Chapter 6
Peter opens his eyes and finds himself standing on the surface of Titan.
His heart drops. The landscape is unmistakable—crimson skies stretch endlessly above, and the cracked, barren ground is littered with the wreckage of their failed mission. He remembers this place all too well. The battle. The desperation. The failure.
And, ultimately, his death.
But something is different.
The air feels heavier, the light dimmer, as though the universe itself is holding its breath. He turns slowly, his pulse quickening. His Spider-Sense tingles, but it’s not the same—duller, more subdued, like it’s warning him of something inevitable.
Then, he sees him.
Doctor Strange.
Standing just a few feet away, facing him.
Peter's breath catches in his throat. Doctor Strange looks exactly as he did when they fought together on this planet—his cloak of levitation flowing behind him, its crimson fabric untouched by the decay of the battlefield. His hands are clasped behind his back, his face a mask of calm determination.
But something is wrong.
A green glow clings to Strange, swirling around him in tendrils that pulse and shift as though alive. It flickers like embers in a dying fire, unnatural and foreboding.
Peter blinks, his gaze fixed on the Sorcerer Supreme. Events from that day—the clash with Thanos, the desperate struggle—play out in ghostly fragments around him, like echoes of a broken timeline. He tries to focus on them, but his eyes are drawn back to Strange.
Doctor Strange is looking at him as if he’s seen a ghost. Confusion lines his features, his eyes scanning Peter, observing every detail as if searching for something.
"Dr. Strange, sir?" Peter's voice echoes across the silent wasteland.
Strange slowly tilts his head, scrutinizing Peter as if he shouldn’t be standing there. As if Peter is a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit.
"You shouldn’t be here, kid."
The words are calm but tinged with questions.
Peter swallows hard, his mind racing. "I don’t understand. I remember this. This is where…" His voice falters. His hands instinctively move to his chest, half-expecting to feel himself unraveling into dust again. But he’s still here. "Am I… dead?"
Doctor Strange doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze flickers to the scene unfolding around them, landing on another Peter struggling to pull off Thanos's gauntlet, the confusion in his eyes giving way to something else. Something darker. He steps forward, the green glow around him intensifying, casting eerie shadows across his face. "Not yet."
Peter's stomach twists. "Not yet? What does that mean? I thought we—" He shakes his head. "We won. I survived. We stopped him. You brought us back, right?"
Strange’s expression remains unreadable, his eyes glimmering with an unsettling mix of curiosity and concern. "This isn’t that timeline, Peter."
Peter blinks, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. "W-What? What do you mean? This… this has to be a dream or—"
"Dreams. Memories. Echoes. They bleed together in places like this." Strange interrupts him. He gestures to the crumbling wasteland around them. "Titan… a nexus of possibilities. Of endings."
Peter shakes his head, taking a step back. "No. No, we stopped Thanos. We brought everyone back. This shouldn’t be happening. This can’t be happening."
Strange watches him, his eyes heavy with something Peter can’t quite place—regret, maybe? Or fear? "Every victory comes with a cost, Peter. Every action creates ripples… fractures. Some timelines heal." He pauses, his gaze piercing. "Some don’t."
Peter’s breathing quickens. He can feel the weight of Strange’s words pressing down on him. "What... What does that mean sir?"
Strange doesn’t answer. Instead, he raises one hand, and the green glow intensifies, swirling into a shape—a fractured hourglass, its sands slipping through cracks, vanishing into the void. Peter stares at it. He can feel the dream pulling away from him, he can feel his consciousness awakening but he doesn’t want to leave. He has so many questions. Everything fades around him as Doctor Strange speaks again.
"You’re a thread in the web of fate, Peter. A thread that’s been… altered. If you unravel—" He looks around the collapsing landscape. "—so does everything connected to you."
Peter's mind spins. He clenches his fists, struggling to remain in the dream. "So… what do I do? How do I stop this?"
Strange’s eyes soften for a brief moment, a flicker of the mentor who guided him once before. "Find the fractures. Seal them. Before they seal you."
The ground beneath Peter gives way, the world around him shattering into pieces. He reaches out, desperate.
Peter: "Wait! Strange! How do I—"
But Strange is already fading, his figure consumed by the green glow, his final words echoing in the void.
"Not all fractures can be mended."
****
Peter jolts awake, gasping for breath. His chest heaves, and cold sweat clings to his skin, soaking through his thin shirt. His eyes dart around wildly, struggling to separate the nightmare from reality. Dim light flickers from a single overhead bulb, casting uneven shadows across the worn-out walls of the shelter. The low hum of distant voices and the occasional clatter of pots in the communal kitchen remind him where he is.
The boy shaking him awake yelps and stumbles backward, nearly falling over a nearby cot.
