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“Kid, you okay?”
The first thing Peter thought when he woke from the impact is that he must be dead, because only dead people heard dead people’s voices.
“Mr. Stark!” he yelled immediately, his head feeling like it was filled with concrete — heavy and nauseating. “Am I dead too?”
“Of course not… Given your current condition, I’ll overlook that nonsense you just spouted.” Tony’s voice was just as it had been when Peter first met him, calm, mature, all‑knowing, but Peter could hear the anxiety hidden underneath. “Wilson probably gave you a concussion.”
“Underoos, you need to get up,” Tony said. “We’re still in a fight.”
A fight? Oh, the fight. Peter figured he must be dreaming: Jean had probably scrambled his brain.
I didn’t do anything. A voice, eerily like Jean’s, spoke in his head. Your brain is messy enough on its own.
Peter resolved to ignore the auditory hallucination.
“Where are we, Mr. Stark?” Peter asked. “Outer space or Wakanda?”
“Tony, you okay?” another voice, sounding like Colonel Rhodes, chimed in. “Is the kid hurt?”
“Colonel Rhodes?” Peter gasped. “You died too?”
Then his blurry vision finally cleared, though the queasiness persisted, and he saw Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes in their armour from the Berlin days, both looking down at him with identical, deeply concerned expressions.
War Machine concluded definitively: “Wilson definitely gave him a concussion.”
“Looks like I need to add more impact‑absorbing layers,” Tony said.
“…Mr. Stark?” Peter swallowed hard. “Am I still dreaming?”
“We’re in Berlin,” Tony said, grabbing (yanking) him to his feet. “Hurry up, Kid, no time to zone out.”
“They’re getting away. We need to get outside.”
“Leipzig Airport?!” Peter exclaimed. “I thought my worst nightmare would at least be on a multiversal scale!”
This probably isn’t a nightmare.
“Kid, this isn’t a nightmare!”
That Jean‑like voice and Mr. Stark’s voice spoke simultaneously. Peter froze for a second, but the fresh air that followed quickly dispelled his nausea, and his thoughts and vision cleared just as fast.
Leipzig Airport was as chaotic as he remembered. Terminal glass was shattered everywhere, the air thick with smoke and dust.
His enhanced vision spotted Captain America fighting Black Panther, while Black Widow had Hawkeye pinned down. Sergeant Barnes and the Falcon were trying to help Cap, and T’Challa was clearly outmatched against the three of them; seeing this, War Machine quickly joined the fray, and Iron Man left Peter aside to assist his teammate. Wanda was hovering nearby, ready to act, and Ant‑Man hadn’t shrunk down yet.
“Woah.”
Woah.
Peter and the Jean in his head said in unison.
Peter stood frozen, his throat dry. He remembered this scene perfectly, even years later he hadn’t forgotten it. It replayed in his mind over and over again during his midnight terrors.
This was the beginning of everything. The start of everything falling apart. He remembered every face before him, faces that had since grown cold, turned to nothing, faces he could never touch again.
2016.
Peter didn’t have time to ponder the Quantum physics he’d learned, or the fact that he’d travelled back in time.
And me. Jean’s voice echoed in his mind, impossible to ignore. Peter, that shot someone fired at the Department of Damage Control… it broke something. I couldn’t control the energy. I think I brought us back with me.
Are you in my head right now, Jean? Peter asked, unable to tear his gaze from the battlefield before him.
Strictly speaking, I’m in my body from ten years ago, but I’ve partitioned part of my consciousness here, Jean said very seriously. I think it’s because I was in your head at the time, so our connection never broke.
But that’s over—
It might be related to that energy, Jean knew what he was about to ask. I currently have the abilities I only awakened after Metzger controlled me.
Even stronger.
Peter asked the question he most wanted answered: So this is all real? That energy threw us back in time?
He didn’t understand why this particular moment, or why he was here too—he wouldn’t say he’d never fantasised about going back to change things, like in Back to the Future; when May died, when Mr. Stark died, even when Uncle Ben died, he’d thought about it.
