had been in big support of Spider-Man, and still was in big support of Spider-Man, but Peter couldn't help but gag at the thought of the man going home to an empty house, his wife and daughter both gone. 

J. Jonah Jameson always reminded people of Gwen when he went on his anti-Spider-Man tirades. Her death was the new Sokovia, and if Gwen was alive, she'd tell him that she knew him personally, that she knew what he was going through, and Peter would always joke and tell her that he thought she was just trying to make sure mean people were still cared for, but then she'd frown and tell him to shut up, Peter, that's real rich coming from you, you ditched Ned at Liz's party.

He had spent too much time wallowing in guilt and self-loathing, so much that his brain couldn't even convince him to try and think of it again. Instead, he simply rolled to the side, reaching under his bed where he hid the photos. May didn't think it was healthy of him to have them up around his room, so he kept them hidden from her.

He bit his lip at the selfie the two took together when they first became friends, partnered together for a science lab in freshman year. She had been too short to hold the camera far enough, so he held it for her, but instead of holding it with his other arm, he had wound up, resting it on her shoulder, the two pressed closer together than expected.

He laughed at the picture he had taken of her, smiling as she held up her poster protesting against police brutality. She had been so proud, she had gotten her father's seal of approval on all the specifications she had mentioned on posters she had made for everyone. People laughed at the irony, but she held her head high, her heels clicking against the uneven pavement for longer than recommended.

There was them in Decathlon with their trophy, though Peter hadn't been there for that. But she was smiling next to Flash, and she looked so happy. He had wished he was there, if only to see that smile in person.

He thought back to what George Stacy had told him when they met at the funeral. They had met multiple times before, the man raising an eyebrow at him every time he was found on their doorstep, or when he was whisked up to Gwen's room, unable to say a greeting.

"It wasn't anyone's fault, Peter," he had said, placing a firm hand on his shoulder, "No one except Osborn's. I just feel sorry for that boy of his, now he's got no father. Not that he was much of one to begin with."

"What killed her?" Peter had asked, unable to help himself, because his suit had webs designed to catch people who were falling, but he needed to know.

George had only shaken his head. "I'm not telling you. Don't let this kill you, Peter. That won't do anyone any good. Then your aunt will be all alone, and it's the worst kind of hell." 

He had squeezed both his shoulders then, looking him in the eye. "It's okay to miss her, Peter. Hell, I miss her. So much," the man swallowed, fighting back tears, "But you keep on living. And don't go through this alone."

Then he was enveloped by a hug by the man who wished nothing more than to hug his daughter one last time, consoling a boy he had inadvertently forgiven, enveloping him in a kindness he didn't believe he deserved, holding him as she sobbed until his body couldn't take it anymore.

He cried now, in the solitude of his room, silent and shaking, wracked with pain with no reprieve. The pictures fell from his lap, one falling up to a picture of Gwen Stacy looking up at him with the brightest smile that he would never see again.

Peter Parker missed Gwen Stacy.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

( 8.19.18 )

It's been a while ya'll, but I'm really happy with how this came out, I wasn't sure how much I was gonna parallel it, but I think the thing with Peter and Gwen is that they've had different times to heal and cope, so I only paralleled certain phrases, see if you can spot them.

Also, the title is the second half of the saying like last chapter was Weight of the World, this chapter is On His Shoulders

Next chapter is when they'll be meeting, so get excited ya'll, because I am.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!