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The next day, Peter woke up with the same weight on his chest and the wide eyes of someone who had spent the night trapped in one nightmare after another. He ate breakfast in silence, answered May's questions with monosyllables, and when she asked if he was okay — for the third time — he lied. For the third time.
A few hours later, his feet carried him back to that church. He walked in, sat on the same pew, and stayed there, staring at nothing for hours.
The following day, the same thing happened. And the next day as well.
Sister Anne — who had introduced herself on the second day — would always appear at some point. She never asked why he was there, demanded explanations, or tried to make conversation. She would simply sit beside him discreetly and keep him company in silence until the moment he stood up and left.
Peter didn't know exactly why he kept coming back. Maybe it was because it was the only place where no one expected anything from him. Where he didn't have to be Peter Parker, or Spider-Man, but just a boy sitting on a pew in a church.
However, as much as he found a truce there during the day, at night the nightmares showed no mercy. On the contrary, each night was worse than the one before.
Most of them were still about the Green Goblin. But other kinds of nightmares began to surface, as if his mind, once it had found a crack, was determined to explore every possible variation of his greatest fears.
In some, he saw himself transformed into a cold-blooded killer, someone who didn't care about taking lives — who even enjoyed it. In others, he ended up alone. Completely alone. With everyone abandoning him after discovering he was Spider-Man.
And there were those in which his identity was exposed. Old villains returned, not to fight him, but to get revenge by killing the people he loved. May in a dark alley. Gwen in a laboratory. Harry at school. Liz in the middle of the street. And Peter just watched, powerless, never able to save them.
Letting out a long sigh, Peter ran a hand over his face, only now noticing that Sister Anne had once again sat down beside him without him realizing. He said nothing, remaining silent, and she did the same.
Time passed.
The world outside continued on its indifferent course, the stained-glass windows gradually losing their vibrant colors as the sun set, shades of blue, red, and gold fading into grays and purples.
Unlike the other days, however, the church did not remain silent.
"I feel lost." Peter's voice broke the silence so suddenly that even he seemed surprised to hear it.
"And why is that?" Sister Anne turned her face toward him, unhurried. Her movement was calm, deliberate, as if she had all the time in the world and he were the only person who mattered in that moment.
Peter let out a small laugh. "There are so many reasons, Sister. So many." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture both nervous and tired at the same time. "If I tried to list them all, we'd be here for days."
"Then tell me about the one that's hurting you the most right now." Sister Anne was no stranger to the art of listening. She knew that sometimes the whole is too vast to grasp, but a single piece can be enough to change everything.
Peter took a deep breath, taking a few seconds to choose words that wouldn't reveal too much and, at the same time, wouldn't be completely empty. "I… there's something I have to do. Something I will always have to do. It's not a choice, it's a… responsibility. Something I took on and can't abandon." His fingers laced together tightly. "But it makes me fail and often disappoint the people close to me. God knows I try to do my best to balance that… duty with the rest of my life, but I never manage. I always end up upsetting someone. I always lose something important."
"And you can't stand disappointing them anymore?" she asked softly.
"Yes." He ran a hand over his face again, exhausted. "It's like… I'm at the bottom of a hole. And no matter how hard I try to balance things and start digging my way up, I never reach the surface. On the contrary — the more I try, the deeper it feels like I get." Peter hesitated for a moment, suddenly aware of how dramatic it sounded. "Does that analogy make any sense? Or am I just rambling?"
"Oh, it makes perfect sense. More than you imagine." The reply came quickly, emphatically, without hesitation. Sister Anne turned her face forward, her faded blue eyes shining with an understanding that seemed to go beyond words. "Would you like some advice, or do you want me to just listen?"
Peter thought for a moment. "Advice would be good, I guess. If that's not asking too much," he murmured.
"It's never asking too much." Sister Anne adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose, an automatic gesture she must have repeated countless times. "So here is my advice, based on many years of life and many conversations like this: you need to 'stop digging.'"
Peter frowned, confused. "Stop digging?" he repeated, turning to look at her.
"Exactly." Sister Anne confirmed with a small nod. "You need to stop digging." Seeing the expression of complete incomprehension on the young face before her, she elaborated, her voice taking on a didactic tone without ever losing its gentleness. "Let me explain it better. When we find ourselves in difficult situations, and we feel like we're in that hole you described, it is extremely easy to fall into a cycle of actions that, in our minds, should help us, but actually only make things worse."
"Fear, anxiety, lack of clarity, the desperation to fix everything as quickly as possible. All of that can push us to keep digging, thinking we're making progress, doing something, when in reality, we're burying ourselves even deeper."
Sister Anne paused, taking a deep breath. "You said you try to balance this duty with the rest of your life, but you always end up upsetting someone. That means that instead of climbing up, you keep digging downward. You keep doing more of the same, hoping that magically one day it will work. And that, my son, will get you nowhere."
Peter did not reply, but something on his face changed — a crack of understanding beginning to open.
"The key to getting out of this destructive cycle, Peter, is self-awareness." Sister Anne continued. "The ability to stop, breathe, and ask yourself: is what I'm doing right now leading me out of this hole? Or am I just digging deeper out of desperation and not knowing what to do?"
"Recognizing that you're digging deeper is the first step toward change. And that recognition hurts, because it means admitting you were wrong, that what you've been doing doesn't work. But it's necessary. It's the only way."
"Stopping digging doesn't mean you're giving up — understand that. It's not giving up. It is, in fact, the opposite. It is being wise enough to realize that the current approach doesn't work and needs to be replaced. It's the necessary pause to assess the situation, understand what isn't working, and only then start digging again, this time in a solid way out."
Peter's eyes gradually widened.
"You, my boy, need to stop what you're doing," Sister Anne said, her voice now more incisive. "You need to stop running, stop trying to fix everything on your own, stop tearing yourself apart trying to be everything for everyone. And you need to completely change the way you think about this… duty you mentioned."
"If you have a duty so important that you cannot ignore it — something that, from what I understand, is essential — then perhaps your peace lies in accepting it fully. Not halfway, or trying to fit it in between commitments and expectations that only drag you further down. Perhaps your 'stop digging' means, precisely, stopping trying to sustain two versions of yourself."
Two versions of himself.
The words repeated in Peter's mind.
"When someone tries to live divided, there will always be frustration and guilt. But when you choose, when you finally decide with clarity what your main mission is, what your true calling is… the pain lessens. It doesn't disappear, but it lessens. Because the decision has been made. Because you know what the path is."
"But…" Peter interrupted her, "I can't just abandon a part of my life."
"I am not telling you to abandon anything." Sister Anne explained. "I am saying that you need to accept that you cannot be everything to everyone. That this need to balance, to please, and to never disappoint is too heavy a burden for any human being to carry. And from what I see in you, my son, that burden is already breaking you."
She made a dismissive gesture with her right hand. "Let go of that need. That idea that you have to be perfect for everyone at the same time. Embrace who you are — what you truly need to be. The world needs the real you, not this diluted version that tries to please everyone and ends up pleasing no one."
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Disclaimer: This story and its characters belong to Sony Pictures and Marvel Comics (Disney). This is merely a fanfiction written by a fan, with no intention of infringement.