Cullen—his name tag reads, the letters scratched and worn. His wide eyes, a mix of concern and caution, lock on Peter like he’s assessing a threat.
“Shit, dude, you alright?” Cullen asks.
Peter sits up slowly, his heart still hammering against his ribs. His hands tremble as he drags them through his damp hair. He can feel Cullen’s gaze boring into him, wary, as if Peter might lash out or collapse at any moment.
The weight of the dream—no, the warning—still lingers, pressing down on his chest like an unseen force.
Find the fractures… before they seal you.
Peter stares at the cracked ceiling above, his mind racing, trying to make sense of it all. The vividness of it, the realness, claws at the edges of his thoughts.
Was it just a nightmare?
Or something more?
His lips move before his brain catches up.
"I’m fine." The words come out flat, unconvincing, a lie as thin as the blanket crumpled on his cot. His hands still tremble, and his skin feels cold despite the warmth of the room.
Cullen doesn’t look convinced. He crosses his arms, leaning back slightly, still watching Peter with cautious eyes.
"You don’t look fine. You were thrashing around like you were fighting someone." He pauses, tilting his head. "Or running from something."
Peter swallows hard, the memory of the crumbling landscape of Titan flashing in his mind—the green glow, Strange’s ominous warning, the cracks spreading beneath his feet.
He forces a weak smile, the kind of smile that says Everything’s fine, please don’t ask me more questions.
"Bad dream, that’s all."
Cullen raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push further. Instead, he shrugs.
"Alright. If you say so." He glances at the door leading to the main hall. "Breakfast is in, like, ten minutes. You should eat something… y’know, if you’re not gonna pass out or anything." Peter nods absently, but his mind is already elsewhere.
"Yeah. Okay. Thanks." He gives Cullen a half-hearted smile.
Cullen hesitates for a moment longer before finally turning and walking out, his footsteps fading down the hall.
Peter exhales a shaky breath and swings his legs over the side of the cot. His feet touch the cold floor, grounding him in the present, but his thoughts remain tethered to the dream. No. Not a dream. It was something else. He can feel it. Deep in his gut, like a splinter lodged in the fabric of reality.
He pulls his hands into fists, trying to steady himself, but the question gnaws at him, refusing to let go.
What fracture is he supposed to find?
Peter’s eyes scan the dim shelter, taking in every crack in the walls, every flicker of the weak lightbulb overhead, and the muffled conversations drifting in from the main hall. His heartbeat has slowed, but his senses remain on edge, like a taut wire ready to snap.
Everything looks… normal. He notices his toiletry bag near his cot, most likely flung to the floor by his nightmare.
His gaze drifts back to his cot, to the thin, rumpled pillow where he had just been lying. Something catches his eye—a faint, barely perceptible green glow, seeping out from underneath. Peter’s breath hitches. His pulse quickens.
No way.
Slowly, carefully, he reaches beneath the pillow, his fingers brushing against something cool and metallic. Slowly, he pulls it out, the glow intensifying as it meets the open air.
His heart sinks as he stares at the object in his hand—a locket. Ornate and familiar, with intricate engravings that shimmer in the green light.
He knows this locket.
Doctor Strange’s locket.
Peter fumbles with it but can’t figure out how to open it. Then he remembers Doctor Strange used magic to open it. But that didn’t matter.
Peter knew what was in there.
The Time Stone.
An Infinity Stone. Here. Now.
But they were destroyed… Peter’s mind reels. He remembers Bruce Banner’s words, the devastation Thanos wrought, and Tony’s final sacrifice. The stones were supposed to be gone, reduced to atoms.
And yet…
Here it is. Whole. Intact.
Peter stares at it, his thoughts racing. The stone pulses faintly, a heartbeat of cosmic power resting in his palm.
This… he thinks, this is definitely a fracture.
Strange’s voice echoes in his mind, the warning still fresh:
"Find the fractures"
Peter’s hands shake as he tucks the locket carefully into the front pocket of his hoodie. He presses his hand against it, feeling the weight of it, the reality of it.
This isn’t a dream.
It’s real.
And if an Infinity Stone is here, then something far bigger is at play. Something dangerous.
Peter rises to his feet, his legs unsteady but moving on instinct. He glances around the room one last time, scanning every shadow, every creak in the floorboards, as if expecting something—or someone—to appear.
Nothing.
Yet.
Taking a deep breath, Peter grabs the fallen toiletry bag and steps out of the room and into the hallway. The air feels heavier now, charged with a tension he can’t explain.
As he moves toward the main hall, his eyes dart to every face he passes. Every corner. Every shadow.
He can’t shake the feeling that someone—or something—is watching him.
Clutching the locket hidden in his pocket, Peter knows one thing for sure:
This fracture is only the beginning.
And whatever comes next… he needs to be ready