The pancakes were everything Peter knew they'd be.

Warm, lounging in a pool of sticky syrup, striking that perfect balance between spongey-soft and bready—

He'd woken up about half an hour before to the unmistakable scent and sizzle of frying pancake batter and burst blueberries. It had taken him about that long just to overcome the clingy trappings of deep sleep—he woke up slowly (which was nice but unfamiliar) and his memories of the night before emerged gradually, like they were each being pulled up out of water and shaken off until they were dry enough to be seen clearly. Some of them were…well, they weren't great, if he was being honest.

But weirdly enough, he remembered those memories last. The very first things he remembered as he breathed in the warm late morning light—taking instinctive note of the slight twinge of bruised ribs and healing skin as he did so—were his friends, his family. Ned. Betty. May and Happy. MJ and The Kiss. In fact, he was grinning dopily to himself at the utter brilliance of the people he'd been blessed with when May noticed he was actually awake and shouted good morning to him from the kitchen.

Not long after, all the puzzle pieces of last night arranged themselves in an orderly pattern in his head, questions and a now-familiar swirl of emotion were taking up their rightful place in his thoughts, and he was sitting down in front of the best pancakes he'd ever seen in his life.

They were literally the best food he'd ever eaten.

"May, you are objectively the best cook ever."

His aunt looked up from her phone and took a sip of her steaming coffee.

"That good, huh?"

Peter made an unintelligible grunt of affirmation and reached for his fourth and fifth pancake. He must have lost track of time after that because the next thing he knew, May was drumming her fingers on the tabletop in front of him, eyebrows raised earnestly like she'd just said something. Peter blinked.

"Huh? Sorry, did you say something?"

May narrowed her eyes amusedly and the nodded toward Peter.

"Your leg, honey."

Peter looked down at his leg, which was jogging furiously under the table.

"Are you okay? Are you…is everything alright after last night?"

Peter forced his leg to be still, though the restlessness that had compelled it to bounce in the first place was painfully noticeable now, and then looked at his aunt with a sheepish smile.

"Yeah, I was just thinking. I'm good, though, I promise."

May raised her eyebrows but seemed to accept his explanation, leaning back in her chair and taking up her mug again. When Peter dropped his eyes to his plate once more, trying to unravel the chain of thoughts that he was chasing down a few minutes ago, she cleared her throat.

"Are you sure?" she asked softly. "You're usually on your tenth pancake by now. You've only eaten six."

Peter blew out a breath that turned into a short laugh at May's words. She probably knew him better than he knew himself (which was part of why he felt so conflicted right now, wasn't it?)

"I'm sure. I just…" he gave up on the pancake in front of him even though his stomach growled in protest and then carded a hand through his hair, thinking too late of the possibility that there was sticky syrup on his fingers. "There's just a lot I'm trying to figure out. Last night was, uh, kind of rough. And…I have some questions about some stuff but I'm not even sure how to ask them. Or—like—even if I should."

He cast his eyes to the ceiling, where they landed on a suspiciously cat-shaped water stain that had been there ever since he could remember. A smile quirked at the corner of his lips, but he knew it wasn't convincing. When May's patient silence grew a bit uncomfortable, he looked back at her, now noting the faintest circles of unconcealed exhaustion penciled in beneath her eyes and the tired set to her mouth. She knew he had more to say, but she wasn't pushing him to tell her or to stumble through a half-brained explanation.

She'd been doing that more and more lately, Peter realized suddenly—waiting for him to come to her to talk about things rather than the other way around. That wasn't to say she didn't push him to work through the things he'd gone through (through his therapist, for example), but she wasn't just demanding answers from him, like she used to when she first learned about Spiderman. She was giving him space. She was giving him trust.

Which brought him, with a pang of guilt, to his first question.

"May," he said slowly, looking down to pick at the grain of the table with one fingernail. "You haven't asked about what happened last night yet. Why?"

Almost immediately, May set her coffee cup down and laughed, two sharp little breaths that seemed similar to the laugh Peter had let out a little while ago.

"Oh, Pete, you have no idea how badly I've wanted to. You came in last night bloody, limping, looking like you'd been thrown around a dirty alley. And after your shower you seemed fine but then you just seemed to…wilt, like you were fading away from us and I'd never seen you that tired before and…and—" May sucked in a shaky breath and Peter looked up in alarm. His heartrate had been steadily increasing throughout her rushed reply, and the pang of guilt had seemed to increase in intensity alongside it. He should have just told her last night. Didn't he know by now how she couldn't help but worry when he came back home hurt?

