The Countdown
If he thought dying was painful, nothing could compare to coming back. Every atom stitched itself together in a dizzying display of agony, and every nerve felt like it was on fire. He would scream if he had the energy, but all he could focus on was the ripping and tearing of every cell in his body.
Suddenly, a gentle hand braided through his hair as a steady humming echoed throughout the room. Peter latched onto the melody, refusing to acknowledge his senses roaring and screeching for respite. He tried to decipher the words, but they were foreign, almost alien. The sentences seemed fragmented and distorted yet skillfully woven together in a long-forgotten dance. The minutes continued to tick by as the crescendo petered into a more bearable thrum of pain.
Peter carefully maneuvered himself out of the person’s hold and into an upright position. A quick glance around the room revealed two irrecoverable truths: he was in his hotel room from 2016, and Gamora had followed him into the past.
Peter opened his mouth to say something, but his throat scratched and clawed, temporarily silencing him. His lungs crackled as he coughed up a glob of thick, murky blood. Gamora tried patting his back, but that only aggravated his incessant hacking. He eventually choked out, “Why are you still here?” Which probably wasn’t the most pertinent question, but it slipped, nonetheless.
Instead of dignifying him with a response, Gamora slowly helped Peter to his feet. Every movement jostled his aching bones where they creaked and groaned in protest. A sharp jab to his ribs would have sent Peter toppling to the ground without Gamora’s unwavering hold on his arm. Once standing, he gradually sunk into her side, sweat coating his face as he tried to catch his breath. Every inhale sent a fresh wave of stabbing pain down his throat, and every exhale almost sent him into another coughing spiral. He eventually gathered the strength to mutter a quiet thank you.
Gamora responded with a tender pat on his arm, saying, “I guess we should have warned you about the ramifications the transition would have on your body.”
Peter answered with a fragile chuckle, “You think?” His legs shook and twitched with the telltale signs that he was about to collapse. Gamora quickly half dragged; half carried him to the bed before he could hurt himself anymore.
With Peter finally able to rest, sprawled across the duvet, Gamora decided to answer his initial question of why she was still here.
“When you agreed to travel to the past, you also agreed to take on the role of my guardian. From here on out, it will be your duty to ensure I don’t fall into the wrong hands.”
Peter gaped, his pain temporarily forgotten as he started rambling, “What do you mean your guardian? Seriously? Won’t this make Earth an even bigger target than it already is?” Gamora tried to interject, but Peter continued his tirade, “What if Thanos comes earlier? Or what if other people try to take advantage of you? Not to mention, won’t it be a tad suspicious that I have a green lady following me around?” Peter flinched at his insensitive comment. “I didn't mean that in a bad way, just... this kind of feels like the sort of information I should've been told much earlier.” Peter finished.
Gamora sighed like she was getting a headache from all the nonsense he was spewing. Could immortal beings even get headaches? “First of all, it's impossible for anyone to know I'm here unless you tell them. Unlike the other stones, I don't give off a specific energy signature. Also, no one can see me except for you." Gamora sighed again. She's been doing that a lot; Peter seems to have that effect on people. " Time and I were going to explain everything in more detail, but you didn’t give us the chance. Once you'd made up your mind, there was nothing we could've done to stop you from getting back here.”
It was at this moment that Peter realized how dumb it was to make a deal with two all-powerful entities without using a lick of critical thinking or plain old interrogation. He'd try to justify his impulsiveness with the whole dying thing, but you can only use that excuse so many times before it gets old. "Do you think you could go over everything now?”
“I could if that’s what you truly want, but you have exactly 11 hours, 22 minutes, and 40 seconds until the fight at the airport takes place, and I figured you’d want to get a jump on that.”
“What!” He shrieked, almost toppling out of the bed. “I knew it was coming up, but how the hell am I supposed to stop one of the biggest superhero showdowns in history?”
God, Peter is so stupid! It was only just hitting him now how insane this whole mission is. He's just Peter Parker, a kid from Queens who rescues cats from trees and helps old ladies cross the street. Why did he think he could do this? His mind spun with uncertainty after uncertainty. Why did the stones choose him? There's no way in hell he's the best option. He shouldn't have even been a candidate to begin with. Literally, anyone else would have been a better choice. He was made an Avenger only a couple hours ago as a last resort. The pounding in his head ticked up a notch at the increasingly distressing thought. Peter could feel his breathing become shallow and jagged, rolling out in sporadic puffs.
Gamora seemed hesitant, not knowing whether to intervene or let Peter panic in peace. “Maybe… you don’t have to figure out a plan right now.”
Peter gave her an incredulous look, “You just said I only have eleven hours before the Avengers tear each other apart and doom the entire universe.”
“That is true, but instead of focusing on the future it may be helpful to look into the past.” Peter didn’t want to call Gamora crazy, but she was crazy and making zero sense. Gamora probably noticed the look on his face, so she continued, “What I mean is, spend the next hour or so recalling everything you know. Once you've laid the groundwork everything else will fall into place.”
Peter paused to consider her point, and eventually, he responded. “If I’m going to make a timeline of events, I should probably write them down.” Gamora gave him a soft smile as he let out a shuddering breath. The taste of iron coated his throat. His battered body ached reminding him of the horrific future to come. He couldn’t waste any more time. Despite the pain, he had to keep moving. He slowly leaned over the bed, gently putting his feet on the floor. Bit by bit, he put more weight onto his legs, testing to see when the pain would become too much to bear. Once standing, he grits his teeth till the nauseating spasms in his muscles diminish.
Gradually, he made his way over to the desk as an anxious Gamora hovered over his shoulder. Grabbing the hotel’s notebook and pen, he let his memories wash over him. Writing everything he could remember, from the original airport battle to the information he learned afterward, Peter made sure not to miss a single detail.
Although it’s true, that Peter didn’t know everything when the initial fight took place, knowing what he knows now, he still agrees that the so-called “Team Ironman” was in the right.
Well, not necessarily “right”. After all, there is no such thing as the “right” side in a situation as delicate as this one. But, given the information at hand. Along with Mr. Stark's experience dealing with politics, Peter knows that his mentor had done everything in his power to keep the team safe.
It was a couple months after the homecoming incident when Peter finally worked up the courage to ask about the Sokovia Accords and what led to the downfall of the Avengers.
It was a couple months after that when Peter asked Ned to hack into FRIDAY so he could find out what really happened in Siberia… not really a memory Peter wants to look back on. Let’s just say watching one of your childhood hero nearly kill your kinda sorta father figure leads to a lot of unpleasant emotions that Peter doesn’t have time to unpack right now.
In the end, Gamora was right.
Through all this reminiscing, a plan begins to take shape.
He may only have 10 hours and 15 minutes remaining, but he now knows how to save the Avengers, and once he saves the Avengers, he can save the world.
Shouldn't be too hard right?
All that he has to do is make a phone call.