MARVEL One-Shots

6861 words

ships: parley

tw/cw: death, grief, light suggestive content, language, random science facts

__

previously...

The Avengers were gone.

"I don't— Pete, I don't think I have much time either."

***

"Peter, look at me," Tony rasped. Peter reluctantly met his eyes, wishing his eyes weren't so glassy, like he could burst into tears at any moment. "Listen to me. You— you are the best hope for this Earth. You have a chance, a true chance, to defeat the Destroyer."

Peter shook his head. "I can't. Not without you."

Tony grabbed Peter's wrist and removed Peter's mask from his face. "You can, kid. You are the best one out of all of us. Remember that."

***

"I need you to— to listen to me."

Peter nodded, wiping his tears away with his free hand. "Of— of course, Mr. Stark."

"I need you to get to a safe place and lie low for a few days. I hear upstate New York is nice during the fall, so go there. I've transferred all that information to Karen, she'll lead you there. Got it?" Tony explained, sharp gasps of air scattered throughout his speech. Peter nodded. "Good. After three days or so, I need you to come back to Stark Tower. I've given you full access to all my labs. I need you to go into Lab 13, on the fifty-first floor, and tell F.R.I.D.A.Y. to pull up the AD/U files, alright?"

***

"Life functions critical," The AI responded in a cool voice. "Should I call an ambulance?" 

"No, no," Peter sniffed. "It— it's going to be okay."

"It's going to be okay, Peter," Tony agreed in a whisper.

***

"I'll be back, Tony. I won't let you down."

__

three days later - earth x

The safe house just so happened to be a glorified shed.

At least, that's what it looked like to the average bystander. Just an old shed that was falling apart, adorned with rotting wood and chipped, faded blue paint. Upon closer examination, when Peter stepped into the shed, a trapdoor next to his feet had opened up, revealing a ladder that went all the way down, with no end in sight.

With no other viable option, Peter had climbed down, barely blinking when the trapdoor closed over his head, and found himself in a room with a Murphy bed, a small kitchen with three coffee machines (a bit excessive, Peter thought), and a workspace complete with power tools. 

He'd immediately passed out on the bed, exhausted from the day's activities.

He'd been there for three days, according to Karen. 

Three days since he'd lost Tony.

Three days since everything had gone wrong.

Peter still hoped that, by some miracle, Tony would show up in the kitchen, brewing himself some coffee and humming softly to himself, but more than that, he was angry. Angry at himself for not getting to Tony in time, angry at Tony for getting hurt, and angry at the world for needing the Avengers to defend them.

He hated feeling angry at something the rational part of him knew he had no control over, but here he was, at the workspace, hammering at a block of wood to get his emotions out. It wasn't working, but it took Peter's mind off death, at least for a little bit. Peter had a pack of saltine crackers next to him that he could barely bring himself to eat, but he tried to eat a bit, to keep his metabolism happy.

He still wondered why Tony even had the need for a safe house, but Peter wasn't complaining. He just felt so numb.

He hadn't cried once since he'd gotten to the safe house. Not when he laid on the bed, staring into the distance before drifting off to sleep for an hour, not when he'd found a crumpled-up MIT hoodie in a small corner, and not when he'd found an early prototype of EDITH on the countertop. Finding the energy to cry seemed impossible, especially with the thought of Tony's last request hanging over his head.

"Ugh," Peter groaned, stretching his arms above his head and leaning back against the chair.

He stared at the wall for what he thought was hours, hammer still in hand, when Karen spoke from his suit, which was crumpled on the bed.

"Peter, it's come to my attention that you've spent the requested 72 hours in the safe house, and it's time for you to follow through with what Mr. Stark asked."

Peter closed his eyes wearily. "I've got... homework?" he tried.

"It seems unlikely that you would have homework in an apocalyptic situation," Karen pointed out. "I'm afraid I have to insist, Peter."

Peter dragged a hand down his face as he got up. "I know," he said. "Can you chart a route to Stark Industries?"

"Already done, Peter."

Peter quickly got into his suit and pulled Tony's MIT hoodie over it for some semblance of disguise, not that he cared anymore. He climbed out of the shed quickly, and if a few stray tears slipped out, well, nobody would know. He wasn't even aware of how much he was shaking until Karen made him aware of it. Muttering a quick apology, Peter swung from building to building, his motions nothing more than muscle memory, ignoring the aching burn in his arms, until he landed in Stark Tower.