But reality had sobered him up: the lessons of the multiverse were enough; no need for another lesson in time travel.
He knew better than anyone that this kind of thing didn’t happen in reality. And he knew all about the sanctity of the space‑time continuum.
This couldn’t be his reality. It had to be another universe.
As if reading his thoughts, Jean continued: But I can feel this is reality. Our reality. This one.
She paused, and Peter felt, through her perception, as if she were sitting beside him, watching her ten‑years‑younger older sister watch TV in the living room, sunlight falling on the sofa through the curtains.
I can feel this is the same timeline we left, Jean continued in his mind. I can sense it.
This conclusion sent a slight chill through Peter’s limbs yet strangely sparked a bizarre excitement, just like when he’d walked into that cafe. Butterfly effect, grandfather paradox, banana peel theory… a cascade of time‑travel concepts flashed through his mind, too fast for Jean to follow. Finally, he thought of Men in Black 3, and the thought jolted him, bringing him fully back to the present.
Then, almost instinctively, Peter didn’t just think it — he said it aloud: “I have to stop them.”
Are you sure? Jean countered. I can feel the anger and fear radiating from every single one of them. Stopping them won’t be easy.
“Got to try.” Peter took a deep breath, hesitating no longer. He sprang forward, weaving through wrecked cars, shattered glass, and billowing smoke, charging towards the heart of the battle.
“Hey, guys, can you stop for a second?” Peter yelled, but the combatants were too embroiled in their fight to pay him any mind.
“Hey! Please STOP!!!” he shouted again. “Mr. Stark?!! Captain?!”
“Can you hear me?!” His cries finally seemed to attract some attention — a few glances briefly swept his way — but it wasn’t the response he’d hoped for.
“Kid, if you’re not going to fight, stay out of the way!” Tony shouted back without turning, repulsor aimed at Cap’s shield. “Negotiations are over!”
“I’m not a Kid!!!” Peter practically roared, but the others acted as if they hadn’t heard him at all.
He sighed deeply, and Jean clicked her tongue softly in his mind: They’re completely blinded by rage. This is way worse than what I saw on the news back then.
Looks like superheroes are a bunch of people who don’t listen. Peter felt Jean roll her eyes.
Peter clenched his fists, feeling again the weakness of his novice days — facing these battle‑hardened adults, his naive idea of “everyone stop and talk” felt like a joke. They wouldn’t listen to him. No one would listen to a kid in a onesie.
Need some help? Jean asked suddenly. I can calm them down.
How…? Peter blinked, confused for a moment.
Like I did on the island, Jean said matter‑of‑factly. I can extend my abilities through your body now, but I need your permission.
Are you sure that’ll work on them? Peter asked warily, glancing at Wanda, who was manifesting her powers nearby. The Scarlet Witch is here too…
I can handle her, Jean replied with a hint of quiet pride, almost without thinking. I told you, I’m stronger now than I was then.
But—
Don’t worry. That energy must have brought us back here for a reason.
Peter was silent for two seconds. In the distance, the deafening blast of Tony’s repulsor rang out, the vibranium hum of Cap’s shield hitting the ground, Black Panther’s low growl, all these things melding into a chaotic symphony of hell.
Alright. Peter sighed, closing his eyes. Just calm them down.
As you wish.
Peter felt his vision go black, and he lost control of his body instantly, as if locked inside a room in his own mind. But he wasn’t completely unconscious; instead, he could still see the outside world projected on the wall.
He could still see. Still hear. Just couldn’t move.
And he was walking forward.
Jean moved his body, her pace steady, navigating effortlessly through the rubble of concrete and twisted rebar towards the centre of the battlefield, with a composure that wasn’t Peter’s.
Cool. Peter thought from the depths of his consciousness. This feels really fucking weird.
Don’t talk. Jean’s voice came back from “outside,” with a hint of almost imperceptible tension. I’m going to start.
