The End of a War
27th April 2018
“I’ve got it!” Peter yelled, fingers clutched against gold and stone.
Titan was hell. There was simply no other word for it.
Under the burning yellow sky and a cracked moon, whatever had once been was now simply rubble. Ash and decay across the surface of the planet. Tall structures lost to the waste of time; crumbled and rusted.
It was not simply the decor that made the place so rotten. Rather, it was the large purple alien that kept calling Peter a ‘bug’ and throwing him at people.
They’d held their own well against the Mad Titan - forcing blow after blow until Mantis had clambered atop his shoulders as they worked together. With webs and Iron Man’s beams, Strange’s magic and Drax’s ability to get knocked repeatedly without fuss, they got close enough to yank the gauntlet.
His fingers dug in the gap between the gauntlet and the alien’s arm as Iron man pulled from the fist.
And God, they were so close.
That is, until Quill figured out that Thanos had killed some lady named Gamora, and gotten so angry that he’d broken the spell.
Right as Peter had got the glove in his hand - inching it past the Titan’s fingers. His fingers clutched at the best grip he could find; pressed against the orange stone, burning as he tried to keep hold.
In blink, the alien snatched the very edge of the gauntlet and yanked it back onto his fist. He shoved Peter backwards with a sickening crunch against his sternum, the boy leaping to catch the odd alien lady as he spun and almost crashed.
It had taken barely ten seconds for everything to go south. For Thanos to (quite literally) clench his fist and bring a moon down upon them. And in the shower of rock and flame that followed, all Peter could do was make sure the others were safe as Iron Man and Dr Strange fought Thanos.
He swung with precision; sensing going haywire as he shot web after web until all their odd new companions were away from the falling moon.
It was only after, that he realised the damage to his suit. There, on the front where the little spider should rest, was a gap in the nanotech mesh. A small hole, glowing orange along the tear as he reached a finger to poke it.
With a wince, he decided to skip trying such a thing again. It was hard to properly see whatever Thanos had done to his chest past the thick metal, though Peter tried to tilt his head to spy it. Eventually, once he heard Tony yelling for him, he released those in his webs and swung back to the man.
Gone was the top half of his Iron Man suit; charred and shredded and cluttering terribly as he forced himself to his feet. His teeth were grit despite the calm mask upon his face; a familiar sprayable plaster across his bloodied front, the design based upon his web fluid.
“Mr Stark?” Pete asked hesitantly, tapping his mask from his face as he regarded his sort-of mentor with blatant worry.
“Hey, kiddo.” Tony smirked; the gesture a little soured by his wince as he stepped closer. His eyes scanned the spidersuit, suddenly shooting back up to his chest with a rather pinched brow. His eyes darted to the wizard with a stunned expression, clearly expecting some kind of comment from Strange.
Once again, Peter tried to look down at his chest.
“Is it bad, Mr Stark?” He asked fretfully.
Before the man could reply, the others filtered down from the rubble. Quill’s arm around Mantis, Nebula limping down the scrap metal as she looked grimly at the group.
“Something’s happening.” The girl with antenna announced with a wavering voice.
The sky above crackled with raw energy, glowing bright and yellow. But there were no ships there. Nor were there enemies approaching on foot, or any sign of any danger at all.
But Peter could feel it.
The echo of a snap rung in his ears. Blinking, Peter frowned as he turned to the others, almost about to ask if they had heard the noise.
And then the girl with antenna turned to dust. Particles of dark ash in the air, whipping into nothingness from beneath the arm of Quill.
“No.” Pete gasped, begging the universe not to take anyone else. His chest started to burn.
As soon as she had vanished, so too did the bruiser of the alien crew. He looked to his arm as it turned to nothingness, eyes darting back up to his ally.
“Quill.” He spoke, almost in surprise, as the rest of him turned to ash.
“Steady, Quill.” Tony stepped closer to the man, halting as his shoulder began to crumble and disintegrate.
“Oh, man.” Quill sighed, slipping into nothingness.
The panic at witnessing three people turn to dust barely registered to Peter as he stood on that decayed alien planet. Not when his senses were in overdrive, his heart beating out of his chest as his sternum burned and burned and burned.
God, it was agony.
Sweat pooled on his brow as Peter stumbled towards Tony. The man was facing the magician, witnessing as the man shook his head with sorrow.
“There was no other way.” Dr Strange looked to Tony as he faded away.
Oh God, it hurt.
“Mr Stark?” Peter exhaled through gritted teeth. The man’s head snapped to face him, eyes wide as he looked to Peter’s disintegrating fingers. “I don’t feel so good.” His voice trembled as his legs wavered - the corners of his vision glowing orange.