He refused to look at the wreckage surrounding the tower as he crawled in through his usual window. It seemed like a cruel twist of fate that Stark Tower had been left untouched, reminding Peter of what he'd failed to save. Maybe if he'd just been faster, Tony would've been alive. If he'd been braver, the Avengers wouldn't need to be avenged. Maybe if he'd just tried harder—

Peter shook his head as he tore his mask off, raking a hand through his curly brown hair. He had a job to do, and he wouldn't benefit from dwelling on things he had no control over. 

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.?" Peter asked tentatively, unsure if F.R.I.D.A.Y. was still online since... since Tony was gone. 

"Yes, Peter?" The AI replied.

Relief flooded through Peter's veins when he heard F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s cool voice echo through the room. Maybe it was a delusion, but if Tony's inventions still lived on, then Peter didn't have to acknowledge that Tony was gone.

"Can you lead me to Lab 13?"

"Of course, Peter. You'll need to enter the elevator and travel to the fifty-first floor."

Peter nodded, muttering a quiet 'thank you' at the ceiling, and stepping into the elevator. He leaned against the cool metal as he felt the elevator go down, already programmed to take him to his destination. The doors opened with a small ding, revealing a well-lit hallway that led straight to Lab 13. Peter stepped out of the elevator and made his way to the lab, stopping when he heard the familiar opening notes of 'Take on Me' coming from the lab.

He frowned in confusion. Was there someone else in the tower? It couldn't be someone dangerous, otherwise, his spidey-sense would've alerted him, but it was still strange. Peering through the bulletproof windows, Peter caught sight of Harley Keener and allowed a small smile at the sight of his long-time boyfriend dancing and singing terribly as some tension dissipated from his shoulders. Making his presence known to F.R.I.DA.Y., Peter walked into the lab as the doors slid open.

Immediately, the music quieted and Harley launched himself on a countertop as soon as the doors opened, pretending to busy himself with a flathead screwdriver as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. When he realized Peter was standing at the door, he sprang up and hugged Peter tightly. Peter's hands rested on Harley's back, pressing the boys closer, and Peter closed his eyes, able to relax for the first time since the fight.

"What're you doing here?" Peter asked after they'd let go of each other.

Harley sat down on a countertop, flipping the screwdriver across his fingers. "I got a notification from R.A.L.P.H. to come here because Tony... well, you know what happened," Harley explained, intently focusing on his screwdriver while talking.

Peter looked down, clenching and unclenching his fists until his eyes were free of tears. "Yeah," he ground out. "Yeah, I know."

Clearing his throat, Peter continued. "So, R.A.L.P.H. sent you here? Why?"

Harley took the opening to make a lighthearted joke, attempting to clear the depression that covered the room in waves. "And here I thought you'd be happy to see me."

"No, no, Harls, of course I'm glad you're here," Peter said. You're the only one I can bear to see right now. "I'm just curious why you got sent here."

"Same reason as you, I'm betting. To work on the AD/U project." Harley patted on the countertop beside him. "Come sit next to me. I'm lonely," he pouted dramatically.

Peter obliged, striding across the room and sitting down next to his boyfriend. He rested his head on Harley's shoulder, his eyes fluttering shut. Peter felt Harley's hand snake around his shoulder until they were sitting together in a side hug. Peter sucked in a shuddering breath, trying to fight off the onslaught of tears that threatened to make a reappearance.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" Harley asked, grabbing Peter's chin and tilting it upwards to face him. 

"Nothing, it's nothing," Peter muttered, reaching up a hand to wipe away a stray tear.

"Bullshit, tell me what's wrong," Harley demanded in a gentle tone. "Please?" he added softly.

Peter opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His tears flowed freely and Harley drew small circles on his back in an attempt to calm Peter down. 

"I miss him," Peter whispered between sobs. "I really miss him."

"I know, Peter, I know," Harley replied. "You have no idea how much I wish it wasn't true, but Tony's dead and we—"

"No," Peter said clearly. "Don't say that."

"Don't say what, darlin'?"

"Don't say he's dead," Peter started, continuing to talk when he saw Harley open his mouth to talk. "If you say he's dead, it becomes real. He's not dead, he's gone. He— he can't be dead."

Harley shut his mouth and nodded. He didn't cry when Peter's sobs intensified, he didn't cry when Peter gripped fistfuls of his crewneck, and he didn't cry when Peter looked up at him, his eyes red and puffy and brimming with tears. He just whispered soft reassurances to Peter and doted on him with soft kisses in his hair.

"He's gone," Peter muttered, his voice muffled by the fabric of Harley's crewneck. "He's gone, and I could've stopped it. Why didn't I stop it?"

