Life has an unfortunate habit of collapsing around Peter in a mere instant.
It's a cycle he's never managed to escape. Months - or years if he's lucky - will pass in a state of... not normality, per se, but stability at least, only for a nameless deity to obliterate that peace and leave him hanging on by his fingernails in the aftermath. He can pinpoint the exact moment the wheel started to spin; remembers his mom sitting him down with tears in her eyes before telling him of her cancer diagnosis. He remembers childhood innocence being torn away, mocking him like a spectre while his mom deteriorated to the point of having to stay in hospital constantly. And then she was just gone, with no warning besides a plea for him to take her hand, and Peter hadn't even been granted time to cry before his life was uprooted for the second time in one night.
Growing up as a Ravager was far from easy, but Peter's always prided himself on his ability to adapt. Once he learned how the game was played - how to thrive among a crew who would devour him if Yondu's protection ever wavered – cataclysmic changes to his life became a rarity. Trouble followed his every step like a plague, but it was always the fun kind of trouble; the kind he knew how to navigate and survive.
Life generally sucked, but it was predictable. Stable.
Until four years ago. Until the simple act of stealing an orb catapulted him into a reality where he had to save the galaxy, somehow adopting a band of misfits in the process. In a matter of days, Peter's life changed so drastically he thought he must surely be living in a dream.
The next monumental shift came barely months later, with the meeting of a father he had only dreamed of. The father his mom had described with wonder in her eyes, telling stories of a man from the stars who loved them both dearly and would one day return for them. It had been nice to believe the man was truly worthy of her love, if only for a moment, but fate had other ideas; choosing to kick Peter in the teeth once again with the revelation that Ego was a megalomaniac who'd killed his mother.
In the end, Peter was forced to kill one father while watching another sacrifice himself for his sake.
As they'd all silently watched Yondu's proper Ravager funeral, Peter had prayed that this was it. That life was finally done punishing him for whatever imagined slight he'd committed as a child.
In the years that followed, he could almost believe he was free. Four years of relative peace seemed too good to be true, but somehow they managed it. Missions came and went, money was earned and spent in equal measure, and for once in his life Peter could say he was happy and mean it. His unconventional family had given him a son in Groot and someone to love in Gamora, and he could almost believe it would last. Until...
Well, until fate returned with a vengeance.
Peter supposes he should have steeled himself for that.
It was just another distress call. Just another cry for help. The Guardians must have answered those a thousand times by now; there was no reason to believe this one would be any different. All they had to do was save the ship's crew from certain death, humbly accept their thanks along with a handsome reward, and fly off to celebrate their heroism with all the alcohol their earnings could buy. A day that simple would imply the universe still had mercy left in it, however, and that assumption would be asking for too much.
Emerging into a new system and finding the Sakaaran vessel reduced to scattered debris - its crew freezing in the vacuum of space - only solidified that knowledge in Peter's mind.
Of course, they just had to save the god who offered nothing but horror stories of Thanos. If anything was going to doom them to a fate worse than death, it was an utterance of the mad Titan's name. Up until that point, Peter could almost convince himself that Thanos was little more than a fairytale monster intended to scare children; the stories of him stretching far and wide across the galaxy while the man himself remained elusive. Only Gamora and Drax's experiences made him feel like a genuine threat, but even then Peter had refrained from thinking of him if he could avoid it.
Not that blissful ignorance had saved him in the end. Once Gamora had, in all seriousness, brought up the possibility that Peter might have to kill her, any hope of treating Thanos like a mere children's tale was obliterated and his heart felt so heavy he thought his fear might paralyse him.
That prospect became reality before Peter could even process what Gamora had asked him to do; his clear aim at Thanos' thick skull suiting him far more comfortably than the alternative ever could.
Peter can still remember the sickening horror of lowering his blaster to Gamora's chest. Of the tears in her eyes and the utter wrongness of the bravery hidden within her trembling words. It was like his brain was telling him this couldn't possibly be happening; that if he tried really hard, he would wake on an ordinary day with Gamora snuggled against him and Drax's snores emanating from the next room.
