Chapter Text
Today had been rough. Y’know what, rough was an understatement, Tony hates space, it fucking sucks. Even though he would never admit it, it reminds him of the incident, which is something that he’d rather not think or talk about, ever, thank you very much. Who knew trying to save the world by attempting suicide via nuclear missile could have lasting trauma?
He wasn’t going to dwell on it, he refused. Right now Tony had slightly more pressing concerns like ,oh i don’t know, the whole entire CHILD that managed to sneak onto the spaceship and is now stranded in deep space. So his oncoming panic attack is going to have to wait. Said child seems to be taking the situation in his stride and was currently striking up a conversation with the guy who had been holding a gun(?) to his head not three minutes ago. Turning his back to that situation (he could only handle one heart attack at a time), Tony decides to seek out the good doctor.
He finds Strange floating about a foot off the floor, muttering unintelligibly in what he thinks is Latin? Utterly uncaring, he shakes the wizard roughly by his shoulders, snapping him out of his trance. It probably isn’t one of his brightest ideas, but to be frank, he really couldn’t care less right now. “Oi, Dumbledore,” he says, giving the wizard’s robed shoulders a final shake. “I want to call in my favour”
Strange opens his eyes and sends a supremely unimpressed glare his way, “Your favour?”
“Yup!” he responds, popping the ‘p’. “Y'know for saving you from squidward back there.” He says, gesturing vaguely to the webbed up hole in the hull of the ship.
“I believe," he responds, closing his eyes, seeming to try and go back to his magic. " That it was Mr. Parker who saved me”
“Uh-uh Gandalf” Tony says, snapping his fingers in front of the doctor's face. “You're not getting away that easy. Plus, the favour is for the kid.”
🕸️⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊🕸️
Titan was so cool
Peter had never been to another planet before, well, duh. He should probably be freaking out or celebrating or something, (i mean, just think of all the scientific ramifications! Wait, was he the first man on titan? Nah, he’s pretty sure Mr. Stark got off the donut-mobile first. Dammit) but he doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of Dr. Strange or the other Peter. And if he’s totally freaking out anyway then that’s none of their business.
He could distantly hear Mr. Stark and the Quill bickering, but he’s not sure what about as his hearing is somewhat muffled by all the dust and debris floating around. Plus he and the alien lady (he thinks her name is Mantis but he was kind of distracted by the alien gun that was pointed to his head at the time and he would literally die of awkwardness if he had to ask her name now) are testing how high they could jump with the reduced gravity, for science, of course. So he isn’t really paying attention to the subject of their arguing. At least they weren’t throwing punches anymore. They were almost as bad as Daredevil and Punisher, or Daredevil and Dead-pool, Or Daredevil and most other people, honestly.
He’d heard Mr. Stark and Dr. Strange whispering back and forth on the ship, thinking that they were out of his range (he could hear a lot better since he and Matt started working together but Mr. Stark didn’t need to know that). But that doesn’t mean it’s okay to eavesdrop so he tried to stay out of their conversation. After they got off the ship, the doctor had separated himself from the group and Peter hadn’t seen him or heard from him since.
A shadow falls across his shoulder blades.
“Hey Dr. Strange! I was just wondering where you were.” He says, much too invested in the silent staring contest he had accidentally started with Drax to turn around.
“That’s creepy as hell.” the Doctor mutters under his breath, much too quiet for human ears to pick up. “Mr. Parker,” he starts, this time at a regular volume. Though his voice has a tinge of something odd along the edges. Odd enough that Peter tears his watering eyes from the alien to get a proper look at the sorcerer “I need your help with something quickly. Won’t take a moment.”
“Uh. sure?” ignoring the celebrating alien in the background, Peter looks over the sorcerer. His spine is rigid, though not with aloof confidence as it was on the ship. No, now his posture is filled with grim determination, Peter’s not going to lie, it sets him on edge. Strange plucks a hair from his head, paying no mind to the squawk or surprise that escapes Peter's mouth. He stretches out the hair before making a series of complicated glowing shapes in the air. Once he’s done he turns to Peter with a sad weight in his eyes.
“Perfect, Thank you Mr. Parker.”
“Um, you’re welcome?” But the man is gone. Leaving Peter thoroughly confused.