"Don't do that, Peter. Don't blame yourself for this, there was nothing you could do," Harley comforted.

Peter looked up at his boyfriend, wiping his tear tracks away with the sleeves of his hoodie. "I could've gotten there faster, Harley. I was right there! Right there," he cried, his voice breaking on the last sentence. 

"Okay," Harley started. He wasn't sure how to comfort anyone who was grieving, especially when it was Peter. "Talk to me. Walk me through what happened," he offered.

So he did. In deep detail, Peter described what had happened, recounting the events from seeing Captain America die to watching Tony in his last moments. He mentioned the smallest details, like the buildings he'd passed, the wind whipping across his face, and Tony's suit glinting in the sunlight, bright enough to be monetarily blinding. Peter described the events of that day to Harley in a detached, monotone way, because if he'd let his emotions take over and tell the story, Peter would start crying again. He didn't want to cry, didn't want to seem weak in front of Harley. 

Harley whistled when Peter finished. "Damn."

"Yeah," Peter laughed softly.

"It's not your fault, Peter," Harley said, cupping Peter's face gently. "There was no way you could've stopped any of this."

Peter shook his head, casting his eyes downwards. "But I could've stopped it, I—"

"How could you have stopped any of it?"

"What?"

"How could you have stopped any of it?" Harley repeated, letting go of Peter's face.

Peter thought about it for a moment, replaying the major moments in his head, before coming to his answer. "I- I don't know."

"Exactly," Harley nodded. "You don't know because there wasn't anything you could do. Everything that's happened was completely out of your control. Peter, if you keep blaming yourself for everything, for Tony, that guilt will eat you from the inside out until there's nothing left. Trust me on this, you need to stop blaming yourself."

"I can't," Peter said. "No matter how many times I go through the events, no matter how many times I tell myself there was nothing I could've done, there's always a little voice in the back of my head that blames me for everything, and I believe it, Harley." Peter buried his head in his hand, muffling the rest of his words. "I believe it every fucking time."

"I know Peter, believe me when I tell you I understand," Harley said, trying to comfort Peter.

"I do, Harls. Of course I believe you," Peter sniffed, resting his chin in his palm. "Let's work on the AD/U project. I need to get my mind off of this and we need to uphold Mr. Stark's last wish."

"Yeah, okay. Whatever you want," Harley agreed, jumping off the countertop. "Are you sure you want to do this though? We have a lot of time."

"The sooner we can save the world, the better," Peter stated, grabbing Harley's outstretched hand as he carefully pushed himself off the counter. "F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you pull up the AD/U files?"

"Of course, Peter."

The room lights dimmed to a soft blue. Holographic graphs, reports, and pictures circled the room and the center work table split in half to reveal a machine rising from the floor, wires protruding from multiple areas.

"Whoa." Peter sucked in a breath as he examined the machine from afar, taking note of the improvements needed. His gaze latched onto the shape of the machine — a small cylindrical tube stuck out at the front, covered in a chrome finish, and the rest of the machine was slightly three-dimensional, but not by much, and circular. It reminded Peter of the colliders and particle accelerators he'd read about in science articles.

"Peter, come look at this," Harley called, motioning to where he was standing, reading a report.

"Holy shit," Peter murmured after he'd read what Harley was looking at.

It was a typed-up article complete with handwritten annotations, certain parts of the report blacked out, and Tony's scrawled annotations scrunched up in the sides and in the paragraph breaks. Peter read it once, twice, then three times before he started to grasp the complexity of what Tony had started to attempt. 

"Is he serious?" Harley asked in a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would make everything disappear. 

"I don't know," Peter responded. "In theory, Mr. Stark's work checks out, but this is— this is far from what human science should be able to achieve right now."

"But it's Tony Stark. If nobody else could do it, he could." Harley ran his hand through his hair.

"But alternate dimension and universe travel?" Peter pointed out. "That's complicated stuff, for anyone."

"Then we'd better get to work and finish what Tony started."

If it wasn't for F.R.I.D.A.Y., the boys would've ended up working through the night, subsidizing on a diet of poorly made coffee and snacks that they found hidden away in various drawers. At exactly 10:30 pm, F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s cool robotic voice flooded through the speakers, reminding the pair to eat a full meal and get some rest before continuing their work.

"Grilled cheese?" Harley asked Peter, tossing a grease-stained rag over to him.

"Sure," Peter replied, catching the rag and wiping the grease residue off his hands.

They made their way to the small kitchen – small was a stretch, nothing in Stark Towers was small – located on the same floor. Peter sank into a cushioned chair at the dining table and Harley searched through the pantry for bread.