Despite having watched 'reality' crumble to fire and ash only moments ago, no amount of wishing could banish the current horror before him so easily. All Peter had was Gamora right in front of him, as Thanos shoved her closer to the blaster gripped in his trembling hand, and he wanted nothing more than to take her to safety, but she was begging him with tears in her eyes and he'd promised...
After losing his mother and Yondu, Peter didn't think his heart could crack any more than it already had. Turned out it could, however; turned out it could shatter to a million fragments as he clenched his eyes shut and pulled the trigger, sentencing the woman he loved to death while Thanos watched on with cruel satisfaction.
For one blissful moment in the aftermath, Peter could truly believe he was dreaming. Watching bubbles spill forth where there should have been blaster-fire left him gaping; igniting hope in his chest even as he watched Gamora's face crumple in defeat. Realisation only dawned when Thanos lifted the gauntlet to reveal the Reality Stone burning brightly, and horror barely had time to resonate before the Titan was pulled into nothingness, taking Gamora with him.
If it was even possible for someone to feel emptiness and hope at the same time, that's where Peter found himself over the following hours. It was a strange void to exist within; a lone flame flickering within a sea of grey, as he numbly guided the Benatar towards Titan. Someone – probably Mantis – asked how he was feeling more than once, but for the life of him he can't remember what he told her. All he could focus on through the haze of hopelessness and suffocating failure was the fact that, despite everything, Gamora was still alive. If Thanos truly had no intention of killing her then maybe, just maybe, there was a chance she could still be saved.
Hell, she would probably save herself and leave Thanos a broken husk at her feet in the process.
Peter has seen her survive worse odds.
It was that hope which kept him going. A small flame which warmed his heart, smothering his irritation at the three humans on Titan who seemed to know as little as he did. A flame which convinced him that their useless plan might actually work. With luck, this would simply be another instance where fate brutally messed with his head, but ultimately left him intact at the end of it all.
He'd almost believed it could be that simple.
Almost.
What a fool he'd been.
Peter still can't process what Mantis and Nebula are saying. Their words don't make sense, not really, and the void that was once held back by a flicker of light now threatens to consume him at any moment. Thanos needed Gamora alive - that was why she'd asked Peter to kill her in the first place – so why isn't she here now? Why is Thanos feeling anguish, feeling grief; why are there tears in Nebula's eyes as she quickly averts her gaze; what right does Thanos have to tears of his own when he... When he's just...
"I did what I had to do, but... it broke my heart to put that tumour in her head."
"I had to!"
It's the same excuse.
It's the same fucking excuse Ego used to justify killing Peter's mother, and it's that more than anything which smothers the flame, forcing Peter to snap even as Stark's desperate cries attempt to pull him back from the edge.
The last time rage and grief plunged him into madness, he'd simply unleashed a barrage of fire upon Ego; watching as his projected body splintered and crumbled before reforming in a gruesome display of power. Peter's actions now are cruder and probably less effective, but the pain of his blows against Thanos' face feels good for the microsecond he needs it to. Cold reality only sets in when Mantis is thrown aside like a ragdoll and the Titan regains control of his mind, by which point it's far too late to correct his mistake.
What happens next is little more than a blur. A few shots from his blaster are all Peter can offer before he too is batted away like an insect, and after that the fight becomes purely instinctual. If he lets himself focus on anything deeper for even a second, he's certain his mind will collapse beyond repair and he'll truly be lost. Pain and grief can be good motivators in the right circumstances, but not right now. Not at a moment as crucial as this. His mistake has already cost them enough.
(He can't bring himself to regret what he's done, not really. Not when he remembers how terrified Gamora had been when he saw her last)
Consciousness returns when Thanos vanishes with the Time Stone in his possession, unmistakable triumph resting on his face, and only then does guilt have time to sink in. A frightened "Did we just lose?" escapes Peter before he can stop it, but what he really wants to know is if this is his fault. If their failure – if the fate of the universe – rests squarely on his shoulders because he couldn't contain his grief for just one second. If Stark or Strange despise him they at least have the grace not to show it, but the hopelessness on both their faces confirms what Peter already knows.
