Peter's life had ended back on the alien planet.
He hadn't wanted to go, back then. Even as he woke, that fear, that desperation, they'd clung to him, almost debilitating, until the red-caped Doctor had come over to shake him out of it.
It was oblivion made manifest, the closest Peter had come to staring down into the Abyss.
But he was an optimist: had always been. Uncle Ben said it was one of his best qualities. He knew he could work through it; would work through it, just like every other time—especially when there was fighting to be had, people to be saved. He would be brave.
That was what he believed, what he'd always believed, ever since a warehouse collapsed on top of him and he had to fight Mr. Toomes on an airplane. And if Peter Parker failed, Spider-man would succeed, and pull through.
It's worked out so far. And he was certain it would work again.
Until it didn't. Until the finger snap, as loud as any explosion.
Until the moment the blue-white glow blinked out, and Pepper broke down in sobs.
Until Peter's life ended a second time that day.
He carried the body with Pepper and Rhodey. They had become familiar with him during his junior year, given how frequently he'd dropped by the Compound, but now, even as they smiled at him, they seemed foreign, tired… old. People out of time—grayer, more weathered, and more beaten than he remembered. And exhausted.
Or perhaps he was the one out of time.
Right, he thought, recalling the Doctor's words. It's been five years.
Any one of them could've carried the body alone. But it still took the three of them, which shouldn't be surprising.
They carried in their arms the weight of the world, after all.
No one else stepped forward. The battlefield was quiet, all eyes watching their slow procession. Peter thought he saw some people wanting to come over, to help, but they were all held back. So they remained the only three, marching across the dusty blood-soaked land. Pepper was at the front, her grip tender on the shoulders, and Peter trusted she knew where they had to go.
Because he didn't. He was dead, remember?
He stared at her back, focusing on the blue-grey lines of the gleaming metal. Anything to not look sideways, to not see what he was holding, so light yet so unbearably heavy. He could walk forever like this, he thought. He almost wanted himself to turn to dust again, and had to consciously tell himself to breathe, to walk. One step ahead of the other, one ahead of the other. Step step step. Good job, Peter.
They reached an unmanned aircraft with the Stark industry logo, which came to land in a relatively open field. Pepper had probably summoned it. The doors on its belly opened, and the three of them entered, carefully carrying the body up the ramp. It was a private jet, sparsely furnished in the sleek technological edge characteristic of the company.
Peter couldn't much bring himself to care.
They laid him on a bed which popped out of nowhere. Peter turned away as they lowered the body onto the mattress. Already it was growing cold. Or was that his imagination? He wouldn't know. He was dead, remember?
"FRIDAY," Pepper said, softly. "Let's go home."
The plane doors closed with a hiss, blocking out the sights and sounds of the world beyond them.
A world redeemed. A world saved.
A world shattered.
The plane lifted off. It was exceptionally well-designed, just like anything from Stark Industries, and Peter felt barely a hitch.
He didn't want to be here.
He didn't want to be on the plane.
Not when he laid right there, in front, on the bed.
Peter wished he were dead. He wished he were the one who'd used the gauntlet. He had that gauntlet in his hands for something close to three minutes. A ridiculously long time.
Why hadn't he thought to use it? He had it right there. All he had to do was reach in, and snap.
Why, why, why? Why hadn't it been me?
WHY?
It was his fault, his fault, his fault. Stupid Peter, stupid, stupid!
A hand rested on his shoulders, and he realized there were tears streaming down his face.
"It's okay, kid," Rhodey said. "We're alone."
Peter tried to croak out a response. But the man only tugged at his shoulder, and the boy crumpled onto the floor beside the bed, and screamed into the sheets.
He was faintly aware of the two others sitting down on the floor beside him. One caressed his hair. The other patted his back. They too were screaming, he knew, in their own way. The silent, adult way.
"I'm sorry," he choked out. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"We are, too," Pepper said, her hand still in his hair. "We are, too."
She could only sob, and sob, and sob.
She's different, Peter thought as he patted her back. There were wrinkles where there hadn't been, streaks of grey hidden beneath the auburn. She was holding him with every ounce of strength she had, fingers digging into his shirt. His shoulders were soaked through with tears.
"I'm back, May," he whispered softly. "I'm back, I'm okay."
She didn't respond. She just held him, and held him, crying.
Peter couldn't bring himself to cry, even as her tears dripped onto his cheeks, and she planted kisses on his forehead, his face, anywhere she could kiss.
She needed this.
For him, it had only been a day. For her, it had been five long, devastating years.
"I'm sorry," he told her.
"It's okay," she replied. "It's not your fault."
"Okay," Peter said, hugging her back. He wasn't sure he believed her.
May brought a sleeping bag to his room. It had been kept in pristine condition: not a single item had been moved, as if just waiting for him to come back.
"I'm not going to leave you alone," she said simply.
Despite himself, Peter felt a little annoyed. How was he supposed to sleep?
"But you snore," he pointed out. "Pretty loud, too."
She laughed, but he could see the fear in her eyes, the unadulterated terror.