"What bread do you want?" Harley asked, his head poking out of the pantry door opening.

"Bread?" Peter responded, frowning in confusion "I don't know, just pick something."

"Well, which one do you want? We've got white, whole grain, rye, sourdough, pita, naan, wheat, and Italian," Harley listed, hands on his hips.

"I don't even know half of those bread types, Harls," Peter laughed. "Pick whatever type you want and that's what I'll have."

Harley laughed, shaking his head. "Fair enough. Italian should be good enough for both of us!"

Peter muttered in agreement. Harley grabbed the bread and tossed it on the counter, grabbing a skillet and turning on the fire. He rummaged around the kitchen for the rest of the ingredients and tools needed as the skillet warmed up, his back to Peter. Returning to the stove, Harley set an armful of ingredients before looking up at Peter with his hands on his hips.

"What?" Harley asked, his Southern drawl sounding more prominent, as Peter watched him dreamily with his chin in the palm of his hand.

"Nothin'," Peter responded coyly.

"I smell bullshit," Harley said, dropping a prepared grilled cheese sandwich into the skillet.

"You sure that's not just the pan?"

"Okay, no grilled cheese for you then."

"Nooooo," Peter protested childishly. Harley flipped the sandwich with a spatula, his eyes never leaving Peter's. "You look hot. Just cooking in the kitchen. You're like, my really hot housewife." 

"Oh, you like this?" Harley teased, pouting seductively in an exaggerated manner, placing the first sandwich onto a plate.

"Shut up," Peter giggled, rolling his eyes.

"Only for you, darlin'," Harley replied sassily, placing the second sandwich in the skillet. While it sizzled in the pan, Harley picked up the first plate and walked over to Peter, setting it down in front of him and kissing his head. 

Peter mumbled a 'thank you', but didn't start eating until Harley had finished making his sandwich and had sat down. They ate in comfortable silence, choosing to ignore the obvious elephant in the room, instead choosing to scarf their food down quickly (neither of them realized how hungry they were) and chasing it down with water. They got up almost simultaneously, dishes in hand, and raced to the sink, Peter's plate landing on top of Harley's with a loud clatter. Harley gave Peter an exaggerated offended glare, and Peter just shrugged smugly, turning on his heel and making his way back to the lab. Harley followed behind, grumbling something about Peter fuelling his competitive spirit.

"Alright," Peter exhaled, clapping his hands together. "Let's get back to work."

"You're right," Harley acknowledged, watching as the lab doors closed behind him. "But I know that I don't have a plan. I'm assuming that you do though, don't you?"

Peter nodded energetically. "I've got a few, yeah. Only one of them makes sense, especially if we want to get this done quickly."

"What do you have in mind?" Harley asked, sitting up on a tabletop across from Peter.

"So, if we each work on one part of the collider-thingy, we could, theoretically, get this done by tomorrow morning. Assuming we don't take any breaks or something," Peter started.

"Good thing I don't sleep," Harley joked.

Peter smiled fondly before continuing. "Harls, I need you to go over Mr. Stark's blueprints and sketches that he'd made, making corrections if you think it needs it, and then start finishing it, since Mr. Stark has a lot of the body already done. Don't worry about it matching everything; it needs to be functional, not pretty."

"Got it: Functional, not pretty. Like me," Harley remarked, smirking.

"Get over yourself," Peter said, rolling his eyes. "You're pretty and functional, don't worry."

"Thanks for your input, darlin'. So, we know what I'm doing, but what are you doing? Surely you're not just gonna sit and look pretty while I'm building this thing— what's it even called?"

"I want to say it's a collider, because that's what it looks like. Mr. Stark never actually named it in his research files, but judging from all his research and knowing what its intended use is, I'm betting it is. And I'm gonna work on the tech part of it, since that's what I'm better at. So, you know, I'll do the coding, programming, and electrical things."

"Roger that," Harley said, mock saluting Peter and starting his work.

Peter forced a smile and quietly sucked in a breath, clearing his mind of anything other than his current focus. He watched as Harley made his way to a worktable, conversing with F.R.I.D.A.Y. while going through Tony's research, and Peter slowly followed suit. He sat down at a desk equipped with two of the newest Stark computers in front of him and four holographic screens behind him, casting a soft blue glow on him.

"Okay, Mr. Stark," Peter muttered under his breath, pulling up the AD/U files on a computer. "How far did you get?"

