The battle
Had you asked Peter Parker ten years ago what lining up alongside every superhero he’d ever heard of would be like, he would have told you it was his ultimate dream.
But as his heart pounded in his chest, crouching into combat position at the front line of what looked like the apocalypse, it was actually a nightmare.
He faced all kinds of gruesome alien creatures, eight-legged dogs, flying slug things, massive monsters with jaws big enough to crush ten men. It was overwhelming, and aside from charging at them he had no idea what else he could — or should — do.
He heard Cap shout “Avengers!” over the loud beating of his heart and his stomach dropped. There was no going back now.
“...assemble.”
A roar immersed him as Wakandan soldiers sprinted past with gazelle-like grace. He watched Cap sprint ahead, Iron Man - MR STARK!! - flying ahead. All he wanted to do was see him, let him know he was OK. But the focus was the battle now and he had to keep his eyes fixed in front.
He used the flying slug things - and the giant Ant-Man - to swing overhead of the action. All he could see beneath him were swathes of people fighting, hand to hand, sword to sword, gun to gun. Blood everywhere, enemy fighters slain, the heroes battling onwards. Eventually, he knew he would have to join them. Biting the bullet, he landed in the midst of the action. Choosing not to directly fight but help his comrades instead by webbing up assailants from behind, he used web grenades and taser webs to stun the enemy.
Then, he saw his mentor, Mr Stark, being thrown into rocks to his right. He webbed up the giant animal attacking him, pulling him to the ground with all the strength he had — it was fortunate Ant-Man was there to trample on him and kill him off completely.
Leaping across the rocks, Peter felt how tired he was already becoming, being so active after so long sleeping was taking its toll. His muscles burned but he couldn’t waste another second apart from Mr Stark and sprinted over as fast as he could.
“Mr Stark! Oh my God… Holy cow!” he shouted as he approached Iron Man, slightly limping. “You will not believe what’s been going on. Do you remember when we were in space just a minute ago? And then, I like, vanished, and… hey, what’s all that grey stuff in your hair?
“It’s….it’s just grey hair,” Tony replied, bemused, a disbelieving look on his face.
“Oh...sorry. Anyway, Doctor Strange was there when I got back, right, and he gave us this big briefing, on how to —”
Peter’s words were cut off by Tony, pulling him in for a huge hug. Unsure what the embrace was for, but realising it was just what he needed, Peter fell into the hug, pulling his mentor in closer and hoping it would never end. Then, suddenly, he felt Mr Stark’s head turn, planting a kiss on the side of his head. In among the chaos, Peter had never felt safer.
“You’re alright, kid? You’re here,” he said quietly.
“This is nice,” Peter responded.
“Yup,” Tony said, pulling away to look at the teen again. Peter couldn’t help but notice how Mr Stark was taking in every detail of his face, almost disbelieving. “You’re really here. I missed you, kid.”
“I saw you get stabbed. Are you OK?”
“That was five years ago underoos. Course I’m OK,” Tony smiled. “We’d better get back into this - our teammates need us.”
Straightening up, Peter nodded in agreement, and after a mutual pat on each other’s backs, battle recommenced.
Peter watched Iron Man fly over to the eastern side of the battle, as he continued his previous M.O of webbing up as many bad guys as he could and protecting the Avengers from harm.
He then noticed a figure sprinting through the melee. It was Hawkeye, pumping his legs as fast as he could while holding a gauntlet. Not the one he saw Thanos wear on Titan, but one that looked like it belonged to Iron Man - red and gold - only much bigger, with the stones lit up within it. He had little cover but was making good progress.
Suddenly the sound of a 1970s car horn blared out among the noise, with Cap shouting “has anyone seen an ugly brown van around?”
Peter, still webbing up attackers from all angles, was still so confused.
Then, from the corner of his eye, he watched as the gauntlet was passed from Hawkeye to the Black Panther, the arrow-clad hero slumping to the ground in exhaustion. Black Panther began to run through the chaos to a destination unknown — Peter guessed the ugly brown van in question — and dashed across to support him. He knew this was important — why else would the heroes take the prized possession into the epicentre of battle?