His body closed its eyes, and Peter immediately felt a foreign energy emerge within him, flow through him, and concentrate in his head.
Everything changed from there.
Tony felt like nothing was going his way today.
From the moment they landed in Berlin, that feeling had been like a splinter lodged in the back of his neck, and he knew it well. It always came before something bad was about to happen.
He’d anticipated that the conversation with Cap wouldn’t go smoothly. He knew Steve too well —the man’s stubbornness was directly proportional to his moral compass. He’d also expected a fight, maybe even a brutal one.
But the battle had unfolded far beyond his imagination: first Wilson and Barnes kept causing him problems all over the terminal, then the ant guy caught him completely off guard, and Clint kept making trouble alongside Maximoff.
It got even worse after Wilson rammed the spider‑kid. That kid he’d picked up from Queens, wearing a suit that looked like it was made from pyjamas and spouting non‑stop nonsense, and clearly Wilson’s wing had given him a concussion. He’d make Wilson pay for that later, but right now things couldn’t get any worse.
Tony wouldn’t admit he’d been scared when Spider‑Man lost consciousness, but when the kid opened his eyes again, he felt a real wave of relief. He no longer wanted to see anyone's face contorted with the expression of losing a loved one.
But after the child woke up, he was babbling nonsense, saying things like “death”, “outer space” and “Wakanda,” looking like he was about to throw up his entire stomach; then he suddenly went quiet, staring around with a wholly unfamiliar gaze that Tony had never seen on him before, as if seeing his surroundings for the first time.
And then, as if struck by some great shock, the kid charged straight into the middle of the battlefield, yelling at everyone to stop. Tony was taken aback by his recklessness, while at the same time silently regretting his own impulse to drag a teenager into this kind of chaos.
And now — right now — that kid was walking through the battlefield. Steady pace, unhurried, nothing at all like someone dashing through the most dangerous super‑hero battlefield in the world; instead, he strolled as casually as an ordinary passenger heading for a check‑in counter at the airport.
“Kid?” Tony called out, briefly lowering his repulsor’s output, now he remembering the kid’s name. “Peter? What the hell are you doing? Stop right there—”
But the kid didn’t stop.
He just planted himself in the centre of the battlefield unarmed. More and more people noticed him, but the fighting didn’t pause for his presence alone.
“Can you guys just stop?” the teenager asked again, and this time the tone was starkly different, like someone else was murmuring through his mouth, but no one noticed.
No one answered him, only dust flying, the dull thud of metal clashing, and harsh breaths from the brawl.
But he didn’t care.
Or rather, he was waiting for this moment.
“Alright.” The red‑and‑blue kid sighed. Then he took a deep breath, he let it out slowly, and closed his eyes.
The first to sense something wrong was the Scarlet Witch. She was at the edge of the battlefield. Wanda almost jerked her head up, her gaze locking onto that figure in the centre. Her eyes were glowing red with her magic, and because of that she could see what happened strange clearly: the energy fluctuations swirling around Spider‑Man, vibrating at a frequency she found deeply unfamiliar.
And she wouldn’t be the only one to notice. In fact, the air itself began to tremble: like the heat‑wave shimmer of a scorching summer day, the whole airport’s atmosphere vibrating.
“How —”
Before she could finish, a colossal wave of energy erupted from Spider‑Man as the epicentre, sweeping across the entire airport. In the next instant, whether it was War Machine and Falcon locked in aerial combat, or Black Widow and the Winter Soldier duking it out on the ground, every single one of them, without exception, was frozen in place.
“What the —” Tony wasn’t spared either. The flame from his suit’s thrusters went out abruptly, leaving him suspended mid‑air, unable to move forward or back. He called out instinctively, “Friday —”
“Shut up.”
Tony realized with a jolt that he couldn’t make a sound. He realized he couldn’t turn his head, couldn’t move even a single thumb.