As Peter read through the files, he let his brain go on auto-pilot, marking off important bits of information in his head and saving it for later. His body moved from memory, fingers flying across the keys, commands coming out of his mouth before his brain processed them, interacting with the holograms to make smaller and larger-scale models of the physical collider. He had papers upon papers of Tony's research printed out, the margins filled with pen scrawls of notes Peter had thought of. When he entered this mode of laser-focus, he worked quietly, speaking only when absolutely necessary, and ignored almost everything around him, including Harley (who'd known Peter long enough to know not to interact with him when it got like that).

Peter leaned back in his chair, stretching his head as far back as it could go, and closed his eyes for a moment. He went over the plan he'd started formulating in his mind and opened his eyes, ready to begin. He pulled up his favourite programming software. (and he purposefully chose to ignore all the memories with Tony that it included:

"Peter!"

Peter looked up at Tony from his workbench, eyes wide as daisies. Tony rarely called him by his full first name, and when he did, he was usually in some sort of trouble, but he couldn't recall if he'd done anything worth upsetting Tony recently.

"What's up?" Peter asked, deciding to play it nonchalantly.

"Did you program Dum-E to dance?" Tony asked accusingly, hands on his hips.

Peter stifled a laugh. Out of all the things he thought he'd get caught for, this was certainly not the one that had crossed his mind. "No," he denied, fighting off an incriminating smile.

Tony nodded, pursing his lips. "Uh-huh. So you didn't program Dum-E to dance to 'Never Gonna Give You Up'? Seems like something you would do."

"I don't know what to say," Peter said coyly, shrugging. "I didn't do that."

Tony sighed, an exasperated smile lingering on his face. "F.R.I. has footage of you programming him, Pete."

Peter scrunched his face up in annoyance, tilting his head towards the ceiling. "Damn it, F.R.I.D.A.Y.!"

"I record everything that happens here, Peter," F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied, a hint of humour colouring her tone.

"Face it, kid. You're outmanned here," Tony said. "And who taught you that type oflanguage?"

"You did."

"I did no such thing!"

"And I didn't program Dum-E to dance."

"Touché.")

He began writing line after line of code, hardly blinking or stumbling over the keys. His eyes never strayed from the computer screen, following the lines of code as it was typed up at what seemed like superhuman speed. He typed and typed for what seemed like hours, referencing his and Tony's notes, until—

"Done!"

Harley looked up from the collider he was hunched over, grease stains on his face and a chunk of metal in hand. "With what?"

"The code, Harls," Peter replied, stretching his limbs as he got out of his seat. "I'm done with the code."

"Oh," Harley said, setting his tools down and standing up, brushing his palms against his thighs. "Good job!" He said, giving Peter a thumbs-up. "Let me see it!"

"Okay," Peter laughed, watching as Harley stumbled over to him. He scrolled up to the beginning of his work, leaning over the desk, relaxing as Harley hugged him from behind.

"Oh...kay," Harely muttered, his breath tickling against Peter's neck. "What am I looking at, Peter? I'm quite literally the stupidest person in the world, I don't know what this means."

Peter rolled his eyes. "You're far from the stupidest person in the world, Harley."

"Agree to disagree."

"Harls–"

"Agree to disagree," Harley said, humour undercutting his tone. "Even then, I still don't know what any of this means. Explain it to me?"

"I don't know, Harls. It's a lot of scientific-sounding stuff, not exactly the easiest thing in the world to explain."

"But I love when you sound all scientific," Harley insisted, pressing his lips softly to the side of Peter's neck, eliciting a small, sharp intake of breath from Peter. "Please?"

"That's not fair, but fine," Peter relented, gripping the side of the desk for support.

Peter's eyes scanned the lines of code on the screen, formulating what he was going to say in his head, before beginning. "So, you see these first few lines of code here? This is what controls  the destinations we put in. The machine reads our command, or destination, and then puts it through the commands I wrote up, which sets up the collider. Hopefully. It's all theoretical, since I haven't tested it yet, and the code relies on the collider actually being complete."

"No pressure," Harley muttered.

"I believe in you," Peter said reassuringly. He scrolled through the lines of code until he came up on the second section. "Now, this is really interesting, because, well, it makes sure that nothing bad happens while the rift opens up for us. It makes sure that the collider isn't overloaded and is supposed to detect any impending implosions that could occur before we travel through dimensions. Obviously, if anything bad happens while we're travelling, there's really nothing to be done, but this is an extra safety measure for anything that could happen beforehand. But, you know, it's all–"

"Theoretical," Harley finished.

"Pretty much. And these lines of code," Peter started, scrolling down to the third and final section. "They power the collider. It's like the brain, or the nucleus, or the mastermind, of the whole thing. It's responsible for operating the machine. After we input all the information, everything runs through these commands, and they break it down, sending pieces of information to their proper area.

