Chapter Text
It′ll do you no good to pry
Plus the story is grim and glorified
I'm upset and I′m prone to lie
And I'd kill if it meant I could
Hang up this line
~I Don’t Know - Raechel Jenkins~
Theo took in a measured breath, the winter air burning their lungs. It didn’t matter anyway, they could hardly breathe as it was. Two days. Just two days ago, they had been sharing a proud smile with Rosalie from across her and Otto’s living room.
In that moment it had felt like they were the only two people in the room, despite the fifteen or so scholars and reporters who had come to witness the demonstration. Everything slipped away from them so suddenly, without any warning. They didn’t even realize something was amiss until they had reached for Peter’s hand, hanging limply and unresponsive in their grasp. They looked up to see his gaze fixated on something at his feet.
“What’s wrong—“
Overhead, the metal light fixtures groaned as they gravitated towards Otto and his fusion reactor. The small ball of energy had quickly grown beyond the containment field, the doctor struggled to maintain the flares.
Theo sniffed, staring intently at the marble headstone, like their very life depended on it. Anything to keep them from even glancing at the cherry wood casket as it was lowered into the ground. They blinked, feeling warm fingers brush over the back of their fisted hand. They looked up to meet Peter’s eyes. They were as bright as ever, but today they held a solemness, sympathy for his grieving friend. Theo wet their lips and involuntarily looked back down at the casket, now settled in its final resting place. They squeezed their eyes shut tightly, hot tears rolling down their cheeks. Peter laced his fingers with theirs, holding their hand firmly in his. They both stood there silently until everyone else had left and even then, he wasn’t sure if he should be so quick to urge them back home. Eventually, he found the will to say something, placing his hand on their back.
“You ready to go?” He asked. They said nothing, and for a moment, he thought they might not have heard him. He took in a breath, preparing to repeat himself.
“I failed,” Theo said, their eyes fixed on the fresh grave soil in front of them. Peter's brow furrowed in confusion as he looked at them. They had stopped crying at some point, but tear tracks were still visible on their cheeks, the skin around their eye and nose red.
“What?” His voice came out hoarse, quiet and uncertain. Theo turned to look at him now, tears welling in their eyes once again.
“I was right there, Peter! I had her hand in mine, I was gonna get her out of there but she wouldn’t—“ they choked on a stuttering inhale, turning their face away. “She wouldn’t listen to me.” They whispered, feeling their chest tighten.
“That wasn’t your fault. She chose to stay. You did everything you could.“ he told them, his voice gravely but even, certain. How can he be so sure? They shook their head stubbornly, wiping the newest onslaught of tears onto their coat sleeve.
“Should’ve just picked her up and brought her outside. I should have—“ Peter gently grabbed Theo’s shoulders, turning them to face him fully. They kept their gaze low and he sighed.
“Theo,” reluctantly, they met his eyes. The man steeled himself, feeling his heart wither just from the devastated look on his friend's face. “In this line of work, there is always going to be something you wish you could do differently, people you wish you could have saved.” He reasoned, cupping their cold cheek in his remarkably warm hand. “It’s the hardest part about being Spider-Man.” He said quietly. Their face crumpled as their sorrow got the best of them again and Peter pulled them close, embracing them in a way, he hoped, that could pull all the shattered parts back together and make them whole again. Of all the lows of being a vigilante, this was the one thing he had hoped Theo would never have to experience first hand. He closed his eyes, doing his best to keep it together as the frame in his arms shook with muffled sobs. Eventually, the spasms became smaller and weaker, giving Theo the opportunity to speak.
“How do you do it? How do you make it stop hurting? How do I—“ their throat tightened and they stopped, trying to swallow the lump in their throat. It took a few moments to pull it together enough to speak again. “How am I supposed to forgive myself?” They finally managed to whisper. Peter swallowed hard, unsure of how to really coach someone on grief when he had handled his own so poorly.
“It never stops hurting. And it doesn’t get easier. But you get used to it, you build yourself back up around it. You don’t forget, but you have to…make peace with it. Forgiveness…doesn’t come easy.” He pulled back a little so he could look them in the eyes. “After what happened to Ben…I still struggle to forgive myself for what happened, for what I did.” He reached out, brushing his thumb over their wet cheek. “You have to be patient with yourself.” He insisted, his voice gentle. Theo couldn’t help but smile wryly at that.
“You Parker’s sure do love your fortune cookie wisdom.” They rasped, earning a small smile from Peter.
“Advice is least heeded when most needed.” Theo couldn’t resist chuckling, linking their arm with his as they steered him away from the grave.
“Alright, I’ve heard enough. Let’s go get some coffee. Maybe then I can stop crying.” They muttered, making one last glance back at the head stone.
Rosalie Octavius
March 7th, 1953
December 10th, 2003
Should we lose each other
In the shadow of the evening trees
I will wait for you
And should I fall behind
Wait for me
I’ll make this right, Rose. I swear.