"May—"

May shook her head and passed a hand in front of her eyes as she reined her emotions and wavering voice back in. Then she took a few deep breaths even as she accepted the hand Peter reached out to her across the table, and when she looked back at him, her eyes were glassy. She squeezed his hand.

"Oh gosh, Peter. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to unload like that. I just…" she swallowed.

"I could just tell you needed the space, you know? And I knew that if you really needed me…you'd come to me right away."

Peter felt tears gathering in his eyes, and he rubbed his thumb over May's knuckles in a gesture probably meant to reassure himself just as much as her. They sat like that for a few minutes, lost in thought, before Peter looked back up at her and smiled.

"Do you remember when I was really little and you used to make me pancakes like this every Saturday morning?"

May seemed somewhat taken aback by the question, but she chuckled, wiped her eyes with the back of her free hand, and mirrored Peter's smile.

"Yeah. I also remember that I had no clue what I was doing most of the time and they were always half-cooked or too salty or overcooked. But…no matter how nasty they were, you always ate at least three and told me how much you loved them."

Peter snorted.

"It's the only from-scratch recipe you've really stuck with over the years, right?"

May pursed her lips and crossed her arms in mock exasperation.

"Um, no. I make Grandma's walnut date loaves every year, thank you very much."

Peter didn't quite have the mental reaction time to fully restrain his involuntary cringe at the mention of the walnut date loaves, and May pulled her hand out of his to put on her chest, gasping in exaggerated indignation.

"Peter Benjamin Parker! You take that back!"

Peter threw his hands up, laughing, and tried to scramble out of the hole he'd just backed himself into.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry no it's good! It's just a little…dense sometimes."

His voice cracked on the word "dense," and his aunt could only keep up her offended façade for a couple more moments after that before she too gave in to laughter.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

When they had both regained their composure, which was apparently more shaky than usual because of their topic of discussion, Peter leaned forward again.

"In all seriousness, I brought it up because I wanted to say that I really, really loved when you made pancakes on Saturday mornings, and not just because I liked to eat. I'd get up and come to the kitchen table, and I knew that you and Uncle Ben would be waiting there with coffee and warm pancakes and…and you'd actually want to hear about how my week had gone. You'd ask me about it like I was a grown-up too, and even if I'd been bullied at school or something, in those moments I felt like you two loved me more than anything."

Peter swallowed, smiling even though the memory raised a lump of mixed emotions in his throat. He looked at his aunt, who seemed to be having the same struggle, and then he pulled his hands into his lap.

"And then after Uncle Ben was…after he was gone, you still made time for that little tradition. I think it was around then that I began to realize just how tired you were some of those mornings—how much you needed to sleep and how hard your weeks must have been. But even then you took the time to love me and care for me and make me feel seen."

Peter took a deep breath, pretending he didn't hear the sharp intake of breath as May finally gave in to the battle against her tears—happy ones, this time (he hoped). He wouldn't be able to say this next part if he looked at her and saw her actually crying.

"Sometimes I even wondered…no, I knew," Peter said. "That was what it was like to have a mom watching over me, even though I can barely remember her at all."

Still keeping his eyes down lest he fall apart when he saw May, Peter pushed on, desperate to voice what he'd been wrestling with this morning if for no other reason than she deserved to know that something was changing and he couldn't stop it from changing.

"I still feel that way, May," he said, voice rougher than it had been a few seconds ago. "But I also feel…different? Like I'm a kid but also not a kid at the same time."

(Like a kid who can't swim who's thrown into the deep end of the pool and told to swim anyway). But he didn't say that.

May's breathy attempts to stifle her tears were growing a bit calmer, but Peter still didn't dare to look up. His leg began jogging under the table again. He didn't try to stop it.

"I feel like…like I know you as a person better than I ever have before, but also like something has changed and I'm not the same person you knew—the one who sat and ate pancakes with you and Uncle Ben on Saturday mornings. I feel like I've lost something and part of me wants it back but the part that doesn't is just…drifting. And I don't know where I'm going, but sometimes it can be so—so lonely. Like you're not always there even though I know you are."

There, he said it.

Even if it didn't make sense to her or even to himself, he'd said it.