🕸️⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊🕸️
Thanos was much bigger and badder than expected. Bigger than Goblin or Rhino, Stronger than both combined. It takes all seven of them to get him restrained, and Peter is straining. It’s taking all his strength and stickiness to get a grip on the gauntlet, and it is still stubbornly refusing to budge. Gold energy swims in his periphery, it’s saying…something. But he can’t afford to fixate on it, not now, not when they are so close. So, with every ounce of his focus centred on the gauntlet, he barely notices the crack underneath his fingertips, or how the golden whispers go mysteriously silent. He’s much too concentrated on every inch of glove he can wiggle off of the Titan’s hand. They’re doing it, he thinks, everyone will be safe. Then Quill lands, and everything goes to shit.
🕸️⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊🕸️
Thanos disappears through the blue portal and everything that just happens settles in his gut. They lost. And it’s all his fault. He doesn’t blame Quill, if he had just discovered that Thanos had murdered Ned or May or hell even Flash he would have done the same thing. No, he blames himself. If he was stronger, or quicker, he could have stopped the Titan. If he had used his iron-spider legs to push the titan back and gain traction, he might have gotten it off in time.
He’s pulled from his thoughts by a shrill scream at the base of his skull that has him doubling over, his spine is on fire, he’s certain of it. His mind thrums with dangerdangerdanger. And he has to go, he has to move, to run. But he can’t, the threatdeathcarnage is everywhere, utterly suffocating him. And Mantis seems to pick up on it too
“Something is happening” she manages to gasp before her heartbeat is just gone.
Before he can think Drax and Quill are gone too. He is desperately trying to sort through his panic and find their heartbeats but only manages to hear his own blood rushing in his ears. They’re dead, oh my god they’re all--
Dr. Strange breathes an apology, before he’s gone too. He staggers blindly towards Mr. Stark, desperate to see that he’s still there, still alive. “Mister Stark..?” he gasps before his mentor's hands wrap around his torso, steadying him. His sight is smudged with tears and his whole body feels like it’s being ripped apart. "I-I don't feel so good," God, his veins feel like they’re full of burning shards of glass. Was it like this for the others, he’s so weak for crying, the others all drifted off quietly. “ I- I don’t know, what’s hap-” he’s cut off by a flash of pain searing his spine and he barely bites a scream. He’s on the ground now, he doesn’t know what to do. Mr. Stark is trying to help but is clearly out of his depth, his brown eyes darting over Peter's face and body, desperately trying to help him. “I don’t w-wanna go” he begs in between sobs, he doesn’t know who he’s begging to. Mr. Stark can’t save him now, he doesn’t think anyone can. He just wants it to be over.
Golden figures and voices float in the air around him murmuring, soothing, or at least trying to. Mr. Stark is trying to do the same thing, God Peter feels so guilty. It’s unfair to ask Tony to help, it’s obvious that he’s a lost cause. His lungs feel like they’re filling with sand as he stares up at Tony and whispers “I’m sorry.” His vision seems to splinter and crack before white overwhelms his senses.
For a moment everything is quiet and warm and golden in a way that seems to last forever. There are vague impressions of people he recognises, Bucky, Sam, Danny and Luke, lots of others that are too faint or unfamiliar to place. They’re saying something important, but he’s too tired and warm to care.
Then he blinks and he’s somewhere else. It’s darker, louder, greener. He still feels distinctly weightless but now it’s not freeing like it was before, now it's trapping, restricting. White-hot agony blooms all over his body, he sucks in a breath and-- and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe. He thrashes, trying to escape, screaming and screaming and only managing to inhale the burning green that surrounds him. His fist connects with a wall or maybe glass. He doesn’t know. His world has shrunk to nothing but greengreengreen it’s all he can see and taste and feel. And all he knows is that he has to get out. The glass, he now knows it’s glass, he distantly feels it’s shards in his hand, he doesn’t care as long as it’s not green, it shatters under his palm and he spills onto cold, hard floor. And he finally breathes gulping sharp, full breaths of air.
He lies there until his arms and legs stop spasming. He wants to lie there forever, long enough that he can go back to the gold place. But he can’t. The green isn’t gone, it tints his vision and stuffs his ears. He’s drowning in it, all over again. He can feel it rising is in his gut, shifting under his skin. His spider-sense sings for him gorunhide. He needs to get out, get safe. His legs carry him out of the room that he can’t see, or hear or smell and out, out into the world.