All he could do was roll his eyes and scan the scene. Both sides were now pinned by this unknown force: Steve from the opposite camp still held his shield in a defensive stance, Barnes’s metal arm was frozen mid‑swing, Sam’s wings were spread comically wide like a bird suddenly flash‑frozen.
If the circumstances had been different, Tony would not have missed the chance to be sarcastic.
“Can we stop now?” Spider‑Man said in the tone of a kindergarten teacher scolding children, but Tony found his voice utterly unfamiliar. “I said you were too loud. Better shut up.”
A wave of inexplicable fear rose in everyone present. They could see the stillness in the air, and they could feel their own bodies completely beyond their control.
Clint instinctively rolled his eyes towards Wanda, seeking help from her, but that glance was obviously caught by the current Spider‑Man.
“Don’t look at her. She can’t help.” The teenager crossed his arms. “I can control her.”
“And if I wanted to, I could control all your minds too,” he continued. “Of course, that’s not exactly Spider‑Man’s skill set.”
“You can call me… whatever, it doesn’t matter. I’m nobody. I’m just here to repay Spider‑Man a favour.”
Then his movement suddenly stalled. He tilted his head slightly, as if listening to someone’s whisper, and then muttered to himself: “You want to come out? Now?”
The others watched this bizarre one‑man show coldly, the teenager frowned: “Alright, no. No, I’m absolutely not doing that.”
“Then it’s your turn.”
In the next instant, Spider‑Man’s body jerked, lurching forward and then snapping back, as if something had been ejected from his shell.
“Whoa — that was weird.” He patted his chest, and his voice was back to the sixteen‑year‑old kid Tony recognized.
He stretched his arms, bounced twice, as if testing his body, then stood still.
Peter scratched his head, seeming hesitant about how to start: “Sorry Guys, can we just calm down for a moment and think about some other solutions… I know this sounds crazy, but, okay?”
His question met with no response except a few angry glares. Then Peter seemed to realize: “Oh, right, right — I forgot!”
In a voice barely audible to others, he said: “…Can you help me with that?”
And almost at the same instant, Tony felt his jaw suddenly loosen — his lips and tongue were his again. He tentatively opened his mouth and felt a wave of relief.
“Sorry, Mr. Stark,” Spider‑Man said apologetically, his tone sincere. “Friday should be temporarily unavailable, but I had ‘her’ give you back control of your mouths. Now we need a talk.”
“Who the hell are you? And who’s ‘her’?” Ant‑Man on the other side couldn’t help but shout. “I’ve never seen you before!”
“Sorry, Mr. Lang!” Spider‑Man waved at him. “I really like your theories on time‑space travel —sorry we have to meet like this. I’m Spider‑Man, new on the street.”
That earnest, polite reply defused Ant‑Man’s anger like a punch landing on cotton. He opened his mouth, momentarily at a loss for words, and finally managed only an awkward: “Oh.”
“Tony, I didn’t know you’d started recruiting child soldiers,” Captain America said, turning his head towards Peter. “Hey, kid, where are you from?”
“Queens,” Peter cut in before he could finish. “Uh, thanks, Captain — I have already knew you’re from Brooklyn?”
Steve frowned, as if puzzled by how the kid knew what he was about to say.
“Can we save the catching‑up for later and just calm down to talk about the actual issue for a minute?” He pressed both hands down in a calming gesture. “Everyone just stopped, and sit down —”
“What’s up with your abilities?” Wanda interrupted directly, her voice laced with guarded wariness. “I can’t break free from this restraint at all.”
“That’s not my —”
“How did you do that?” T’Challa followed up. “That’s Wakanda’s latest technology.”
“Thank you, Your Highness, I —”
“Kid,” Tony cut in again, “can you just release all of us so I can go over there and pin down those guys? Use that superpower of your other personality, use that other personality’s superpower, okay?”
“No, Mr. Stark, I can’t —”
Before the banter could end, Spider‑Man’s lenses suddenly narrowed. His gaze swept over everyone’s heads towards the distant sky — something was approaching at high speed.