He held his breath and slowly, slowly lifted his head until he was finally facing May.

It was to his great surprise that he saw she was smiling, even as tears streamed down her face (he hated making her cry). She reached out and once more took both of his hands in her own.

"Oh, baby," she said, her voice thick with tears but so full of aching that his heart swelled painfully in his chest at once.

"You're never alone, okay? Never."

Peter nodded quickly.

"I know. I really do. It just doesn't always…feel that way, you know? And it's not your fault! I don't know why it's like that."

Peter shrugged hopelessly looked back down at the table. He shouldn't have told May this. He shouldn't have made her worry more. He had a therapist to talk about stuff like this with, didn't he? Why was he even burdening May with it? And what was wrong with him that he felt like that anyway after everything May had done for him? What did it matter how he felt when he knew the truth and voicing his feelings just made everyone around him sad and worried and—

"Peter, get your head out of your butt right this second."

Peter flinched but obeyed on something like instinct, responding to May tugging on his hands by looking up at her yet again.

"Do you feel more alone with me when it comes to talking about Spiderman?"

Peter looked slightly to the left of May, musing over the question, trying to figure out why she might think that in the first place. It was true that he started thinking about this nagging feeling this morning in the first place because he'd been dreading telling May about what had happened last night. He just wished it didn't feel so much like he was a little kid apologizing when he told her about some of the things that happened out there—some of the decisions he'd made and some of the violence he was a part of and sometimes just some of the bad stuff he'd seen or stopped.

And maybe that wasn't entirely fair to her because she had always been reasonably gracious when he'd occasionally been persuaded into recounting some of the dangerous situations he got into as Spiderman, but then again, he hated making her worry and fret over him so much. It always felt like a betrayal.

He cleared his throat.

"Yeah, uh. Yeah. Kind of. But it's not because I don't trust you or anything like that. I don't want to make you worry. That's all."

He wasn't really sure that was all, but he didn't want to hurt May's feelings anymore than he undoubtedly was already. Again, he never should have brought this up in the first place.

"Peter, do you love this city?"

Peter was somewhat caught off-guard by the question, and he looked at her warily. His fingers itched to fidget with or pick at something.

"Yeah," he said after a moment. And then he paused to make a face. "Well, I love the people in this city, or the, you know, good guys, at least."

It was his attempt at lightening the mood somewhat, but he could tell by the focused attention in May's still-watery eyes that he had failed. She smiled anyway, the kind of smile that, even after everything he'd just admitted, never failed to put him at ease, to make him feel like he was being understood (even if he didn't deserve it).

"Is your love for the people inseparable from worry and concern for the city?"

"Of course not!" Peter said without having to think. "Worrying is kind of just a part of lo—"

Peter cut himself off, realizing a little too late exactly what he'd just given himself permission to do: make May worry because he loved her and she loved him. He groaned.

"Come on, May! I chose to take on the worry for this city because of my powers and how I can use them. You didn't choose to have a wannabe hero as a nephew."

May frowned.

"You're so much more than a wannabe. You are a superhero," she corrected. "And I chose to love you no matter how much worry came with it. And I wouldn't change it because I'm proud of who you're becoming!"

Peter thought about Daredevil rescuing him and the woman last night and then sank a bit in his seat. He pulled his hands away from May, choosing to take his fork up again and cut into his pancakes just to give him something new to focus on. There was a new thought brewing in his head now—a kind of realization—but it felt somehow even more terrible to say than the other things.

He did not deserve his aunt.

"What are you thinking?" May asked softly as he took a bite of pancake so permeated by syrup that it disintegrated on his fork.

Peter blew out a breath, looked again at the water stain on the ceiling.

"I guess it's not just about making you worry. I mean, Ned and Betty and MJ worry too, but it's…I don't know. It's a little different."

Peter grimaced and gathered his thoughts a little closer.

"Sometimes I just feel like I have to tell you about what goes on out there—like I'm somehow betraying you if I don't. And it makes me feel like a kid even though I know I'm not. It doesn't—it doesn't feel that way with the others."

Peter took one look at May and almost groaned out loud again. He was making a mess out of things. This was not going how he'd hoped it go. He wasn't even sure what he was talking about anymore.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

May cut him off, her voice quiet and as revealing as her expression had been but somehow still full of conviction.

"No, Peter. Don't apologize. I know."

