Chapter Forty: Ode To The Lost
The merciless scent of flowers was so heavy at the funeral plots that it hung like mist on the cold air. Peter closed his eyes and listened as people circle the cemetery, making hollow apologies for the loss of the Connors'. The words were quiet; as if his ear was pressed against a wall, listening for some great truth. Or he was underwater, the world submerged. He imagined the tombstones dunking and bobbing, floating and sinking in the sea, one hopeless piece at a time.
The coffins had already been lowered, two large and one small. The only consolation to be found was that they were all buried together...at least, that's what everyone was saying, but that didn't really soothe Peter's sorrow. Nothing ever would, he'd lost enough people to know that. The Connors' would die over and over again for the rest of his life. Grief lasted forever. It never went away; it became a part of him, step for step, breath for breath.
The mourners started to dissipate after an hour or so, they were mainly co-workers and neighbours but no close family. Peter stayed until the sun started to disappear behind a large mausoleum, and the tears had dried against his cheeks. He couldn't suppress the feeling that all this death was his fault, after all, he had helped Curtis create the serum in the first place.
Unable to bare looking at the flowers and letters offered into the graves, Peter shuffled through the sea of tombstones; some old, some new, and others vandalised to the point of illegibility. He stopped at a grave with fresh flowers resting against the dirt. Aunt May must have visited recently.
"Uncle Ben..." Peter sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets and taking a deep breath to steady his voice, "Sorry I haven't visited in a while."
The wind blew against Peter's face, it chilled his skin and stole it's colour. His tired eyes wandered towards a distant hill, right on the other side of the cemetery...where Gwen was buried.
"I keep coming back here. No matter how hard I try someone gets hurt and I... I'm sick of losing people." Peter sniffled, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his shirt and looking back towards his uncle's tombstone. "I miss you so much. I'd give anything to have one more minute with you. Just one more."
"I'm sorry, Pete," Annabelle's voice shook him out of his distraction and forced his eyes away from Ben's grave.
"Sorry for what? Their death? Or for stopping me from saving Curtis?" Peter replied bitterly.
"You wouldn't have reached him in time anyway...it was too late."
"You don't know that," Peter folded his arms over his chest and tried, desperately, to keep his voice in check, "I could have tried."
"And then what?" Annabelle sighed, stepping beside him and following his gaze back to the tombstone. "He killed his own family. He ate them, Pete. Making him live with that... it's cruel. I know he was your friend, but he made his choice. We needed to respect it."
Peter's shoulders tensed with the effort not to collapse. He knew that she was right, but that didn't make it any easier. People kept dying around him, and Peter had lost all hope that he could protect whoever was left.
Small leaves, buried into the grass, crackled as Annabelle moved closer to him. He could smell her shampoo being carried on the wind, rosemary and coconuts, but that only made his chest contract even further. What if it was her that got killed next? Or Mary Jane? Or Aunt May?... He couldn't bare it. They were all he had left.
"It's getting cold out here," Annabelle said in almost a whisper, reaching out to place a hand on Peter's shoulder. "I don't want you to get sick. Let's go home, yeah? I'll make you some curry."
His skin felt warm where she was touching him, like someone was injecting fire directly into his arm. Peter turned to look at her, and Belle's hand moved to rest on his cheek. The heat followed, but left the rest of his body even colder than before. It made him want to cry all over again, but he somehow bit it back down and subconsciously leaned into her touch.
More than anything, Peter wanted to follow her. He wanted to bring her close and hold her so tight that no power in the universe could take her away...but there was no point. Everyone close to him died eventually, so maybe the only way to spare them was to disappear from their lives.
"No..." Peter finally pulled away from her touch, already feeling lonely for the loss of it. "I think I should move out."
Annabelle's expression fell into complete and utter confusion. "What? If this is about what happened with Connors-"
"It's not," Peter replied before she could finish the thought. "I just think it's about time, you know? It was only meant to be temporary and you've put up with me for long enough."
Annabelle shook her head, "I know what this is, but removing me from your life won't fix anything. The same goes for your aunt. This isn't the way to protect us."
Peter shook his head. Of course she saw right through him. "It's the only way I can think of."
"I can take care of myself. Whether your there or not, I'm still Protonslaught. I'll be in danger regardless."
"You don't understand," Peter mumbled. "This isn't just about Spider-Man's enemies. This is about me. Curtis died because I helped him with his research. It was Peter, not Spider-Man. It was the same with Uncle Ben. He died because I did the wrong thing. I used to be terrified that my enemies would find the people I cared about and hurt them, but now I realise that I'm the one that's doing it. I can't let it keep happening. I won't. I'm not good for you. I'm not good for anybody."
Peter saw something glisten in Annabelle's eyes. Every happy memory of her skipping down the street in a clashing array of colours was destroyed by the sight of tears dripping down her cheeks. "Pete, listen to me-"
"I'll come by and grab my stuff soon," he interrupted, knowing that if she had the chance to argue he would crumble. He didn't want to be away from her, but she was better off. He had to keep reminding himself of that. "I'm sorry..."
Without daring to look at her again, Peter wandered back towards the Connors' graves. He could feel Belle's gaze on him, and every instinct screamed at him to turn back, but he couldn't. He buried those feelings so far down that he feared he might never see them again.
He was grateful that Belle didn't persist after him, but the further away he strayed from her, the worse he felt. Moving wouldn't be much easier, especially considering that he had nowhere to go...well, there was one place he could crash. At least until he found another affordable apartment, but somehow the idea of staying with The Fantastic Four sounded worse than finding some deserted rooftop to settle on. Freeloading wasn't exactly something that Peter was accustomed to, and Johnny Storm, though a very close friend, wasn't someone he ever wanted to live under the same roof with...but this was no time to be picky.