And for the first time, Peter felt a stabbing guilt in his chest. He'd left her. He'd left her, alone in their apartment, small but still too-vast for her alone, for five agonizing years.
He relented. She beamed.
Peter didn't like to sleep, because there was no telling what he might dream of these days.
Half the time it would be the oblivion—the dust, the fear and excruciation as his atoms disintegrated. The dreams of the Abyss, relived as the day he'd disappeared.
Those dreams were scary, and painful, and sometimes woke him up. Very unpleasant, and they always left May stricken with worry.
But he'd rather have those dreams every single night… if it saved him from dreaming about that.
He couldn't, couldn't, see that again.
Of course his dreams didn't care about what he wanted, and tonight, after he'd finally fallen asleep, he was stepping through the portal, and the field of battle was ahead of him.
Peter numbed himself the moment he understood where he was. It was the only thing that worked. He couldn't wake himself up, he couldn't control his body, he couldn't even panic and run away. All he could do was watch, in abject horror, as his memories unfolded.
As he snapped.
As everything turned white.
As the arc reactor flickered out.
He woke up screaming.
May was awake instantly, and by his side. And for the first time since he came home, Peter cried.
"It should've been me."
His voice was tight and hoarse, choked. His cheeks were splashed wet.
"No, no no," she whispered. "Don't say that."
"But it's true! It should've been me. It's my fault, my fault!"
He had never told her the story. He expected her to be confused. But someone else must have, because she understood.
"It's not," she said, pressing his face into her, and brushing his hair. "It's nobody's fault."
"But I had the thing, the glove. I could've—I should've…"
"Shhh," May said. She took a halting breath, and Peter realized she was on the edge of tears. "No. You hear me? No! Just, NO!"
Her voice broke. He fell silent. He'd never heard her so angry.
"I know, I know you superhero types think that way, too damned often." Her fingers tangled themselves in his wavy locks. "But I don't want a goddamn superhero. I just want my nephew, safe and sound. Is that too much to ask?"
In the darkness, their breathing were loud and raspy. It was almost a whisper, when she spoke.
"Please, Peter. Please… please don't make me lose you again."
It broke him to hear her like that.
"Okay," he said. "Okay."
"Are we there yet?" Morgan asked, for the third time. She stared outside the window, and saw only rows upon rows of the same-looking houses, before blocks of grey apartment buildings poked up in the distance. She kicked her feet, bored.
"Soon, squirt," Happy answered from next to her, in the driver's seat. Morgan liked him. He always got her her favorite treats, more than Mommy said she could get, and he smelled nice, and wore smooth silky jackets that were nice to touch. He was just a little slow, sometimes.
"Yes," she said patiently, "but how soon?"
"In six hundred seconds," Happy said.
"That's ten minutes," Morgan pointed out instantly. "But you said ten minutes three minutes ago, and five minutes ago. So you lied."
The man laughed. Morgan pouted, a bit annoyed. He shouldn't laugh, not when she's been so patient with him. He was obviously bad with numbers, because he's been answering her with the same number over and over. But then Daddy always said she shouldn't assume everybody could do math, even if it might be super simple. She supposed Happy must be one of those people who just couldn't do math.
"We'll be there in five minutes, Mo," came Mommy's voice from behind her. Morgan hopped onto the seat cushion and turned around. Mommy was facing her, a smile on her face.
"Thank you, Mommy," she said, and shot Happy a triumphant glance. The man laughed again.
"You're welcome, Mo," she said. "Now sit down again. Where are your seatbelts?"
"Sorry," Morgan said, slipping back down into her seat. "Seatbelt, please!" she said.
"Sure thing," FRIDAY said, and Morgan giggled as the straps came around her belly and locked her snugly in place.
Since Mommy never lied, they did get to where they were going just as the five minutes were about to be used up.
Morgan held onto Mommy's warm hands as she skipped on the concrete sidewalk. They walked up to a tall building with a lot of doorbells on the front door.
"I wanna press it, I wanna press it!" Morgan said, and gave Mommy a kiss when she held her up to do just that.
"Now, Mo, do you remember which one to press?"
"Seven B!" Morgan exclaimed. She was good at remembering things.
"Very good," Mommy said, as Morgan's stubby fingers pressed down on the button labeled 7-B. A second later, the front door clicked as it unlocked.
"I can climb by myself!" Morgan said, squirming to get down.
"You sure?" Mommy asked.
"Uh huh!" the girl exclaimed, and shot ahead the moment she was put on the ground.
"Wait up, little lady!" Happy called out after her, but she was already rounding the corner of the first flight of stairs, giggling.
"Wait for us at the fifth floor!" Mommy called out after her.
"Okay!" Morgan called back, remembering to keep track of the floors. She blazed past the second and third stories with ease, and only began to feel a bit tired on the fourth. "Mommy and Happy are slowpokes!" she shouted through the cracks of the stairwell, and heard them laughing in response.
She was about to run up to the fifth floor, when she bumped headfirst into someone. With a yelp, Morgan tumbled backwards, only to be caught by warm hands which had snuck behind her back somehow.