Peter blinked.

Now she sighed and slumped a little lower in her seat like he had, but her eyes were bright and mischievous. She rubbed her finger along the rim of the mug as she cast about for the words to say next, and Peter was struck by just how young the action made her seem.

"You have my blessing to be an adult, you know," May broke the silence. "Not that it really matters, but for what it's worth."

"Huh?"

May got up quickly enough to startle him, and she took both her mug and Peter's long-forgotten plate to the sink. He knew it was in part to avoid having to look at him so he didn't see the emotion in her face, but it seemed like such a decisive motion. Like she was settling something with him.

"I told MJ yesterday that you and her have been adults for a long time now. You've had to be. But you still have a lot to work through in your own heads—a lot of stuff holding you back when it doesn't have to," May said over the rush of running water in the sink.

"Don't we all," she laughed quietly after Peter couldn't find anything to say to that. "But you're getting to the age where—even though I raised you—I'm not enough to keep you going. Not on my own, at least. Your friends are as much your family as I am now. I think they probably have been for a while, actually, and last night just made it much more obvious."

Peter stood up.

"But you—"

She turned to face him, and, as he'd suspected based on her voice and words, there were more tears standing in her eyes. Her fingers drifted up to the necklace hanging at her throat, which Peter was just now noticing she had on. It was from Happy—a New Year's gift, a symbol of new beginnings and new hopes. Her voice was softer than even before.

"No, it's fine. It's normal. You're becoming your own person, Peter, and there's absolutely no other way I'd rather have it. But promise me something."

Peter hovered there awkwardly for a second, unsure of what to say or how to stand, unsure of what to do with the rising emotion in his throat. He'd been feeling like this for a while, he realized, but never had the time or space to actually figure out what was going on; so much had happened in the past couple of months and it was crazy. Now, it was finally coming to a head—here in the kitchen with just him and May—and it was like confronting something he'd known all along but had been too afraid to properly voice.

He managed to nod, and May flashed him a tight smile.

"When you don't want to or feel like coming to me about something that's going on in that busy noggin of yours, you'll find someone to talk to. You'll remember that you're not really alone—that you will always have a home and family out there somewhere. Okay?"

An image of MJ, warm and laughing and teasing, popped into his head his head first, and he smiled.

"I will," he whispered, and he could tell May knew exactly who he'd thought of because her expression went all soft and knowing in the way it always did when he brought MJ up in conversation.

A moment later, she opened her arms wide.

"Alright," she said, more energy and happiness in her voice. "Bring it in, Spidey."

Peter grinned and crossed the kitchen, falling into her warm hug as if it were the most natural thing in the world. (Even then, however, he noticed he was taller than her).

They stood there for a few seconds, just breathing in the soft morning and remembering all they'd been through to get to this point, and then May pulled back just enough to get a clear look at his face.

"I know you're going to take care of each other," she whispered, tears in her eyes again, and Peter didn't have to ask to know she was talking about MJ. "But this doesn't mean I'm going to stop being your aunt."

Peter shook his head. He knew that. Of course he knew that.

"And I'll always be here when you want to talk. You'll always have this safe place to come to at the end of the day—even when you have one of your own."

She winked at the end of that, and Peter blushed despite himself.

"That's so far in the future right now, May."

She laughed and then pushed him away before turning back to the dishes.

"Whatever. I mean it either way."

"I know you do. And May?" he said as he moved to the table and stuffed a chunk of dry pancake into his mouth, light on his feet, the beginning of an idea forming in his head.

She looked quizzically back at him over one shoulder as she scrubbed at a dish.

"I can tell you what happened last night if you're really okay with hearing it."

"Only if you absolutely want to, sweetheart."

"I do," Peter said. "And I'm gonna tell MJ too."

A/N: Hey! How are all of y'all doing? Happy belated Thanksgiving! I apologize once more for the long break between chapters. Life is MoViNg. ;D

That being said, I'm excited to finish these last two chapters out (they're gonna have at least one more Matt/Daredevil appearance!) and I really hope the rest of this fic - though admittedly quite slow and dialogue-heavy (oops) - is fun, therapeutic, and/or feels-inducing in all the best ways for you dear readers. Stay safe, healthy, and festive out there, you guys. We can all break out the Christmas music and decorations now. ;)

"Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain." ~ 1 Corinthians 15:58