It's over. They've lost. All the stories Gamora would tell of her father are about to come true and there's nothing he can do to stop it.
In a way, it's almost a relief when their numbers start being picked off by an unseen force. The waiting game is finally over; the anticipation which has sent childlike terror coursing through his veins is almost at an end. Comprehension barely has time to sink in before Mantis is reduced to ash in Peter's arms - before Drax voices a confused "Quill?" as his body slowly crumbles - and he's barely turned to face the others before a widespread numbness informs him plainly that he's next.
It's a strange sensation, having your limbs disintegrate to ash. The first thing that strikes Peter is an overwhelming chill which settles in his bones, as though someone's poured ice water over him. He's forcibly reminded of childhood illnesses which left him writhing and miserable in bed, a cool sweat sticking his hair to his face, and the words 'Mom, I don't feel well' die on his tongue before he can voice them. After all, his mother's kind eyes and soothing voice aren't here to lull him to sleep.
What faces him instead is Stark's terror and a shaky, "Steady Quill," which is probably intended to be reassuring but ends up having the opposite effect. Not that it matters. The chill consumes Peter entirely before fear can fully set in, and though he opens his mouth to speak, his last words never reach his own ears.
The final thought to cross his mind is that there'll probably be even less of him to bury than there is of Gamora. When all is said and done, there'll be nothing left in the universe to show he was ever a part of it.
If he still had lungs, Peter might even have laughed.
"You're an idiot."
In spite of everything that's happened since his monumental fuck-up, Peter's smile comes to him with surprising ease. This isn't the first time Gamora's bestowed that title upon him since his arrival here - wherever here is - and knowing her propensity to harbour a chip on her shoulder, it's certainly not the last time he'll hear it either. He can't say he minds though. He would endure a lifelong barrage of the foulest insults imaginable, so long as it allowed him to hear her voice; to hold her hand and watch the fire raging in her eyes.
"Are you hoping that'll stop being true if you say it often enough?" he asks, tilting his head to see her lying by his side, floating on matter which resembles water but feels like air. Her own gaze remains skyward in a purposeful display of shutting him out, for there's little to see above their heads beyond a ceaseless gold which threatens to smother them. "Because it's starting to feel like that."
Gamora refuses to grace him with a response, but Peter's heart calms when he sees her lips quirk into a smile. It's the closest he's gotten to a glimpse of the old Gamora since he arrived; terrified and alone until she emerged from the shadows, her arms offering comfort he never thought he'd receive again. Words had spilled from him with little restraint then – confessions and apologies and more than a few utterances of "This is all my fault" - and though her first utterance of "You idiot" had been laced with fondness, the shudder that rocked her frame when he admitted what he'd done was impossible to miss.
Not that he can blame her. Peter knows full well what his unrestrained burst of humanity has cost them.
It was clear from the moment he collapsed in Gamora's arms that he is dead, though he's since realised that their current prison is no traditional afterlife. All it had taken was a fierce, unspoken desire to bring Gamora to him, followed by Drax and Mantis and Groot. Their souls seem to be linked by an invisible thread which grants him solace when he can no longer bear to be alone. However, no degree of begging has returned his mother to him. Wishing for Yondu's blunt reprimands have also failed to draw him forth from the shadows, and though Drax had reached out to his wife and daughter for what felt like hours, he too had been left kneeling in defeat as only silence answered his calls.
Their success at reconnecting with others has been a bit of a mixed bag. Mentally visualising Strange and the Spider-kid had brought them into view for a moment – their bodies distant and formless as ghosts before fading to nothingness – but Nebula and Stark and, worst of all, Rocket remain trapped somewhere beyond reach. Gamora insists their absence means they must still be alive, but Peter's wary of being so optimistic in the absence of answers.
The knowledge that Rocket – arguably the one who needs a family most – has been left alone without so much as a goodbye brings Peter more guilt than he ever thought one person could handle.