"Like, for example, if I put in a destination, the code would break down everything I gave it, and send the destination to wherever it needs to go for the collider to operate properly. Like when your brain makes a command for your finger to move, that command goes from your brain to the limbs responsible for your finger's movement. It's the same concept here."

"Damn. That's a lot. You did all that?" Harley exclaimed, astonished.

Peter nodded proudly. "Yep."

"I'm so proud of you," Harley praised. "You did the hard part, and you kicked its ass. All that's left to do is to finish building the collider, and that's up to me."

"Thanks, Harls," Peter said, turning away from the computer to face his boyfriend. "Will you need any help with building it? I'm pretty good at that too, I've had a lot of experience helping–" 

Peter stopped himself from mentioning Tony. He'd gotten this far by immersing himself in work, and he would not let himself think about Tony. Nothing good could come from that.

If Harley had noticed where Peter was going with his sentence, he graciously chose not to mention it. "I'm good, Peter. You should get some sleep, it's like two in the morning."

"What about you? You need to sleep too."

"Sleep is for the weak," Harley stated. "I'll get some sleep as soon as I'm done, okay? I'm almost done, it shouldn't be too much longer," he added after seeing Peter's unamused expression.

"I'll be in the guest room down the hall, I'll wait up for you," Peter promised.

Harley leaned down, pressing his lips to Peter's and lingering for a moment, before separating. "Don't wait up for me."

"Too late," Peter said, heading towards the lab doors. "My mind's already set on it."

"Your mind's sleep-deprived!" Harley shouted after him.

"I love you!" Peter shouted as he exited the lab.

"I love you too!" Harley shouted back as the doors closed. Peter saw Harley lean against the desk, watching Peter through the windows until they lost sight of each other.

Peter quickly made his way to the guest room, the path familiar to him after years of exploring the tower. After he entered, ignoring the urge to just collapse on the bed in his worn clothes, Peter took off Tony's MIT hoodie and his Spider-Man suit, piling them on top of each other in a corner. He looked around and located the closet, nestled in the furthest corner of the room, and grabbed the first t-shirt he saw, a white one with a cat on it, and a pair of soft shorts. Heading into the en suite, Peter washed his face and rinsed his mouth, drying himself off with a fluffy maroon towel.

He made his way to the queen-sized bed, wearily climbing under the covers. He was flat on his back, hands folded on top of his stomach, eyes facing the ceiling. He closed his eyes, trying to release the tension in his body, unsuccessfully. Peter rolled to his side, facing the door, but that didn't feel right either. With a sense of finality, Peter rolled to his other side, facing the window that encompassed an entire wall. He stared at the sparkling skyscrapers that were still standing after the battle against the Destroyer. He saw the way the bright lights illuminated the city, and on any other day, he would appreciate the beauty that New York contained at night, but now all he saw were the destroyed buildings, decimated to rubble, a glaring scar on his home. He saw the skyline differently now, because it wasn't the same.

How could it be? The Avengers were gone. Earth's mightiest heroes were gone. Tony Stark was gone, and regardless of how much New York would recover, they would never get him back. So no, the New York skyline, in all of its shining glory, wasn't the same. And if the skyline Peter had once loved so much wasn't the same, then how could Peter be the same? Maybe the world had lost an entrepreneurial genius, but Peter had lost a mentor, an idol, a confidant, a friend, and a father figure all in one day.

"Stop it," Peter whispered, urging his mind to think of anything else.

Science. Peter loved science. What were some science things Peter liked? Galileo adored disproving Aristotle's theories and the Catholic Church hated him for that. It made him so unpopular with the church that they put Galileo on house arrest until he died, and then it took 359 years until Pope John Paul III formally apologized for the church's treatment of him. Peter remembered how much Tony had laughed when he'd read that on Peter's report of Galileo.

(Peter looked up at Tony nervously, awaiting his verdict. Granted, Tony was only proofreading Peter's report on Galileo Galilei, but it still felt nerve-wracking. Here was Peter's idol, judging Peter's paper, and if it was bad, then it reflected badly on Peter and that couldn't happen because if that happened then—

"Did you write all ofthis?" Tony asked all of a sudden, Peter's school-issued laptop balanced precariously in the palm of his hand.

Peter shot up from his seat instantly. "Yeah," he replied, nodding anxiously.

"And all of it's factual?"

"Yep."

