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One moment he is on Titan, literally falling to pieces and whispering a feeble apology to Mr. Stark, and the next moment he is whole again, standing alone in a place shrouded in orange fog. It's confusing, to say the least. Dr. Strange had been on Titan too when he turned into dust, but he was nowhere to be found.
"Um, hello?" Peter called out into the strange world, voice filled with uncertainty. His eyes flicked frantically from side to side, trying to find something - anything - but it was just emptiness. "Dr. Strange, sir, are you here? Mr. Lord? Uh, antenna girl? Anyone?" He can hear his voice grow higher as he speaks. He wipes his trembling hands against his suit. "Karen?" His AI, his friend, the one person he had always thought would be permanent. Karen wouldn't let him down.
She does not respond.
Peter can feel his heart pounding. Taking a step forward, he carefully reaches out his foot to brush against a cloud of the strange coloured mist, bracing himself for pain, but it simply... hangs in the air, apparently harmless.
With nothing better to do, he walks. He walks and walks and walks, shouting himself hoarse. All the people on Titan, the Avengers, his friends. The only people he doesn't call for are Aunt May and Mr. Stark. He walks for days, weeks, but never tires. His suit is nothing more than stylish clothing - the web shooters don't work, or any of the fancy features.
Eventually, he collapses to the ground of this place that is not his home, alone and afraid. He's dead, he died, but it doesn't quite feel like death, or whatever was after it.
Peter Parker, Spider-Man, curls into a ball and sobs.
There is no one there to hear him.
One moment he is sitting in the Place, staring at the orange fog overhead, and the next he is materialising back on Titan, along with Dr. Strange and the Guardians. Peter drops to the ground, shaking like a leaf as he presses his hands against his thighs to make sure they aren't going to fall apart again.
He feels a quivering hand rest gingerly on his back and turns to find Dr. Strange standing before him, looking awkward and apologetic.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Parker, but I'm afraid we have little time to recuperate. The Avengers need us." His voice is firm, but not unkind. Peter nods in response, getting to his feet and trying to prepare himself.
"Karen?" he asks, voice wobbling.
"Hello, Peter." Though she's 'just' an AI, she sounds relieved. "I'm happy to be back."
If they weren't about to go through a glowing orange portal (and if his heart seizes up at the sight of the colour that had haunted him for so long, it's no one's business), he would probably start bawling.
As it is, he lets a few stray tears leak from the corners of his eyes, and breaths.
Mr. Stark interrupts his awkward rant to give him a hug. It's quite possibly one of the best moments of his life.
When we win, he thinks as they rejoin the battle, I'll get all the Mr. Stark hugs I want.
Peter drops to his knees in front of Mr. Stark and wonders if it's possible for a human heart to break.
Mr. Stark's arm is a mess, as well as that corresponding half of his body. Burnt, mangled, irreparable. He seems to stare without seeing and breath without living, his chest stuttering up and down. Blood drips from his wounds.
"Mr. Stark?" A minute twitch of the finger in reply. His mentor gazes at him, blank and unfocused. "We...we won. We won, Mr. Stark. You did it, we won."
Tears drip down his face, mingling with the dirt and blood, but he wipes them away carelessly and focuses on Mr. Stark.
"We won," he repeats, clawing desperately at false hope. "You did it."
Why isn't he answering?
Oh.
He's dying, Peter thinks, and stumbles back into Rhodey's arms. He feels numb.
Peter Parker is no stranger to death. Every time he put on the suit, he knew that one day he might not come home alive. That was what being a hero was all about - knowing that you could get hurt, being afraid of dying, and going out to save the world, someone's world, anyway. His parents died, and his uncle died right in front of him (your fault, your fault).
Peter knows death, but Mr. Stark is dying. Mr. Stark is dying, and Peter can do nothing but watch and choke out empty apologies.
He watches Miss Potts whisper her last words to him, watches the life fade from Mr. Stark's eyes, and falls apart for the second time.
He's sitting in the living room with Aunt May when it all hits him again.
"Peter," she murmurs, brushing liquid from his cheeks and giving him a worried look. He hadn't even realised he'd been crying. When he speaks, his voice is quiet and gravelly.
"Aunt May, Mr. Stark's dead."
"I know, honey." Her eyes are shining too. "I know."
"He's dead," he repeats. "Aunt May, Mr. Stark's dead."
No more random calls to rant about his day and hearing Mr. Stark indulgently respond, fond exasperation laced through his voice. No more tinkering with his suit in the Compound lab, watching his mentor work in awe and not-so-subtly preening at his approval. No more falling asleep while watching a movie, head resting on his shoulder and body tucked into his side. No more Mr. Stark.