It is impossible to know how much time has passed since he died. There is no night or day here; no indication that time even exists or whether they're all just standing still. All Peter knows is that he's spent the majority of that indeterminate time in Gamora's company - the others having wandered elsewhere at some point - though she's been quiet of late. That's hardly a problem considering silence is rarely awkward when shared with her; if anything, the quiet only adds to the vague sense of peace which grips him now. They're lying on a surface which resembles water, to the point of rippling with every minute action, yet is neither cool nor wet to the touch. When Peter closes his eyes, it feels more like he is falling than floating, sending his heart leaping into his throat.
Staying awake brings little more in the way of relief. All that greets him when he scans the horizon is a sea of gold marred by flickering shadows.
The shadows are people. Instinct may not have served him well of late, but he trusts it where this assumption is concerned. Despite the isolation and feigned sense of peace he and Gamora are sharing, he knows they are surrounded by countless souls trying to navigate their way through a never-ending prison. Sometimes, if his mind wavers or exhaustion grips him in a vice, it feels like he too will become little more than a shadow. There are times where he feels hollow, incomplete, as though he'll collapse into smoke at the slightest hint of a breeze.
Gamora is the only person here who feels real and solid and alive. Her hand is a warm anchor as it clasps his own, stopping his body from crumbling to ash a second time.
She still hasn't answered him, and he knows her too well to mistake the steel in her eyes for anything other than irritation. Now that the immediate relief of finding each other is ebbing away, he guesses he shouldn't be surprised that negative emotions are slowly crawling to the surface. Somehow, he doubts her anger stems from him mindlessly attacking Thanos so much as it does from the fact that he did it out of a futile attempt to avenge her.
"Peter-" she starts eventually, aiming for patience though he can sense her seething behind her mask. Defensiveness prickles beneath his skin out of instinct – a remnant from his time with the Ravagers when keeping his hackles up was essential - and he interrupts before she can utter another word.
"Admit it, you would have done the same for me," he says, only to instantly regret doing so. The words sound more accusatory than he intended, rightfully earning him the fierce glare she shoots his way. It hits him then that he's probably wrong in his assessment. Gamora is strong enough to have simply buried her grief if their roles were reversed - just as her sister had - though that doesn't stop more words from spilling forth without a filter.
"Okay, maybe not for me. But if it had been Groot you would have. Or, hell, Nebula-"
"Don't," Gamora warns, venom dripping from her tone so clearly it burns, despite the impact of her rage being diminished somewhat as tears rise to her eyes. Averting her gaze, she quickly moves to sit up and relinquishes her grip on his hand in order to cradle her own in her lap. Peter feels shame rise in his chest as he watches her suppress a shuddered breath, though to her credit she refuses to shatter completely. "Please. That's not fair."
She's right. None of this is fair. The fact that her monster of a father has won isn't fair. They are both enduring enough punishment for their failures as it is, and it's cruel to pile more upon her for the simple crime of having a heart when Thanos spent years trying to rip one out of her.
"I know," he whispers, though out here the words seem to echo for miles. "I'm sorry."
It's a while before either of them utter another word. The pervasive sense of timelessness seems to swallow them whole as the world remains oppressively still. Once the sensation of weightlessness is rendered more anxiety-inducing than calming, Peter forces himself to sit up as well and watches as ripples encircle him; warping his reflection to the point where he truly looks as amorphous as he feels. Even when the water has stilled and his reflection stares back at him without interference, there's a shimmer to the outline that reminds him too much of a ghost. It's as plain a reminder as any that he is dead and gone, and he runs a hand through the veil to disturb the image before it can become imprinted on his brain.
Doing so doesn't help. Peter doubts anything will banish the peculiarity of no longer having a body of his own, but that doesn't mean he needs to see the proof for himself.
If Gamora understands what he's doing then she says nothing of it, though tension still has her locked in a cage. Her eyes are cast downward, studying the hands clasped in her lap, and it's only when Peter edges closer that she releases a strained breath and lets herself unwind. Her head comes to rest on his shoulder without needing to be prompted, and though there's little in the way of comfort he can offer, he wraps an arm around her and holds her close anyway.
