Chapter Text
There’s a moment where Peter thinks this might be a dream.
Not a good one, though.
Not even the kind where everything is weird and upside down, but you just roll with it because… sure. Why not.
This feels like the kind of dream you don’t wake up from.
He’s floating.
Not falling.
Not flying.
Not swinging.
Just… suspended.
Midair.
Well. Not air.
The stars around him make that pretty clear.
They’re steady.
Cold.
Unblinking.
Dependable.
“Okay,” Peter says.
Or he tries to.
Right. Space.
His chest tightens. Instinct makes him try to pull in a breath he probably shouldn’t waste on panicking. The only reason he can breathe right now is because Tony learned from last time.
Tony Stark always learns.
Guess it’s my turn.
Think.
First question: Where am I?
In the Iron Spider.
In space.
Not a bad start.
Second question: Why?
Something happened.
A flash—
Bright light.
The snap.
Something went wrong.
Very, very wrong.
Something broke.
Did we fix it?
Did I fix it?
His thoughts scatter, reforming in jagged pieces. Every time he tries to line them up, they slip away again.
Focus.
Suit integrity?
34%.
A memory surfaces—
Tony leaning against his workbench, arms crossed, expression sharp.
“Kid, if you find yourself underwater, oxygen starts leaking when suit integrity hits 33%. Remember that.”
Guess I did.
Thanks, Tony.
Temperature?
Cold.
Really cold.
He should be freezing.
But instead—
He’s burning.
It starts small. A prickle under his skin, like static building with nowhere to go.
Then it spreads.
Sharp.
Insistent.
Crawling along his arms, his neck, his face.
He inhales sharply on instinct.
A mistake he probably can’t afford.
He barely notices.
Why am I—
The pain spikes.
Not heat. Not exactly.
It’s deeper.
Like something is reaching through his skin and grabbing him from the inside out.
Radiation.
The word lands in his head like a verdict.
Cosmic radiation.
A thin, broken sound escapes him. It might’ve been a laugh, once.
Because getting stranded in space wasn’t enough.
Now his cells are cooking too.
His vision flickers.
Stars smear into lines, then snap back into focus.
His hands don’t feel like his hands anymore. They move when he tells them to—
—but there’s a delay.
Like the signal has too far to travel.
This is bad.
This is really bad.
He tries to move.
Not drift.
Move.
He twists, searching for anything—
a direction,
a landmark,
a ship—
There’s nothing.
Just space.
Endless.
Silent.
Uncaring.
And something inside him cracks.
Not physical.
Something smaller.
Quieter.
More dangerous.
“No—no, no, no, no,” he says. This time the words are loud in his head, even if they never leave his mouth. “No. That’s not—no.”
Because this isn’t how the story is supposed to go.
He’s Spider-Man, for God’s sake.
He’s supposed to—
The thought dies before it finishes.
Because what is he supposed to do here?
Punch the vacuum?
Web the concept of nothing?
And then—
The sky explodes into colour.
Impossible colour.
Bright.
Violent.
Wrong.
For a second, he swears he feels water.
Cold.
Everywhere.
And then Peter’s world—
goes dark.