Watching Black Panther move was incredible. He seemed to have a new suit which over time glowed purple, brighter and brighter like an energy source and then POW! — the energy came out the suit and knocked out all around him.
Just as he seemed to be in the clear, the ground suddenly rose beneath him and the gauntlet momentarily was lost from the Wakandan king’s grasp. Peter, who had been trailing him for some time in case of this eventuality, knew what he had to do.
“I got it!” he shouted, swinging in and snatching it from the potential grasp of the enemy who he suddenly realised was the weird sorcerer guy from New York who tried sticking needles in the Doctor.
He swung as far as he could away, but with nothing to stick to had to get back onto ground level, using his iron spider arms to roll him away from a hard impact. Still, the fall winded him and he was glad of the arms surrounding him for momentary protection.
Before he had time to think, the vile eight-legged dog creatures had surrounded him and, with only one arm free to fight back he had little choice but to employ the one system Mr Stark had installed in his suit that he didn’t want to lose.
“Activate instant kill mode!” he shouted. Suddenly his spider arms began acting independently of him, stabbing at the attacking dogs. It worked for all of 30 seconds before the dog things grew in numbers and attacked with even more ferocity.
“I got this,” he panted in panic. “I got this! I don’t got this!”
Hearing the teen’s cry was Cap, now wielding Mjolnir with all the might of Thor. “Heads up Queens!” he shouted as he threw the relic in his direction. Peter’s timing had to be razor sharp and he managed to sling his web into the sky at the optimum moment, catching on to the hammer and being flown into safety. There, he was met by a beautiful woman in white riding a flying unicorn (at this point Peter had given up being overawed at anything any more) who herself was engaged in battle, ripping the chitauri power sources from the sides of the flying slug things.
His moment of relative safety though was short lived. The giant spaceship hovering above began to rain fire down onto the battlefield below, and the force of one missile too close to the flying horse knocked him backwards, hurtling to the ground. He flew so fast through the air, too fast to deploy his parachute or for his iron spider arms to fully protect him in time before he hit the rocks, his hip bearing the brunt of the impact.
The pain was intense, blossoming from his thigh and all down his leg and up his back, making him feel sick and dizzy, black spots forming on the periphery of his vision. He retracted his mask, trying to grab what oxygen he could to breathe through the pain, as the missiles continued to fall around him, the noise deafening his already overstimulated senses. There was nowhere to run, even if he felt fit enough to even stand. So he did the only thing he felt capable of, wrapping his battered body around the gauntlet, screwing his eyes shut to try to block out the chaos around him, and hoping someone good would come to take it from him.
Suddenly, the bombs stopped dropping. Silence followed. He prized open his eyes and winced as he turned his head skywards to see the giant spaceship had redirected its missiles to fire east into the smoke-filled sky.
Then, a comet appeared, Peter sluggishly assumed. It was pretty. But then the comet smashed into the spaceship and it suddenly wasn’t pretty any more, it was frightening. He watched the spaceship explode and crash into the lake next to the remains of the compound and then, almost at the same time, the comet appeared at his feet, the blinding glow fading to reveal a strong and powerful blonde woman, her features unscathed.
“H..Hi….I’m Peter Parker…” Peter said, shakily.
“Hello Peter Parker, you got something for me?”
Peter had no idea who the woman was, but given she just single-handedly blew up Thanos’ spaceship he figured she was on the right side of the battle. He dragged himself up onto his feet, dazed and hurting, tasting the blood from his nose on his lips, and winced.
“I don’t know how you’re going to get it there,” he said, gesturing to the ugly brown van in the distance.
“Don’t worry, she’s not alone,” a voice from his left said. It was a fierce Wakandan woman, spear in hand and ferocious in intent. Suddenly, women he knew, and women he didn’t, began to appear from all angles, a sisterhood of Avengers he figured. Together they charged forward, the comet woman turning back into bright light and flying with bullet precision towards the van.
Peter couldn’t keep up, the pain in his hip and side too strong to continue. The iron spider suit was unscathed from his experience in battle, but he could feel the burning of his skin beneath, and a trickle of blood pooling at the crease of his knee. He would heal soon enough but right now, he guessed his body was a bit of a mess beneath the armour.