"I promised myself I would never let Thanos hurt her again," Gamora says finally, bitter defeat lingering beneath her words, and it takes a moment for Peter to realise she's talking about Nebula. He now knows of the terrible choice Gamora was forced to make – knows she sacrificed the Soul Stone's location for her sister's sake – and though it's possible she'll never forgive herself, Peter cannot blame her for making that choice.
He imagines he would have done the same to save his loved ones, as much as that knowledge terrifies him.
"You kept it," he assures her. The fact that Nebula was still alive when Peter died and remains unreachable here is proof that she's outlasted them all, spiting Thanos with every breath she takes. "You saved her."
Any reassurance his words may have held are instantly shattered as a laugh which is in grave danger of becoming a sob is pulled from Gamora. With her pressed so close to his side, Peter can feel the shudders rocking her frame as she tries to conceal her agony, and he's certain he feels his heart crack at the sight.
"Did I?" she whispers when her laughter finally dies.
Peter wants more than anything to say yes. To remind Gamora that her sister is alive and in one piece – as far as that notion extends to Nebula anyway – but he knows that's not what's really being asked. Survival isn't always the best-case scenario. Not when Nebula and Stark have been left to rot on a desolate wasteland; not when Rocket has been left abandoned with no way of knowing he's just lost everyone he loves. Peter and Gamora's entrapment in this unchanging realm is a form of hell unto itself - one that will certainly drive them mad before long - but he thinks even this is better than being left alone in the universe.
His own role in sentencing the others to that fate has him clenching his eyes shut, his chest tightening to the point where he might have suffocated if breathing was still a necessity. In all honesty, he remembers very little of his outburst beyond flashes of dawning grief making way for white-hot anger, followed by a satisfying crunch as his fists met flesh. When consciousness had returned, any self-loathing within him was forced to make way for instinct. There was nothing left to do but fight, otherwise they'd all be torn apart.
They'd had Thanos tied down. For one crucial moment, they'd actually been able to grasp the upper hand. If Mantis hadn't described what she'd felt, or Nebula hadn't voiced her suspicions, or Thanos hadn't confirmed what Peter was trying so desperately to deny then perhaps...
"Do you think we could have stopped him?" Peter asks, forcing himself to confront any fear of what the answer will bring. Gamora pulls away slightly to study his face, but he keeps his expression guarded for fear of encouraging a lie. "If I hadn't freaked out, do you think we could have prevented all this?"
"No," she replies, without so much as a beat of hesitation, and the bluntness of that one word feels like a punch to the chest. "No, I don't."
Peter had suspected as much, given Strange's insistence that there was only one way Thanos could be stopped. In view of that proclamation, their victory had seemed a little too easy, but even so... Peter certainly hadn't helped. If he hadn't snapped, they may have had more time to think, to plan. The true means of achieving victory might even have come to them as they fought to keep Thanos restrained.
Or perhaps nothing would have changed. Perhaps even in the absence of interference, Thanos would have broken free of Mantis' control and they'd all have been trampled underfoot anyway.
Strange could tell him, Peter thinks, if he ever becomes brave enough to ask.
Gamora gently takes his hand in hers and the pleasant warmth she exudes forces his mind to calm. It is a terrifying thing, losing himself in this place. The unnatural stillness - interrupted only by subtle shifts as a shadow passes by - threatens to break him as surely as any physical torture would, and he squeezes Gamora's hand with a degree of desperation as her voice anchors him to the present.
"Thanos has wanted this since before he even met me," she says, concealing her emotion expertly as though to spare them both some pain. "I've watched him fight for balance in the universe for as long as I can remember. Once he had the gauntlet, the possibility of achieving it would have seemed too real for him to let anyone stop him. Especially not us.
"As soon as I told him where the Soul Stone was, we'd already lost. There was nothing more you could have done; everything after that just poured more salt on the wound."
"That's a poetic way of calling us weak," Peter says, a soft smile gracing his lips as he presses a kiss to Gamora's temple. To his relief, she releases a weak laugh before reaching up to wipe away her unshed tears. The moment doesn't last, however. Severity washes over her in an instant as dark eyes bore into his own.
