Spiders are not insects, Mr Thanos.
The next few minutes are a blur.
Peter’s spider-sense screams in his skull like an alarm on fire as the fight explodes around him. He doesn’t have time to think, only move. Duck. Web. Flip. Jump. Breathe. Don’t breathe. There’s no rhythm to it, no clean beats or crisp combos like in the training simulations back home. This is raw. Chaotic. Like trying to dance in a collapsing building.
Everyone is moving, striking, yelling.
He sees Drax — Mr Big Muscles Man — launch himself toward Thanos with an earth-shaking bellow, blades slicing through the air. Star-Lord — Mr StarPrince himself — fires blaster after blaster, flipping and diving like a man on a mission. It’s kind of incredible. For a moment, Peter just stares.
Wow, he thinks, mid-swing. These guys are like... actual heroes. I'm the intern here.
Except it doesn’t matter how many hits they land. It’s like punching a wall that punches back harder. Thanos barely flinches.
Dr. Strange throws out spiraling glyphs, his hands moving in impossible configurations, and golden portals shimmer into view. One opens right next to Peter.
“Go!” Strange commands.
Peter doesn’t hesitate. He dives in.
He zips through the portals like a pinball on rocket fuel, popping in and out at random angles that even his spider-reflexes can barely keep up with. Strange is guiding him, he realizes. Moving him like a piece on a board.
“Magic!”
Peter yells, popping out of a portal and punching Thanos in the jaw.
Punch.
“More magic!”
Hit to the stomach.
“Magic with a kick!”
Kick to the face.
He’s not sure why he’s yelling. Nerves? Habit? Pure panic masked in humor? Whatever it is, he’s about to announce another move when Thanos spins with surprising speed and snatches him out of mid-air like a bug in his path.
Peter doesn’t even get a full yelp out before massive fingers clamp around his throat. The grip is crushing, and the sheer force of the grab sends a sharp crack through his skull. White-hot pain blooms across his face.
His nose.
Oh god.
His nose is definitely broken.
Ok, rude. That is my face, sir.
Peter’s legs flail as Thanos holds him like a ragdoll, the ground somewhere far below.
“Insect.”
The Titan growls, voice thick with disdain.
Peter's first instinct is to correct him — spiders aren’t insects, actually, they’re arachnids — but he bites his tongue. Now’s not the best time to be a nerd. His brain is foggy, blood rushing down his face, eyes swimming from the pain. The pressure is too much.
And then Thanos slams him into the ground.
The impact rattles through his entire skeleton, air knocked from his lungs like someone vacuumed it out. Peter sees stars. Not metaphorical ones. Actual stars. He barely has time to register the blur of Strange appearing beside him before Thanos hurls him again — this time directly into the sorcerer.
The two heroes tumble backward across the dusty terrain. Strange grunts as they crash to a halt. Peter's head is spinning and his entire body feels like a dropped glass of water.
But the fight doesn’t stop.
Not even for a second.
Strange’s cloak surges forward on its own, coiling around Thanos’ gauntlet like a sentient rope, trying to keep his hand open — to stop him from snapping.
Peter blinks the blur from his eyes and sees Tony charging in, followed by Star-Lord, Drax, and Mantis. The plan is clear: get the gauntlet off.
Everyone converges.
Peter pulls himself upright, joints aching, blood dripping from his nose. He shakes off the disorientation and joins in, grabbing the side of the gauntlet opposite Tony.
He’s stronger than he looks — the spider bite gave him an edge, but even with all his might, Thanos’ arm barely budges. It’s like trying to rip a tree out of the ground. Still, he clings on. Pulls. Strains.
And that’s when it hits him — that creeping feeling again.
Fail-pain-alone.
The dread.
The whisper in the back of his mind telling him this is going to go wrong. The same whisper that haunted him ever since they got to this godforsaken planet. It’s louder now. Screaming.
A new thought breaks through the noise — wild, reckless.
Take one of the stones. That way he can’t snap.
His eyes scan the gauntlet, and he sees it: the small, orange gem pulsing near the center. It glows with a warmth that seems out of place here, like something alive. Something ancient.
He hesitates. He shouldn’t.
But what if he’s right?
His fingers inch toward it.
The world continues to burn around him.
Peter can hear Star-Lord yelling something. Mantis is still clinging to Thanos’ head, trying to keep him docile with her powers. They almost have the glove. Almost.
‘Grab the stone.’
Peter’s hand closes around the orange gem just as Star-Lord snaps — yelling and punching Thanos again and again. Something about Gamora. About lies. Grief in every hit.
Mantis screams — she’s losing control.
Peter’s spider-sense erupts. He barely registers Tony yelling as Thanos begins to wake up. The spell is breaking. The Titan growls in fury, muscles flexing.
And then—
Thanos jerks violently, ripping his hand away.
Tony is thrown back like a rag doll.
Peter tightens his grip on the gem, trying to pry it free. His webs latch to the gauntlet, every fiber of his being focused on one impossible task: take it.
But he can’t.
The stone resists.
Just as he’s about to lose his grip entirely, a small shard — no bigger than a fingernail — cracks off the side. As it separates, it vanishes, absorbed into Peter’s palm like mist into skin.
A sensation floods through him.
Not power. Not strength.
Something gold.
Alive.
His healing factor kicks in with a vengeance — his broken nose tingles, cartilage knitting back together at impossible speed. Even the bruises on his ribs begin to fade.
He barely has time to process what just happened before Thanos roars and throws him again.
Peter cartwheels through the air, limbs flailing. He shakes it off and fires webs wildly.
“I got you! I got you! I’m sorry I can’t remember anyone’s names!”
He catches Drax mid-air. Mantis right after. Sticky silk tethers them to a nearby boulder. He swings down, panting, checking their pulses, making sure they’re okay.
And then—
Everything stops.
He turns.
Dr. Strange is standing in front of Thanos.
And he’s... offering the Time Stone.
“No,” Peter breathes.
He doesn’t understand.
His body screams to move. His instincts are on fire. But his spider-sense isn’t telling him to stop Strange. It’s telling him to stand still. To watch.
Thanos takes the stone.
A glowing portal opens behind him.
And just like that...
He’s gone.
Gone.
The silence is crushing.
Peter stands there, the shard of the Soul Stone — or whatever it was — still faintly glowing under his skin.
Star-lord's voice is barely a whisper.
“Did we just lose?”