Taking those moments to feel his body, to register the pain racking him throughout, sent a wave of exhaustion over him, and he slumped to the floor, hoping upon hope that he wouldn’t have to fight any longer. He shifted over to the bottom of a crater created by one of the bombs and took cover.
Whether he blacked out in the moments that followed or not, he wasn’t sure. But an eerie silence made his spider sense go haywire. He stood up instantly, ignoring the pain he was in.
In the distance… “I am… inevitable”
And then… “I am Iron Man.”
Peter instantly knew. He saw the power surge, felt the shift in the earth beneath, the sound of thunder and the stillness that followed. He watched as the enemies surrounding him, dead or alive, began to turn to dust, just as he had done on Titan.
He knew.
He had to get to Mr Stark and he ran - oh he ran. As fast as his legs would take him, adrenaline surging through his system and bypassing the pain of his injuries. They did not matter now.
First, he saw Rhodey, crouched in front of a rock, the feet of Iron Man splayed either side of him. Rhodey sensed Peter’s presence and moved aside to reveal the devastating truth.
There he was, the man Peter knew to be his hero, his mentor, his friend. Laying there, gravely injured, his face and arm burned dreadfully on his right side.
“Mr Stark? Hey, Mr Stark, can you hear me?… It’s Peter,” Peter approached tearfully. “Hey…we won, Mr Stark!” There was no response from the great man. He was looking at Peter, but not seeing him. Peter tried again, his voice faltering. “We won, you did it, sir. You did it…” Mr Stark wasn’t looking at Peter anymore, he was looking through him. Not one word had registered with the man. In that moment, the words caught in Peter’s mouth, the tears falling without end.
Witnessing the death of another father figure, having already felt the crushing pain of losing Uncle Ben, Peter crumbled. He felt hands on his shoulders, Pepper Potts guiding him away so she too, could say her goodbye. “I’m sorry Tony, “ he uttered as he stood. He felt so responsible. Why hadn’t he put the gauntlet on and performed the snap? Why didn’t he think to do that? Then Mr Stark would be alive now. Just like Uncle Ben would have still been alive had he been more responsible when he first got his powers.
He watched the arc reactor flicker into the black on Mr Stark’s chest, with Rhodey’s arm across his shoulders, the Colonel crying desperate tears at the loss of his friend. Pepper clung to her husband, kissing all areas of his face as if her love would bring him back, her primal cries so raw they pierced the hearts of all around her.
Slowly, the Avengers began to appear around the desperately sad scene, forming a circle of honour. Peter limped forward.
“Mr Stark gave his life for us, for all our families, for everyone. Who will help me carry him?”
Captain America, recognising the maturity Peter had shown and stepped forward first, then Doctor Strange, then Thor, Hawkeye, and T’Challa, Ant-Man and the Wasp, Captain Marvel, Groot, Rocket and Professor Hulk. All took a part of Mr Stark and lifted him upwards, and soon all the Avengers had a hand on one another in support, taking turns to bear his weight as they collectively left the battlefield into the green fields not half a mile away. They moved in silence, as the grey leaden skies faded away into Springtime blue, the sound of birdsong filling the void, a warm breeze attempting to dry ever-falling tears.
Reaching a field big enough to accommodate all those who had made it to the end, Mr Stark was laid gently down, meadow daisies and buttercups framing his body.
“He looks peaceful,” Captain America said, putting an arm around an inconsolable Peter.
“I want him back.”
“We all do, Queens. We all do.”
Doctor Strange approached, ashen-faced.
“You knew it would end this way,” Peter said, bitterness tinging his voice. “Why didn’t you stop it?”
“Because it was the only way we could win, Peter. Surely you must understand. Do you remember when I went through time looking at the ways in which we could win? Our one and only winnable situation was the first one I foresaw. I searched 14.6 million other possibilities in the hopes there was an alternative. But there was none. I’m so sorry Peter, but it had to be this way.”
Peter slumped on the floor, sobbing and embracing the pain of his heart and of his body.
Despite the comforting words and embraces of the two comrades beside him, he would never be the same again.