Chapter Text
People said dying was peaceful.
That it was quick. That in those final moments, before everything ended, the mind sought refuge in its most important memories. That you saw the faces of the people you loved, heard their voices one last time, and somehow found a tranquility you never had while you were alive.
Peter Parker had wanted to believe that.
Perhaps because he had lost too many people in his life. Perhaps because he needed to think that death wasn’t simply disappearing—that it wasn't an infinite void where everything you were ceased to exist.
He needed to believe there was something more.
But dying was not peaceful.
Not when you were Peter Parker.
Not when your own body refused to let you go.
At first, it was just a strange sensation. A tingling running down his fingers, a warning that would usually mean danger, a signal from his body telling him to react.
But this time, there was nothing to fight against.
There was no enemy.
There was no bomb to disarm.
There was no one to save.
It was just him.
Peter looked at his hands as tiny particles began to drift away from them. His breath hitched as he watched his skin slowly vanish, his body trying to repair itself over and over again.
His healing factor had always been something he was grateful for.
Something that allowed him to get back up after hits that would have left anyone else on the ground.
But now, it was a curse.
Because it wasn't saving him.
It was only delaying the inevitable.
Every part of his body turned to dust, to atoms, only to reform for a few seconds and disappear all over again. It was as if the universe couldn't decide whether to let him die or keep him trapped in that agony.
And Peter was tired.
So tired.
Around him, everyone was leaving.
His allies.
His friends.
The people he had fought alongside.
The people he had called family.
He watched them disappear one by one while he could do absolutely nothing.
For the first time since he became Spider-Man, his powers meant nothing.
He couldn't fix it.
He couldn't stop it.
He couldn't save anyone.
And so, he looked for him.
Because even in the middle of the end of the universe, even when he felt his entire body vanishing, Peter kept searching for the person who always found a way.
Tony.
Not Iron Man.
Not the Avenger.
Tony Stark.
The man who had entered his life when Peter didn't know how badly he needed someone like him. The man who started out as his hero and ended up becoming something much more important.
His mentor.
His family.
His dad.
Peter walked toward him as best he could. Every movement was harder than the last, but he didn't care. In that moment, he wasn't Spider-Man. He wasn't a hero.
He was just a terrified kid looking for the person who made him feel safe.
When he finally reached him, he threw his arms around him.
And Tony held him.
As if he could keep him in this world with his bare arms.
As if he could protect him from something not even he could stop.
"Tony..."
Peter’s voice came out broken.
Tony closed his eyes, clenching his jaw as he tried to find a solution he knew didn't exist.
"Help me..."
Peter swallowed hard.
His eyes were pooling with tears.
"I don't want to go."
And that was when Tony Stark stopped being Iron Man.
Because Iron Man could fight against anything.
But Tony couldn't fight against this.
He couldn't build a machine.
He couldn't invent a solution.
He couldn't save the boy who had become his son.
Peter felt his body continuing to fade, and then something happened that he never thought he’d see.
Tony cried.
Peter froze.
He had never seen that.
No one had ever seen that.
Tony Stark didn't cry.
Iron Man didn't cry.
The man who always had an answer, a joke, or an arrogant smirk to hide the fear was standing there, holding him with tears in his eyes.
And somehow, that hurt more than everything else.
Because it meant Tony also knew he was losing him.
Peter breathed heavily.
His voice was barely a whisper.
"I don't feel so good, Dad."
Tony felt something inside him shatter.
He pulled him closer, squeezing tighter, as if he could halt time itself.
As if he could force the universe to return the boy it was stealing from him.
"I'm here, Peter."
But they both knew it wasn't enough.
Peter smiled weakly.
A sad but sincere smile.
"Thanks for everything, Dad."
His eyes slowly closed.
"I love you."
Tony couldn't reply. Because if he spoke, he knew he would completely break. So, he did the only thing his desperate will allowed. With trembling fingers, he slid his own ring onto Peter’s hand. The ring with the small 'A' engraved on it—a promise, a beacon, a piece of family to hold onto.
A few feet away, Stephen Strange watched the scene as he felt his own body begin to turn to ash. The Doctor stared at the ring in the boy's hand and, using the very last breath of his mystic energy, muttered a spell of dimensional protection. A thread of golden magic wrapped around the metal before fading from sight.
Strange looked at Peter one last time, his expression heavy with a solemn, desperate hope.
"See you."
And then, Peter drifted into the void.
Peter opened his eyes.
There was no destruction.
There was no screaming.
There was no fear.
Only a white light in front of him.
It was warm.
Peaceful.
And for the first time since his parents died, since he lost Ben, since he lost May...
Peter felt like he could finally rest. The ache in his chest was gone. The guilt had dissolved.
He began to walk toward it.
And then, he heard a voice.
A voice he had missed for years.
"Peter."
He stopped.
It couldn't be.
"Peter, sweetheart."
His eyes filled with tears of pure joy.
"May..."
He ran.
And then, he heard another voice.