And then Tony burst into laughter, loud and contagious. Peter had never seen him laugh like this, so free and unguarded, laughter echoing off the walls. Naturally, Peter had started to worry about thesource of Tony's laughter. Surely, his paper couldn't've been that bad, right? Maybe a few grammatical errors here and there, probably results from writing the majority of the paper while running on little sleep and lots of caffeine, but nothing worthy of laughter.

So, Peter did the only thing he could think of. He joined into the laughter, even if his laugh sounded a bit too forced, a bit too shrill. But finally, thankfully, Tony's laughter died down until he was gasping for air and swiping at his eyes with his free hand.

"What– What's so funny?" Peter asked, injecting humour into his tone. "Was it really that bad?"

"No, no, kid, it's nothing about the paper," Tony reassured him. "It's just– 359 years? That's hilariously stubborn."

"Oh, thank god, it's just that," Peter exhaled, relief flooding his veins. "Yeah, I didn't believe it when I first read it either.")

Nope, that hit too close to home. His mind raced, combing through his brain for something that didn't relate to Tony. There was Leonardo Da Vinci, who was a pretty interesting person, even beyond his art and his scientific contributions. He had actually been arrested once for "engaging in homosexual activities", and when Peter had read that for the first time, he'd almost spilled his hot chocolate all over his laptop. He'd studied anatomy and botany in order to make his art more realistic. There was also the random corner in Peter's head that knew that the human stomach can dissolve razor blades (but no one should ingest a razor blade) and that grasshoppers have ears in their stomachs.

Peter had all these scientific facts living in his head rent-free, but he was able to relate every single one to Tony. Peter only knew that rats could laugh when tickled because Tony showed him a video to cheer him up, and he only knew that other planets can have literal diamonds rain down because Tony took him to a NASA lecture that proved it.

"Why won't you get off my mind?" Peter muttered to himself.

It was like the second Peter got a quiet moment to himself, he immediately thought about everything he'd been actively avoiding the whole day. Maybe... maybe he needed to confront his feelings? No, that couldn't be right.

It was just– once Peter would allow himself to recount the events of that day, then he'd spiral. He'd had enough of spiraling to last a lifetime.

But then, how would he ever move on if he internalized all his feelings? That couldn't be a healthy way of coping, for anyone.

Peter stilled as he heard footsteps down the hallway that gradually grew louder as they approached the room. Peter tried to relax his body as he shut his eyes, glimpsing slivers of the sunrise before his eyes closed fully. He felt Harley slowly come under the covers, delicately lifting the covers and adjusting the blanket. Peter felt Harley softly kiss the back of his head, and felt him fall against the thick pillows. His quiet, controlled breathing soon turned into soft snores, and Peter could feel himself slipping into sleep.

He wished he could just stay there forever.

The sun, in all of its annoyingly blinding glory, was the first thing Peter could see as he opened his eyes and he instinctively slammed his eyes shut and rolled his face against his pillow.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Harley called from across the room.

Peter groaned against his pillow and rolled onto his back, glaring at Harley with his eyes half-shut. "It's too early for this."

"It's 3 in the afternoon, Peter," Harley pointed out with a smile.

"Exactly," Peter groaned.

"Come on, you gotta get up. You probably eat something before we try the collider," Harley said, urging Peter to roll out of bed.

"You need to eat something," Peter mocked, sliding out of bed and landing face-first on the floor. "Don't say a word," he cautioned, his voice muffled by the floor.

"Wasn't planning on it," Harley snickered.

Peter peeled himself off the floor, swaying on his feet as the blood rushed from his head.

"Who knew Spider-Man had a terrible center of gravity?" Harley said jokingly, handing Peter a t-shirt and his Spider-Man suit as he made his way to the bathroom.

"Shut up," Peter grumbled, closing the door behind him before Harley could respond.

Tossing the clothes Harley handed him on a counter underneath the sink, Peter took off his worn, slept-in clothes and threw them in a pile on the tiled floor. He stepped into the shower and started the water, jumping back when cold water hit his skin. He stretched out his hand, feeling the temperature of the water, droplets sliding off his hand. When the water had warmed to a comfortable temperature, he stepped underneath the showerhead, feeling the gentle pressure against his scalp, his shoulders, and his face. The tension in his body dissipated, and Peter felt his shoulders relax.

Peter loved showers, it's where he got some of his best (and worst) ideas. It was a time where he could think without interruptions, where he could close his eyes and just be. He could stare at a wall for hours, he could cry his eyes out, he could sing at the top of his lungs, and it would be alright because no one cared about what happened in the shower. The feeling of the water sliding down his body was soothing, and it was the only time his hair actually felt smooth.