It was like every atom in his body had been told to split apart. To disperse into the air and stars, free of their constriction as a teenage boy.
And it hurt to try an will them to stay together. Begging his body to keep itself alive, to not fall victim like the others.
“You’re alright.” Tony said gently.
“I don’t…” Peter looked to his fingers, to the ash that flecked away despite his best intentions. His chest still felt as though aflame, as though something were scorching him more and more with each second he fought to stay. “I don’t know what’s happening.”
He wanted May.
She’d know what to say. How to comfort him, to accept he ought to let go. If only he had stayed on that bus and gone to the museum. Poor Ned would be in pieces once Peter didn’t come back.
He should have told May that he was Spider-Man. Now, she’d learn from his obituary. Or from poor Ned once she’d start cleaning out his bedroom and find all his web supplies.
How many people were falling now like him? How many souls would be lost to Thanos’s insanity? All he could think, past the pain and the fire, was the word no. Begging silently to be safe, for them all to be saved.
He stumbled forwards, falling against Tony. Arms reaching to clutch onto the man as he sobbed out in pain.
“I don’t know…” he mumbled, knees almost buckling as he felt the atoms in his shoulders begin to rip apart. “I don’t wanna go.” He cried into Tony’s shoulder, legs caving as the hero lowered him to rest on the ground. He couldn’t hold on. He just… couldn’t. “I don’t wanna go, please I don’t want to do.”
The sky was so yellow.
“I’m sorry.” Peter looked to Tony as he felt his chest exploding. Pulled apart, atom by atom, until all Pete could be was dust in the breeze. Gone was Tony, was the planet made of rubble and the yellow stormy sky. Finally, it was simply dark.
It still hurt.
With the darkness of being reduced to nothingness, he heard a voice. Soft and childish as it spoke with utter contempt.
“Did you do it?”
There was an orange glow now. Like the sunset, caught by overcast clouds. Or a bright light behind shut eyelids. Then came another voice. Rough and familiar, though gentler than before. It did not sound like the voice of a man that had won. Rather, the word came out almost a sigh of disappointment.
“Yes.”
“What did it cost?” The young voice trembled, brightening the orange to almost white. Peter wasn’t sure where he was anymore. Only that he had become dust.
“Everything.”
The darkness took Peter again; a deep orange glow to the depths. He could almost feel his stomach lurch, wherever those atoms were.
It wasn’t empty, though. No. He could feel his every molecule pressed against another - forced together as though sealed. With each bit of pressure came an urgent whisper, a harsh voice in the back of his ear.
Too many to count, to even split them apart. All too full of terror and panic as they yelled and yelled and yelled.
It was surely a mistake. Some tragic blip in the story of the universe, some mistyped word that completely threw the plot awry. This couldn’t be ending for the Avengers. Not some hell of being pressed against every other soul Thanos snatched. Trapped with half the universe screaming in his ears.
Well, he didn’t really have ears anymore, but he could still hear all the yapping.
If he had eyes, he’d screw them shut. If he had hands, he’d press them over his ears. And if he had a mouth, he probably would have screamed too.
There were flashes now of something. From the dark orange, hot flashes of green struck paler shades. Screams turned from words to blind yelling, crying and begging as the green began to burn a path through the orange.
It took a heavy blink to realise that he had eyes again. Hopefully a body too, though he didn’t want to push his luck. Peter’s eyes flung open to see nothing but green. Mouth opening on instinct, only to gag on something.
Water.
Peter laughed out bubbles as he choked and choked. Of course he’d immediately drown once he’d stopped being ash. Lungs burning, snorting out whatever this green liquid was as he laughed and laughed.
His chest burned, vision still of green until he snapped his eyes back shut.
The pain was better when he was part of the atoms. Back in the orange, the darkness softening as the space seemed to settle.
There was no warning or pressure. One moment, Peter was dust, the next he was stood in some large orange space. Jumping at the feeling of having skin again, Pete clutched his arms and head as he checked himself over.
He wasn’t in the spidersuit here. Instead, he wore a familiar flannel under a grey jumper and pair of worn jeans. Sneakers he’d lost a few months back on patrol, once again upon his feet. He could almost breathe here, though the gesture felt more for show than purpose.
Beneath his feet was a floor made of a glowing orange pool, underneath a glowing orange sky. It was almost nauseating, the intensity of the shade. He blinked rapidly, rubbing his eyes as he glanced around the emptiness. Just that watery floor and vivid sky, far as he could see.