A voice he had waited to hear his entire life, a firm and protective echo that had always guided him.
"Pete."
Ben.
Peter started to run faster, feeling light, entirely free of his heavy burdens. They were there. His family. He was finally going to be with them. He was going to hug them.
He was seconds away from reaching them.
But of course, things were never that easy for him.
The glowing floor began to crack beneath his feet. The white light bled into a thick, hostile shade of green.
The warmth vanished, replaced by a biting chill.
And before he could even brush May's fingertips, the ground shattered completely. Peter fell.
He plummeted through a dark abyss.
The void enveloped him as he felt his body—which had already ceased to exist—being forced back together. Atoms. Molecules. Bones. Skin.
The protective magic of his ring and the cosmic energy clashed against the seams of the multiverse, seeking the only available resurrection anchor in this new reality.
Everything returning.
Everything hurting.
Until he felt the cold.
Water.
A thick liquid surrounding him.
Green.
Too green.
Peter tried to breathe, but only managed to swallow that fluid, which burned his lungs like acid. Panic began to take hold of him. His inner claws scratched at the water, desperate to claw his way out of a pit that felt like a living nightmare.
Amidst the choking dark and sheer desperation, his mind screamed:
*Of course.*
*Naturally.*
*Because I'm Peter Parker.*
*I can't even die in peace once.*
*The universe hates me so much it decided to kill me twice.*
When the water fully submerged his head, gravity suddenly flipped, and he felt another freefall.
But this time, there was air.
Wind.
Altitude.
His arachnid instincts reacted before his mind could even process the dimensional shift. A line of webbing shot out by pure reflex, latching onto the ledge of a concrete structure. His body twisted in mid-air, landing heavily onto a rooftop under the dense rain of an unfamiliar city.
The classic Spider-Man three-point landing.
Except this time, there was no victory.
Only unbearable pain and a wave of panic unlike anything he had ever felt before.
Peter could barely breathe. It felt as though every bone in his body was broken, as if that toxic green water was still trapped inside him, suffocating him. His spider-sense was completely haywire, bombarding his brain with static and danger.
With trembling hands, he ripped off his mask.
He needed air.
He needed to understand where he was and why he was still alive.
The freezing night air whipped against his face. He clutched his head, hyperventilating, as a lock of his hair—now stark white—fell over his forehead.
Then, he heard a voice.
"—..."
Peter snapped his head up, his eyes wide with sheer panic.
Two strange figures stood before him in the pouring rain. One wore a dark suit with a blue emblem stretching across his chest; the other wore a leather jacket and a metallic, bright red helmet.
The one in the blue suit took a step forward, clearly bewildered by Peter's bizarre outfit and sudden arrival. But Peter wasn't processing danger the same way anymore. In his mind, the echo of May’s voice and Ben’s face were still drifting away, stolen from him along with that warm white light.
The pain in his chest was crushing. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want this body that ached all over again. He didn't want to be alone on a damp, unknown roof.
*I have to go back.*
*I have to reach them.*
With a sob of pure desperation, Peter scrambled backward, dragging himself clumsily toward the edge of the roof. He was going to jump. If he fell again, maybe the white light would return. Maybe this time, he could actually hug May.
"Hey, wait!" the one in the blue suit yelled, lunging forward.
But it was the one in the red helmet who reacted with alarming, almost instinctive speed. He ripped his helmet off, revealing the face of a young man with dark hair, a white streak of his own, and eyes filled with an intense, painful understanding.
That boy knew that look of absolute terror. He knew the urge to destroy your own body just to quiet the noise.
Just as Peter let himself slip over the edge into the empty air, firm, gloved hands grabbed him by the shoulders, wrenching him back onto the concrete with brutal force.
Peter fought weakly, sobbing, his brown eyes suddenly flaring with a vibrant, toxic green glow as the panic attack utterly collapsed his nervous system.
"Let me..." Peter begged, his voice cracking as his strength completely failed him. "Just let me go back to them... please..."
The grip of the boy with the white streak didn't falter. He pulled him against his chest as Peter’s eyes fluttered shut, his head falling limp against his shoulder.
In that exact moment, as Peter’s consciousness slipped away, the red and gold gleam of the metallic armor covering his body began to flicker. With an almost silent electronic hiss, the nanobots retracted rapidly, disassembling over his skin and flowing like liquid metal directly back into the ring on his left hand, revealing the soaked, tattered civilian clothes he had been wearing underneath.
Peter's savior froze in the middle of the rain, a cold dread creeping down his spine as he stared at the unconscious boy's pale face, the white streak on his forehead, and the fading trace of green light behind his closed eyelids.
The one in the blue suit rushed over, alarmed.
"—... What the hell just happened? Who is this kid?"
Dick had seen Jason angry.
He had seen him violent.
He had seen him broken.
But afraid?
That was something Dick had almost never seen.
"Jason..."
The boy in the helmet stared down at Peter.
"He's someone from the pit."