"It's my way of saying I should have stopped this," she admits, and when Peter opens his mouth to object, she simply raises a hand to his lips and silences him with a look. "Without me, he never would have found the Soul Stone. He never would have..."
The words die on her tongue, but there's little point in voicing them when the implications are deafening. With a snap of his fingers, Thanos has managed to wipe out half the universe. Trillions of people are just... gone.
Ashes.
It almost sounds like a bad joke. If life were kind, Peter would wake up with the details of this nightmare already fading from memory, but such a courtesy does not belong to the likes of him.
"I'm sorry," Gamora whispers, so quietly he almost misses it, but Peter knows deep down that the words aren't intended for him.
"Don't," he says, and something in his voice must betray his solemnity for Gamora makes no attempt to silence him this time. "I should be the one saying that. If I'd kept my promise, Thanos would never have taken you in the first place."
Admittedly, keeping his promise would have destroyed his soul anyway, though he doubts he'd have survived the aftermath long enough for it to matter. Knowing that he'd gone so far as to pull the trigger elicits a fiery guilt he's yet to fully process, even with the certainty that he'd done so to protect the universe. It's not like his noble intentions had mattered in the end.
"You tried," Gamora says, and the most sickening thing of all is that she sounds grateful. "You still kept your word."
She makes that sound like it's a good thing. Like the fact that he'd tried to shoot her isn't the most abhorrent thing he's ever done.
Her reasoning is clear enough. Give him time and Peter may also come to appreciate the cold logic behind his decision - perhaps even mourn the fact that Thanos had thwarted him. Though even then, he doubts he'll ever forgive himself for failing to protect Gamora so completely.
He also doubts she'll forgive herself for the fact that her fears ultimately came true.
"What a pair are we, huh?" he jokes, though any attempt at lightness falls flat as the words sound dead to his ears.
How fitting.
Gamora simply hums in agreement, returning her head to his shoulder and keeping his hand firmly clasped in hers. A hush descends over them before long, though if Peter really concentrates he thinks he can hear faint murmurs all around him; whispered words shared between shadows as other souls carry on with their fragmented existences. It is strange to be surrounded by so many when they are all so unreachable, though perhaps that will change with time. Perhaps the only reason Gamora seems more complete is because she's been here longer.
That thought process gives him an idea, or rather the beginnings of one. Incoherent threads of an escape-plan have been dangling in his mind since his awakening, and while they're no less fanciful now, he voices them anyway in the hope that doing so will cheer them up slightly.
Outlandish delusions of grandeur are practically a return to normality for them.
"Tell you what," he starts, reluctantly pulling away so he can look Gamora in the eye. His tone must betray his sudden loss of gravitas, and a single raised eyebrow is indication enough that she's expecting something wholly ridiculous. "I bet there's a way out of here. I bet we can gather a few trillion allies and take down Thanos with our badass army. Like force ghosts, only useful. It's not like he can hurt us when we're already dead, is it?"
He's rambling and he knows it. Gamora's feeble attempts to conceal a smirk are proof enough of that, and when he's done she simply shakes her head like a mother entertaining the whims of a fanciful child.
"I don't think that's how this works, Peter," she points out, though not unkindly. There's a smile tugging at her lips which implies his plan is a fancy she too would happily indulge in if she weren't such a realist at heart.
"Maybe not," Peter concedes. As much as he prides himself on being an optimist with a strong belief in the power of winging it, he knows deep down that his ideas are ludicrous to the core. There is no coming back from death – years of wishing for his mom to come back have taught him that much – but it is nice to pretend there's a future beyond this golden haze. "But when have we ever played by the rules?"
He neglects to mention that breaking the rules is a lot easier when the rules themselves are clear. There's no order to this place; no sense of direction or time; no indication that there's even a way in or out. There was an archway when he arrived - an intricately carved structure which seemed ancient to his experienced eyes - but taking a few steps was enough to banish it from view. Whether he'll ever find it again or whether he's let the opportunity slip through his fingers, Peter cannot say. In all honesty, any hope of escape is a childish fantasy at best, but then, giving up has never been in his nature. As lonely as it can seem out here, he knows they're surrounded by trillions of souls. Between them, they must surely be able to cover enough ground to find the way out if one does exist. Or even better, perhaps there's someone who knows exactly what this place is and could pass on some helpful legends or riddles to aid their escape.