He realized what it was immediately.
“Mr. Stark!” he accused, his tone dripping with betrayal. “You were using me to stall for time!”
Need my help? Jean asked in his mind. Is that the Infinity Stone?
Peter shook his head slightly and whispered, “No. I’ll handle this myself.”
From the moment Jean had left his body, he could feel that his current self was fresh and new again, as if he’d just gone through a moult. He knew now that he didn’t need web‑shooters to produce new webbing, even if the spider‑hormone levels in his body were probably high enough to set off alarms.
But that suited him just fine.
The next second after Vision flew in, a translucent web caught his ankle quickly. Before the violet‑red figure could react, the rapidly coiling webbing wrapped around him like a cocoon, pinning him tight. The whole scene playing out like a spider snaring its prey.
Vision immediately tried to activate the Mind Stone on his forehead to fire a laser and break free, but before he could act, Peter flicked his wrist and yanked hard.
Vision’s entire body was hurled outward by a massive centrifugal force, smashing heavily into the concrete wall on one side of the terminal.
Rubble exploded, dust billowing metres high.
Peter didn't let his guard down. He squinted, watching every movement through the dust. Beneath the mask that no one could see, his pupils had turned completely black.
Sure enough, the moment Vision began to rise slowly into the air, Peter was already moving — he sprang forward, leapt into the air, and shot webs at both cracked walls on either side of the terminal.
He pulled with all his might, and before Vision could react, several broken concrete panels were ripped right off the walls. Using the opposing pulling force, Peter hurled himself even higher, twisting mid‑air.
The massive chunks of debris followed, one after another, crashing down onto Vision — and then, in quick succession, the entire terminal building came down with them, burying Vision and the golden glow that had just begun to rise back under a mountain of dust and rubble.
Everyone stared in awe at the sight of Peter landing lightly back on the ground, as if seeing him properly for the first time.
After a long pause, Natasha spoke first: “Stark, what kind of monster did you recruit?”
“…I swear he wasn't like this last night.”
“I'm sorry, Mr. Vision! I just wanted a quiet place to talk!” Spider‑Man yelled, then turned to face all the adults. “So… can we calm down now?”
Peter knew deep down that only by demonstrating absolute power could he earn a sliver of respect, especially from these Avengers, who stood at the top of the world.
“Kid, you’re really impressive,” Steve said first. “But I’m not signing the Accords, so give it up.”
“What? That’s not what I wanted to talk about!” Spider‑Man stammered. “I don’t support the Superhero Registration Act; or, well, I don’t support all of it…”
Captain America narrowed his eyes at him, like an old man completely baffled by the younger generation’s thinking.
“Oh my God, Underoos, are you switching sides on me?” Tony’s sharp voice cut through from his armour. “Ha, I knew you liked Captain America’s side better —”
“No no no,” the teenager waved his hands frantically, his voice rising a few octaves in panic. “This isn’t about the Sokovia Accords! That’s not what I’m trying to say — it’s something more important.”
“What?” Scott’s eyes went wide. “I thought we were beating each other up over that crappy piece of legislation?”
“Kid, sorry about hurting you earlier,” Falcon said, “but this isn’t a field trip for you.”
“Uh, okay,” Peter sighed heavily, rubbing his brow. Then he looked up, deadly serious. “What we need to talk about right now concerns the entire world. That’s why I need to speak with the Avengers.”
A beat of silence.
“I’m sorry I hit him — he must have a really bad concussion,” Falcon said to Tony, who rolled his eyes. “Glad you finally figured that out.”
“No —” Peter practically hissed through his teeth. “I don’t have a concussion, and I don’t have a split personality or anything else. I’m serious. I know what’s going to happen next, I mean, the things that haven’t happened yet, but will happen very soon. If you don’t stop and listen to me right now, then within a few years, half the population of Earth will be gone.”
“Are you serious?” Hawkeye asked gravely. “World War Three?”