"Aunt May," he says again, gasping for breath, "Mr. Stark's dead."
She cradles him gently as he sobs, face pressed into her shoulder, rubbing calming circles on his shaking back.
The world seems to move on, inch by inch. Crime falls, the streets are cleaned, life unpauses and continues as normal. Peter... doesn't.
He goes to school, hangs out with Ned and MJ, does everything that's expected of him, but it's like a part of him is stuck in the past. Maybe a part of him died when Mr. Stark did.
He wakes up crying and screaming regularly - the nightmares rotate, from the bleak orange isolation to painfully crumbling on Titan to watching life leave Mr. Stark behind. Whenever he feels like he's improving, it takes only the smallest, tiny things to send him slipping through the cracks again.
Things like cleaning his room and looking at the pictures of him and Mr. Stark; some while they were curled up on a couch, fast asleep, others while they were deep in concentration in the lab. He wipes away the dust of his favourite, the one of them holding his internship certificate upside down and giving each other bunny ears, and lets his tears drip onto the glass frame.
Sometimes, when it's lab time (their time), he finds himself at the Compound, feet taking him there on instinct. He walks in, making to head down to the lab, and then stopping short. Usually it's seeing one of the Avengers, tired and broken, that snaps him out of the past and into the present, but once he made it all the way to the lab, lost in a haze of memories. He finds nothing in there but the tools and equipment, just the way they left it. Only Mr. Stark isn't already there, working away and humming an odd little tune. It feels wrong to be there without him to talk to and watch. Peter waits a bit, lost and confused and in denial, before realisation hits.
Miss Potts (Mrs Stark) finds him collapsed leaning on a wall, shaking with sobs, palms pressed against his eyes. They mourn together.
He goes to see Miss Potts and Morgan quite often. The older woman's face is lined with grief and sorrow, but she hugs him tightly and always makes sure he knows he is welcome. There's something sacred about their house in the countryside, something safe and secure. It feels like he's intruding.
"Nonsense, Peter," Miss Potts says, firm and unyielding as always. "You're family."
He'd be lying if his heart didn't skip a beat at her words, voiced without hesitation. Family.
Little Morgan, young and full of life, is the highlight of his visits. She laughs and smiles and lives without fear, though he knows she still mourns and misses her father. Peter holds her small, chubby hand in his, blinking away tears as Mr. Stark's eyes stare back at him, wide and round.
"I miss papa," she says quietly, grave and beyond her years. Peter's heart seizes. "But papa was really, really tired. Mama says he's gonna sleep for ages now." She nods as she speaks.
"Yeah, Morgan," he whispers, eyes damp. "He's... he's resting now. He deserves it." She lays her other hand on top of his and leans her tiny head against his chest. They sit in silence.
Sometimes, he thinks about moments like those. And other ones, like watching Morgan laugh, eyes bright and crinkled at the corners. Watching her smile, wide and toothy and utterly perfect. Brushing the hair from her face and clasping her hands in his. Hugging her gently and feeling her hug back.
Little moments. A lifetime of little moments that Mr. Stark will never get to see.
It's stupid, he's stupid, he's so dumb -
His phone falls from his hand and to the floor as he drops to his knees and hugs them to his chest. Tears come fast and hard, and he wipes them away with his hand.
"Hey there, random person who called my number! Not sure who exactly you are or why you called, but anyway, feel free to leave a message if it's important! If it's not, well, I really don't care. Wait - hold on - "
"Howdy, stranger! Sorry about Mr. Stark, he's a big meanie - I am NOT! - but he'd super duper appreciate it if you left a message, wait oh crap - "
Peter had never expected Mr. Stark to keep it as his voicemail, but when he asked, the older man just shrugged.
"I thought it was funny, so why not," he says. It sounds strangely like a lie. "Besides, it's kind of cute." He ruffles his hair, despite Peter's half-hearted attempts to fend him off. "Wanna watch Harry Potter again?" And he'd laughed and agreed, flopping onto the sofa gracelessly as Mr. Stark sat down beside him, arm casually flung around his neck.
He's never going to have those moments again.
Chest heaving, he flails his hand out and retrieves his phone, fingers shaking. It's almost certainly unhealthy, and he's definitely going to regret it later, but right now all he wants to do is hear his voice and pretend he's still here.
"Hey there, random person who called my number! Not sure who exactly you are..."