Work Text:
Death is a negative topic, or so it was said to be a negative topic.
It depends on the context.
For example: some stick to science. Your brain, vital functions, breathing and heartbeat stop functioning. But that isn’t what people want to believe.
Christians think that upon dying, you transition to eternal life with God—saying that they‘re resting in the arms of Jesus and whatnot. Some say that reincarnation is real, while others think that on the day of your death, the whole universe ceases to exist; basically saying that the whole universe revolves around you.
All of these theories, all of these religions, the faith in staying alive one way or another starts to get tiring to listen to. Makes you believe that death is way more peaceful than what is considered healthy. Yet, how are you supposed to think differently when you accomplish that mindset?
Peter lay in the middle of the mess that had calmed down since the beginning of the fight, his vision blurred as he lost every ounce of hope left in his body second by second. He knew it was coming, it was bound to happen one day. He just didn’t expect it to happen right here, right now.
He had so much to say, yet nothing to confront out loud. He had faith, yet where does it lead to? Faith is nothing but your body trying to grip onto a temporary solution, a solution that shows you the opposite or just what you were expecting.
Tick, tock. The clock was counting down what seemed like minutes. Minutes he had to spare before his consciousness gave up on him, minutes he gets to experience before the powers he got from that one field trip accident completely betray him and his will. Minutes before his final breath was taken.
He thought so much, yet so little. Why isn’t his body regenerating? And the answer is– simple. Does he even want his body to regenerate? It seemed like a painful experience, and at that moment his body just felt– numb. The pain was long gone, and he didn’t know how to feel about it, but it felt calming.
Peaceful, just how he thought it would feel like.
It didn’t feel too bad, but maybe that was pure luck. He heard how gruesome some deaths can be, and the fact that his own was numb didn’t sit right with him. He didn’t deserve it. For all the mistakes he has done, mistakes he couldn’t fix, he deserved the worst of the worst.
He saved everyone, he saved them; at the risk of his own life. Spider-man can‘t save everyone now, can he? Even if it meant that “everyone” was him.
And so, he doesn’t. His eyes closing as he fully gave up on listening and observing his surroundings, his mind filled with not only blood but a void of nothingness, his consciousness fully fading away.
As his lifeless body laid there, his face was left unidentified. Not because it was mangled, oh no. It was perfectly intact.
One thing he didn’t remember in his last few moments were the vows he said to his beloved—making them remember him.
With the mask off and the news being displayed to every citizen of New York, one girl stood at the end of the crowd, looking up at the billboard that displayed the beloved Spider-man's face.
And the face that was supposed to be unknown to everyone, felt oddly familiar.