That word dropped like a stone into still water. Captain America and the Winter Soldier both looked up at the same time.
“I knew those Hydra bastards wouldn’t stop,” Bucky muttered.
“So what are you, a wizard? Or some kind of prophet?” War Machine asked again, then turned to Tony with a sarcastic jab. “I can’t believe you didn’t do a full background check.”
“I don’t believe in magician tricks,” Tony said, turning to Peter with a scrutinising look. “Kid, are you sure you haven’t been brainwashed by some new cult?”
“NO!” Peter’s voice shot up. “Trust me — this time, humanity’s crisis isn’t coming from within. It’s coming from outside.”
“That’s exactly what a cult would say.”
Peter took a deep breath, looks like totally exhausted. But finally, he decided to ignore the remark and start from the beginning: “Okay, I know who made you fight each other.”
He turned to look at Bucky: “His name is Zemo. He’s already on his way to Siberia — to destroy the other Winter Soldiers. He’s luring you there because that’s where the secret that could tear the Avengers apart is hidden.”
He glanced briefly at Tony.
Tony had no idea what code they were speaking in, but he saw Barnes’s and Steve’s faces go pale in an instant.
“I won’t say what that secret is,” Spider‑Man swallowed. “But I’m not going to help hide it either, because in my experience, keeping secrets never ends well.”
“He’s going to find out eventually.” He looked at their ashen faces and concluded. “So I suggest you tell him yourselves. But that’s your decision, not mine.”
“What are you talking about?” Tony couldn’t help asking, noticing the strange tension between them.
“Sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter said apologetically, then turned to T’Challa. “Zemo is also the one behind the UN bombing. I’m sorry about your father, Your Highness.”
“He did it because of Sokovia,” Spider‑Man explained. “He hates the Avengers, so he took this desperate gamble.”
“But the Avengers falling apart will only be the beginning of all disasters.” His voice grew hoarse.
He looked up at Tony, almost pleading. “Mr. Stark, if we don’t stop it now, everything you saw in that wormhole will become reality.”
“How did you…?” Tony started to ask but fell silent after hearing the full sentence.
“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” Clint said. “It sounds like you’ve actually been through all these shits.”
“I…” Peter hadn’t decided yet whether to lay out the whole time‑travel story. “I just know… that feeling of turning to nothing, of disappearing completely, I, they just vanished like that, wiped from existence entirely.”
“If you don’t believe me,” he steadied himself, turning to look at Vision, who had emerged from the rubble, “the Mind Stone can vouch for me.”
Vision tilted his head slightly, his golden gaze resting on the teenager, thoughtful.
“We don’t know if you’re setting him up,” Wanda said quickly, her wariness plain. “You already know it’s an Infinity Stone.”
Peter sighed. “Trust me, Ms. Maximoff, if I wanted to hurt any of you, I wouldn’t have waited until now.”
He knew that trust issues were practically an occupational hazard for superheroes, especially at a moment like this, he was the one who looked like a ticking time bomb.
Jean? he asked in his mind. Can you help me with something?
What do you want me to do?
Show them what I’m feeling.
Natasha was the first to notice that Peter's body language had shifted again. His shoulders relaxed slightly, his breathing long and even, as if someone else were now in control of that body.
Before she could open her mouth to warn the others, a wave of unfamiliar emotion rushed into her mind like a tide.
Tony had several hypotheses about Peter running through his head, but he voiced none of them, his mind was racing too fast, trying to find a reasonable explanation.
Then came a moment of dizziness on him, like someone had poured an entire ocean into his consciousness, and within that ocean, there was something he recognized.
He remembered that kind of feeling.
That moment in the wormhole, when he'd carried the nuke through the rift and seen that bottomless alien mothership — the terror of facing that overwhelming, indescribable, unknown threat.
Wanda had once stirred that fear in him; now, that same emotion was pouring out of Peter's body, like a dam being opened, flowing into the heart of every single person present.
