It starts with Ben.
Peter's 14 and he's crying and quiet and May can see the way that he's trying so hard to pretend he's not shattering, and all she can do is hold him and run her fingers through his hair, whispering that it's not his fault even as he clearly believes that it is.
She wishes that she could tell him something to comfort him, something that will magically make him better, but May's tired and sad and just a tiny bit broken (but she's lying to herself, isn't she? She's long past broken) so she just sobs in his hair, and they both pretend that they're not crying, neither really believing it, but kind enough to say nothing (or maybe just too tired to say anything).
It's cold, and the heater's not quite working right so May just reaches out for the closest thing and wordlessly hands it to Peter, and he tugs it over his head and it's only when he actually has it on that she realizes that it's Ben's, warm and brown and thick and too big for Peter but he keeps it on anyways, pulling it over him as though it's Ben, not a jacket, and May can't help but cry even harder when she realizes that it still smells like Ben's cologne.
They stay there for a long, long time, holding each other, and smelling the cologne, and just remembering that there's still someone there (desperately trying to forget that there's someone who isn't, a little gap in the niches that they've carved for themselves).
When Peter goes to the funeral, dark bags under his eyes and the jacket still hung over his thin frame, May acts like nothing happens (it has absolutely nothing to do with the over sized tuxedo that was Ben's hanging over her own shoulders, nope, not at all).
And when he bustles around the house the next week or so, he's always wearing a baggy t-shirt that doesn't quite fit him right, none of those cute little science jokes or puns, just overly serious polo shirts that don't quite fit him but remind May of Ben anyways (it seems everything reminds her of Ben, these days).
And when he wakes up at night a while later, drenched in sweat and trying to pretend he wasn't screaming Ben's name, May is ready for him, and when he slips on an oversized t-shirt once again, she never comments, never teases him.
Later, when someone comments that they can donate the clothes, she glances at Peter, who's still not quite comfortable without the loose fabric, the long jackets and the long since faded smell of Ben's cologne.
"No thanks," she answers, soft and regretful but kind and sweet and understanding, all the same. "I think that I'll hang onto them for a while."
And for a while, Peter clings, falling asleep in Ben's old shirts and eating dinner with t-shirt sleeves hanging past his elbows.
Then Ben's killer is caught by Spider-man, and Peter begins wearing his own clothing, quiet and unsure, like he doesn't quite know what his own clothing should feel like anymore, but May can see in his eyes that he can't be bitter, can't resent anybody, not even himself, and he understands a bit more that he can't cling to the past anymore.
And it's good (because May's therapist says so, and May's gut agrees).
Peter doesn't wear Ben's clothes much anymore (though more often than not, she'll catch him sleeping in them, the baggy shirts chasing away nightmares as he clings to the wrinkled fabric) but May knows, it all started there.