"Are you okay?" asked a voice.
Morgan thought it sounded sad. She didn't know why, but she knew. Lately, everyone's been sounding sad at home, even when they were laughing, so she's learned to recognize that kind of voice. She's been trying her very very best to cheer everyone up, but she wasn't as good at it as Daddy was. She would have to wait until he got back from his trip, she thought. He'll know how to make everyone happy again.
Then she remembered she had been asked a question, and Mommy said it was polite to answer a question, if it wasn't about secret stuff like Mommy or Daddy or the Abenchers.
"I am okay!" she declared. Then she looked up.
The person in front of her wasn't very tall. Well, to Morgan everyone was very tall, but he was a little shorter than Daddy. He had brown wavy hair and clear brown eyes.
"Hey, are you lost?" he asked. "What's your name?"
Morgan knew exactly who he was, and she beamed, because she's been wanting to meet him for so long. Mommy said he had moved away—far far away—before Morgan had been born. Daddy missed him, Morgan knew; it was a deep kind of missing, not like how they missed Mommy whenever she went on a business trip. It was the kind of missing that didn't go away, the kind that was carved into the lines on Daddy's face, and painted into his eyes like hologram displays.
Daddy had told her lots of stories about him, and FRIDAY had photos and recordings of him stored in a special folder. Daddy looked at them sometimes, and when Morgan had been old enough to understand, he'd tell her stories. They were always funny stories, like accidentally turning the garage into a bubble bath, or ordering too much ice cream that it'd all melted out on the tarmac and made a complete mess everywhere.
So, yes, she knew exactly who he was.
"Peter!" she squealed, rushing forward and jumping into his arms.
He caught her, clearly surprised. "Uh…" he said, "You… know me?"
Morgan giggled and kicked her feet. "Ya huh! I bet you um, I bet you three thousand, you don't know who I am!"
A small smile broke on Peter's face. He straightened up, lifting her easily. Morgan liked the way he held her. It was like Daddy, in some ways, but also different. She also liked the way he smelled, and the way his arms were snug around her.
"I don't have three thousand," he said. "Can I still guess?"
Morgan nodded. "Uh huh."
"Hmm, let's see. You know my name. Are you from our building?"
"Nuh uh," she shook her head.
"Then… are you from our block?"
"Nuh uh," she said, giddy. "You only have three chances, Peter!"
He looked at her with such exaggerated hurt on his face that she laughed. "Three chances! You didn't tell me about that."
"It's a genie's rule!" she said. "Last chance!"
"Hmm. You're not from this apartment, and not from the block, but you know me…" he furrowed his brows, really thinking at this point. Morgan clutched his shirt, and kicked her feet happily. Daddy was right. She liked Peter.
"Ding ding ding!" she said, after a few seconds. "Time's up!"
"You're a very tough genie," Peter complained. "Alright, I'm guessing one of your brothers or sisters go to Midtown Science and Tech?" Then, as if realizing this may be too advanced a question, he smiled and brushed her hair. "It's okay if you don't know."
Morgan was about to say no, when she remembered something Daddy had said. She was good at remembering things, after all.
"Uh huh," she nodded.
"Ha!" Peter exclaimed, a boyish triumph shining through that sadness Morgan observed earlier. "I knew it! Who is it? Is it Betty? Or Jason? Charlie?"
"Hehe," Morgan giggled. "Nooo! He's called Peter."
"Peter?" the boy frowned. "But there are no other Peters in my grade. At least there weren't, before… the, uh…" He shook his head, as if chasing away a sad thought. "Ehhem, anyway, what's your last name again?"
Morgan made a face at him, and he grinned.
"My last name is a secret!" she declared.
"Oh, is that so?"
"Uh huh," the girl nodded adamantly. "You have to promise not to tell anyone."
Peter laughed. "I promise."
She nodded, satisfied. Then she leaned in next to his ear.
"My last name is Stark," she said. "My name is Morgan Stark!" She pulled away and tickled his neck. "Silly Peter! I was talking about you! Daddy said you would be like my big brother, if I ever had one. Hehe. Will you be my big brother, Peter? I've always wanted a big brother."
Peter didn't respond. Morgan frowned, before she felt a drop of wetness on her forehead. She squealed.
"Ew! Icky Peter!"
He still didn't respond. She looked up.
He was crying. Big, round tears welled out of his eyes, faster than could drip down. He was mostly silent as they brimmed and streaked across his cheeks, only letting out tiny sniffs. He was also just… looking at her; staring, almost. Morgan was suddenly a little scared. She didn't understand what was going on. She wanted to cry, too. She clung to Peter's shirt, feeling tinier than usual, and he let out a small 'Oh', and he gave her a smile that was not quite a smile, a sort of scrunched-up, funny-looking little grimace.
Gently he wrapped his free arm around her, holding her tight and close and snug. Then he began to sob.
"Yes," he only said, hoarse and trembling, as the droplets soaked through her dress.
"Yes, I will."