|peter parker (thespiderling) wrote in avengers_logs,|
@ 2019-05-21 22:04:00
|Entry tags:||-narrative, -rating: red, -spoiler, peter parker|
There was something May always called Parker luck.
It was what Peter blamed when he crammed all night for a physics test only to find it was scheduled a week later; it was what followed him when his webbing missed his mark and he slammed into the side of a building. It was what he was feeling when he’d pressed trembling hands to his uncle’s bleeding chest, two seconds too late from stopping a mugging Spider-man could have prevented with his eyes closed.
And so when Peter fell into the worst dream he'd ever had, it seemed like just one more stroke of that same old misfortune.
He’d died and woke up to rusted-orange skies and the promise of battle to right all of Thanos’ wrongs. Dr. Strange was there, the other Pete and what was left of the Guardians. Peter fought and defended with everything he had (and god, was he scared), until his nose was bloodied and the gauntlet in Captain Marvel’s capable hands. He saw faces he recognized - Wanda, Cap, Pepper. Tony.
Part of Peter knew what was going to happen before it did. His skin crawled in the worst way, his enhanced senses like talons scraping at the back of his neck. But this time his body wasn't scrambling to prepare him for his own death; instead it was for another’s.
Tears and words spilled out as he inwardly begged for the unthinkable before him to not be real. It wasn’t right. Tony could do anything. Peter had believed that ever since he was a little kid in an Iron Man mask at the expo - he believed it when Tony had pushed the Staten Island ferry back together, when he'd built him a suit that could survive space, when they'd taken on Thanos for the first time. So why couldn't he walk away from this now?
There was the lake, a funeral, and wave after wave of sorrow and guilt. He found his aunt again, he found Ned, and after five years of being gone, he was supposed to regain his footing in a world that had changed in a blink of an eye.
It took a while for Peter to come back to himself. It took longer for him to remember that life wasn't his own: that he was home and crouched on his bedroom floor with his head buried in his hands. A car horn blared outside and someone shouted back; it was morning in Queens and his aunt had left at dawn for the morning shift. He was alone, and this - this had to be what Strange was talking about. The dreams. Ever since stumbling into this timeline coated in dust, Peter had wondered where that other universe would lead. Now he knew and he wished he didn't.
"Hey Karen?" The suit was online and draped over the chair where he'd left it after getting back late from a patrol last night. His voice was cracked and hoarse, but his AI heard. "Is - Mr. Stark, is he-"
"Mr. Stark is at his penthouse with Ms. Potts and Morgan, Peter. Would you like me to call him?"
He was okay. He was okay here with his family, and Peter was hit with relief that was still tainted with too much grief. "N-no, Karen. Thanks."
Peter rubbed at his stinging eyes, trying to will his hands to stop shaking. It was past 10 and he was late for school, but he'd be giving that a miss today. His senses were turned up way beyond what was usual even for him, and his heart was pounding with adrenaline from the memory of the battle, of everything that had happened after. He needed to figure out how to breathe again before he put his mind to what came next - and that was making sure what happened there never, ever happened here.