Chapter Text
It was quiet.
Peter could hear sobbing, whispered words, tight embraces.
But nothing else.
It was warm too.
The humid air enveloped him, a stark contrast to the wind of Titan.
Was this Earth?
Where had he been?
What had happened?
He remembered amber skies, and friends crumbling, and Mr Stark crying and then –
Peter opened his eyes.
He wasn’t dead.
His vision was filled with green. Jade branches stretched across a cloudless sky, and dappled sunlight filtered through the foliage. He was laid on the ground; swaying grass tickled his ears. His arms were stretched out to his right, fists closed tightly.
Like he had died clinging to someone desperately.
He glanced at his hands. They were whole again – it almost like they had never crumbled to dust. (But they had and Mr Stark had cried and he was sorry.)
He pushed himself into an awkward sitting position, and twisted to look around. To his right stood two men. The first had a worn face, framed by long, hickory locks that tumbled to his shoulders. He looked kinda like Jesus. Did Jesus have a metal arm now?
The second man was wrapped in a tight embrace with Jesus, and tear tracks were visible on his screwed up face. He had dirty blonde hair, and a torn blue suit with a tear in the centre that looked strangely like a star.
Which made him Captain freaking America.
That made the other guy the Winter Soldier, not Jesus, and this clearly wasn’t heaven. Captain America was too badass to die.
A cry erupted from the clearing behind him as a man clad in dulled red (Star Lord?) sprinted towards a tall, green woman. Right. Green woman. Of course.
They were both crying now, and Mr Quill pulled the green lady into a desperate, passionate kiss.
Was that Gamora?
While Peter had been tugging at the Gauntlet in vain, he had heard snippets of Star Lord’s confrontation with Thanos. He had heard as he screamed in anguish, and seen as he began to beat Thanos, over and over again.
Thanos had taken his lover.
Peter was happy for Quill and his Guardians, as they stood in a loose circle and recounted tales of their respective battles. Apparently there were more – a living tree and a talking raccoon were amongst the group.
All over the clearing, heroes stood in loose clumps, apparently having been reunited with the fallen just minutes prior. Black Panther was hugging a teenage girl around Peter’s age, dressed in charcoal trousers and a sweet orange raincoat-dress-thing.
Peter guessed he had been the last to appear; no one had noticed him yet.
He sat alone for a moment.
Then his name, “Peter?”, was uttered in disbelief from behind him. Peter stood up and turned just in time as Mr Stark barrelled into him and threw his arms around him.
They stood in joyous embrace for a minute. Peter was just a little confused.
“Uh, Mr Stark? There’s no door here.”
Mr Stark chuckled, as tears of relief began to spark in his eyes.
“I know kid.”
Woah.
Then reality hit.
“Mr Stark, I'm -”
“Ah ah!” interrupted Mr Stark, standing back and surveying Peter.
“Two things kid. One: drop the formalities, you’re making me sound like I’m 70 or something. It’s just Tony.”
“Ok Mr – Tony.”
Tony ran his hands through his hair and laughed a strained laugh.
“We’ll work on it. And second? Don’t ever apologise to me again. You hear? You did great kid.”
“But -”
“Nope. It’s all in the past. All we’ve got is a future of ass kicking and science, deal? Plus, we’re in Wakanda Pete; we have to explore this place.”
Tears shimmered in Peter’s eyes too now, but a smile lit up his face.
“Deal.”
Mr Stark (no, Tony) enveloped him in another hug.
One day, they would have to talk about what happened - reconcile with the past. Peter would wake in a cold sweat for nights and nights as clouds of dust blew through his dreams.
But for now he was alive. Everyone was alive. He was in Wakanda, surrounded by heroes he had dreamt of meeting since New York all those years ago. He was hugging Iron Man, not only his hero, but his friend and mentor (perhaps even his dad).
He held onto Tony as happy tears ran down his face.
Peter wasn’t afraid anymore.