Save, that is, for a single archway.
Under the archway, stood a little girl. Younger than ten, with green skin like the Hulk and two ornate ponytails. Dressed in fancy robes, the ends of her hair a vibrant magenta. She seemed familiar. Like a story he’d been told, a picture he’d seen briefly.
“Gamora?” His eyes widened as he looked at the little girl. “I thought you’d be older.”
“I am.” She smirked in a decidedly unchildlike way. “I came to the stone in another way.”
“The stone?” He frowned. “What stone?” Something itched in the back of his mind. This gnawing feeling that he had missed something terribly important. Green lightning ripped across the sky.
“I’m sorry, Spider-Man.” The child spoke solemnly, glancing up at the storm clouds with great trepidation. “I cannot imagine the agony of holding billions of souls within you.”
“I just wanted to go to the museum.” He whined, looking to the sky.
“I know.” She spoke kindly.
“What happened?” He asked finally, to the young girl that was an adult warrior inside.
“Thanos won. He had enough power to complete his task, in spite of your battle.”
“Bummer.” Peter sighed, lifting a hand to wring his neck. “So we’re all stuck here then?”
“Not quite.” Gamora replied cryptically, faced with a scowl from the taller boy. “You succeeded in your task, Peter.”
“I didn’t get the gauntlet.” He frowned, confused as he gagged anew, something stinging his throat. It felt like drowning again, while still upright and breathing oxygen.
“But you got the stone.” She pointed to his chest. Sure enough, as Peter looked down, he spied a faint glow beneath his jumper. Without thought, the boy lifted the fabric - letting out a strangled gasp.
Fused between the skin of his sternum, lay a glowing orange stone.
“Uh-“ Peter let out an odd noise from the back of his throat, almost a creak as he looked to the girl.
“You wanted everyone to be saved.” She spoke gently. “And in your chest, you had a stone forged of pure cosmic power. Raw energy from the birth of our universe, and you begged it to save us all.” Her eyes shone with unshed tears, looking at this boy as he tugged down his shirt and stared blankly her way. “It listened.”
“Where are we?” He asked, looking up at the sky. It was growing darker, lit more green than orange as the storm crackled.
“There are different answers.” The lightning was growing closer; loud and violent as it struck the water. “You have little time left here.” Gamora spoke sadly. “I’m sorry, Peter Parker. The path you must take will not be kind.”
“But I’ll get home at the end of it.” Peter said with great optimism. “Right?”
“I’m so sorry.” A tear blinked free on the girl’s green face. She was watching the sky again; now entirely green and black. “It isn’t fair.”
He didn’t get the chance to ask what she meant. Not as the darkness overtook him again. Not as he blinked back in that green liquid, choking on the vile taste. It seared the back of his throat and blazed a path through his nostrils to his brain.
Bubbles rippled through the liquid as he screamed and his mind began to crackle like burning paper.
Gone was his vision of orange. As he flailed in the liquid, bit by bit, Peter Parker felt like memories tuck themselves in the gaps and holes left by the blistering path of green. Hiding as his blood boiled and his arms lunged at nothingness, forcing free of the liquid.
The air was cold against his hands, sharp as paper cuts. Growling, the boy felt around for some kind of edge to this trap, fingers snapping against some kind of rock as he forced himself upright.
There were no thoughts. Only the endless and constant buzzing of voices, whispers and screams that helped the green drive away any lingering memory from his mind.
Shuddering, he stumbled in the liquid, forcing his bare feet into motion. The green still tinged his vision, caught in his lashes as he fell against the edge of the pit.
Peter winced as the rocks scraped his palms, digging in as he pulled his body to the ragged ground. Stumbling until he fell to his knees, slipping onto his side. There were new slices across his flesh. Across his bare chest and uncovered arm as he curled into a ball and wept.
It was some time before he finally stood on shaking legs, like a child taking their first steps. Dragging heavy feet across a cutting path, blindly stumbling in the darkness. It was some kind of cave. Lit only by the shallow pool Peter had emerged from.
A pit of glowing green, casting wide shadows from jagged rocks.
There were no thoughts as he clawed at the rocks. Only the feel of cool stone against his bloody fingertips as he punched and yanked the wall apart. Forcing his bloodied fists through the stone, over and over again, trying to ignore the streaming of his mind as his skin tore from his knuckles.
All he could do was sigh in relief once he spied the first spark of light through the cracks. It felt like what he had to do. Some nagging feeling, whispers against his ear imploring him to find a way from this place.
Rearing back his arm, Peter punched the wall again.