“…What the fuck was that?” Sam gasped, but no one answered his question.
First came fear, pure, primal fear. Then anger, that searing, near‑scorching anger of knowing the outcome yet being powerless to change it.
And then the world simply stopped… nothingness. A vast, grey emptiness swallowed everything, the nothingness of all things ending, turning to ash.
Then came wave after wave of loss, helplessness, and grief, like exposed rocks after the tide recedes. Every move, every effort, would only lead to ruin.
So all striving would only crash against that insurmountable wall, even if you threw yourself against it with everything you had, you would eventually be ground down.
Everything would just fall apart.
But within that void, there were tiny sparks of hope, like the very bottom of Pandora's box — very, very small sparks.
If not for that faint sliver of hope, they would have been completely overwhelmed, unable to breathe.
Yet the sorrow still fell like a torrential downpour, the pain long and enduring.
Tony could barely breathe, thankfully, the mask hid his almost undignified expression.
The others weren’t faring much better: Wanda was gripping her own arms, T’Challa’s brow was furrowed into deep lines, and even the ever‑composed Natasha’s chest was heaving.
Steve breathed heavily, staring fixedly at the teenager standing in the centre.
Peter remained still, standing quietly in the middle of the battlefield.
“…That’s what happens in the end,” he said at last.
Tony blinked. He'd reached a conclusion: “You're a time traveller.”
Peter looked as if waking from a dream: “Mr. Stark, I…”
“How did you break the sacred continuity of time to get here? Or are we just a branch of your universe?” Tony's questions came rapid‑fire. “Are you a multiversal time‑thief?”
“That's impossible,” Scott Lang interrupted. “That violates the rules.”
“Okay, I have absolutely no idea how this works,” Peter raised his hands in surrender. “It was an accidental energy surge. I'm assuming that energy created some kind of temporal redundancy and brought me, and ‘her’, back to the past.”
He paused, his tone turning serious: “And yes, this really is my timeline.”
“A Möbius strip?” Tony made an annoyed clicking sound with his tongue. “I should have guessed.”
“What are you two even talking about?” Steve interjected, trying to join the conversation. “What kind of strip?”
“Keep your brain on ice, Cap,” Tony couldn't resist a jab, then looked back up and asked, “Who exactly is ‘she’?”
“Uh… a friend of mine?” Spider‑Man explained awkwardly. “Not my other personality or anything. She wants to be secret”
“Since you all know now,” he took a deep breath, “okay, I really am from over a decade into the future… though I'm not actually that old.”
That cryptic remark seemed to portend some unhappy truths, but no one asked any further questions.
His gaze swept across everyone present, his tone growing firm again: “Anyway, if you believe me now, can we discuss how to solve these problems?”
He pointed skyward. “At this point in time… Thanos is already setting his plan in motion. Maybe we can still make it in time to save Asgard.”
After a moment of silence, Tony said quietly: “Alright.”
The force that had been holding them all in place finally released.
Everyone moved their stiff limbs but instinctively fell back to their respective sides, and maintained a careful distance from Peter, all while studying this strange yet powerful new hero.
Peter shifted uncomfortably, but tilted his head slightly, as if conferring with that she inside his mind.
“Alright, Friday, we've got a lot of work ahead of us,” Tony said, being the first to speak, rolling his neck.
Even though the cryptic exchange between Peter and Steve was still circling in his mind, he forced himself to focus on the matter at hand: saving the Earth, or the universe, was clearly more urgent right now.
And maybe he'd add a few more impact‑absorbing features to the kid's suit while he was at it.
Friday's response was unexpected.
“Boss, I've received an email from an unknown origin. The signal source is estimated to be several hundred light‑years away.”
“What?”
“The sender identifies himself as Dr. Banner,” Friday continued. “He says he's on an unknown alien planet and is in urgent need of assistance.”
Tony's brow furrowed.
“And one more thing,” Friday paused. “He wants to know if you know someone named Peter.”
Fin.