What was their plan? Once Peter and Harley got the collider up and running, what exactly were they going to do? Peter hoped Harley had an idea, because Peter had nothing. What if it went wrong? Would they be stuck in between space and time? Would they just cease to exist? And what would happen if the collider worked? Would they just introduce themselves to the first person they saw? Peter wrung his hands through his hair, rinsing out the shampoo. It was too early for complicated thoughts.

He went through the rest of the shower robotically. He rubbed a lathered sponge over his body and rinsed off the suds. Shutting off the showerhead, Peter stepped out onto a soft bath rug and grabbed a towel that was neatly folded underneath the sink counter, swiftly drying himself. He threw on the shirt Harley had given him and grabbed the shorts he'd slept in from the pile it was in, pulling them on. After he'd gotten dressed, he brushed his teeth and tousled his hair until he was content with it. 

"You're back," Harley observed, watching Peter walk out of the bathroom, wet curls leaving beads of water on his eyelashes and along his cheeks.

"Don't sound so disappointed," Peter shot back jokingly, using the hem of his shirt to wipe off the water droplets scattered across his face.

"I'm not, I'm not," Harley said, his gaze catching on the sliver of Peter's stomach that became visible while he was wiping his face. "It's just that you usually take longer than that."

"You're usually in there with me, Harls."

Peter smirked at Harley's shocked expression, walking past him as he made his way back to Lab 13.

"Are we doing this today or not?" Peter asked when he entered the lab

"That's the plan."

Peter turned to Harley, the anxiety glimmering in his eyes. "Are you sure this'll work?"

"Hell no," Harley scoffed. "But it's the best shot we've got. You programmed the collider, and I built the damn thing, so if nobody else can do it, we can."

Harley's words didn't give Peter any reassurance, but he nodded anyway. So what if this could possibly be a suicide mission? Those were the best kind, after all. They had done everything they could do — they had the collider programmed, built, and had an idea (even if it was pretty vague) of where they were going and what they were going to do. Everything else was up in the air. Peter was determined to avenge the Avengers, or die trying.

"Do you know what dimension we're going to?" Peter asked, examining the finished collider.

"I think so."

Peter looked up at his boyfriend, waiting for an answer.

"Are you gonna tell me which one it is or..."

"Oh, it should be Earth-199999. At least, that's what Tony's sketches and blueprints say."

"Perfect," Peter muttered. "F.R.I., can you set the collider to Earth-199999?"

"Certainly, Peter," The AI responded.

"What now?" Harley asked.

"I don't know," Peter said, frowning and crossing his arms. "I would think that there would be some sort of signal that the collider woul–"

Peter and Harley both jumped back, with Peter landing in Harley's arms, when a sudden bright white light flashed from the collider. Harley gently helped put Peter back into an upright position, just in time for the pair to feel heavy vibrations traveling through the ground. The collider whirred mechanically, separating until there were two circular parts facing each other. Peter could feel the energy in the air. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before. The air felt static, charged even, like a thunderstorm could start right there, in Stark Tower, and no one would even think to question it.

"Do you feel that?" Harley asked, effectively knocking Peter out of his stupor.

"Yeah," Peter whispered back, scared to speak louder, lest he disturb the very tangible energy.

"It feels like we're trying to resurrect Thor," Harley said, lowering his voice to match Peter's.

Peter let out a choked laugh at that. "Yeah, I guess it does."

"Let's do this thing," Harley said, offering his hand to Peter.

Peter grabbed Harley's hand. "All or nothing?"

"All or nothing."

Holding hands, they stepped into the center of the collider. And at first, there was nothing but the nervous breathing and the anticipation emanating from the boys. There was fear, sure, over all the unknown variables that were running through Peter's mind, but there was also a sense of excitement. Of adventure. Of an opportunity that comes only once in a lifetime.

First, there was nothing.

Then, there was everything.

a/n: first things first, let’s take care of my citations:

• https://www.history.com/topics/inventions/galileo-galilei

• https://www.sparknotes.com/biography/davinci/section3/

• https://www.vedantu.com/blog/amazing-facts-in-science

•https://www.rd.com/list/science-facts-never-learned/

because if i had to learn all this damn stuff about galileo, then so do you. plus my friend did leonardo da vinci, so i have random facts there too.

secondly, i told you i’d get this part out! so from here on out, uploads will slow down a bit, but they’ll still happen, don’t worry. let me know how you liked this one and what you think will happen!

make sure you take care of yourself and stay safe. eat enough food and drink enough water!

until next time,

~cleo xx