Mobilising an army may be even more difficult than it sounds. Despite efforts to interact with those lurking in the shadows, they tend to appear only as fleeting silhouettes before blowing away like smoke. It's almost like a deliberate obstacle – a way to prevent trouble from brewing – but considering Peter's been able to interact with the Guardians without difficulty, perhaps it just takes more practice to contact someone he doesn't know so well.
He's reminded suddenly of Stark's kid; of the fleeting glimpse he'd gotten of him until he too had fallen to the shadows. Peter tries to smother the unease which rises at the thought of one so young being sentenced to an eternity here. What's worse is that it remains unclear whether it's even possible to find the kid again, or whether he's now lost among trillions of souls.
Regardless of how difficult a task it promises to be, Peter silently vows to search for the kid and keep him safe. He knows all too well what it's like to be a frightened child lost in a universe he doesn't understand; if he can save just one person from that fate then perhaps he'll recover enough purpose to stay sane.
Besides, rescuing strays is kinda his thing now.
At some point, if he truly wants to fight his way out of here, he'll need to track down Strange as well. As high and mighty as the man came across - to the annoyance of everyone else - the wizard did exude an aura of knowing more than the rest of their makeshift team combined. Assuming he wasn't talking out of his ass, he might even know of a way to defeat Thanos. It's probably far too late for any of them to make a difference on their own, but if Strange believes there's even a remote chance they can fight back then Peter's all ears.
"We owe it to Rocket to try," he says eventually, and perhaps it's cruel to bring up the family they've left behind as justification for his hare-brained schemes, but there's some truth to his words nonetheless. Saving Rocket from crippling loss and abandonment is reason enough to crawl back to the land of the living. Gamora seems to agree, for any urge to shut him down leaves her in an instant and she simply adorns a small, sad smile instead. "Even if it's just so we can haunt him and cause trouble. I think he'd appreciate that."
"Like in Poltergeist?" Gamora asks, and the reference is so out-of-the-blue that Peter's unable to hold back a laugh.
To be fair, her remembering that particular movie isn't surprising considering he'd been amusingly drunk when he described it to her frame-by-frame. He remembers she'd fallen in love with the idea of him hiding under his bed at night so the scary clown wouldn't eat him. That was a common theme with Gamora and his stories - if childhood humiliation was involved in any way, she'd hang onto every word like her life depended on it. Peter used to assume she was collecting blackmail material in the process, but she hasn't used his drunken stories against him nearly as often as he thought she would.
"Yeah, why not?" he agrees with a shrug. Honestly, haunting Rocket could be rather fun if such a thing is even remotely possible. Call it payback for every time Peter had to tiptoe around a bomb that was recklessly left lying around. "Just like in Poltergeist. Only with less creepy clowns."
Gamora's smile softens and she lowers her gaze as though to hide it, but the sight has already succeeded in warming Peter's heart. He's missed this. While he knows it can only have been days since their lives shattered irreparably, it feels like years have passed. He feels old and brittle, ready to snap at a moment's notice, and the luxury of singing at the top of his lungs on the Benatar feels like a half-forgotten dream. Gamora's smile helps wash away that feeling; helps render the past a little less untouchable and their current circumstances somewhat bearable.
"I love you," she says eventually, and though Peter's no longer a stranger to those words, he feels his breath catch all the same. After all these years, hearing Gamora admit her feelings for him remains a novelty he doesn't deserve.
"That's not gonna stop you from calling me an idiot, is it?" he asks, though he already knows the answer. Sure enough, Gamora's laugh could rival Drax's for sheer indulgent humour, but she recovers quickly enough that Peter's dignity remains mostly intact.
"Not a chance," she admits with a wicked grin, one which quickly softens as she brings his hand to her lips and presses a kiss to his palm. For as much as she's earned her reputation of 'fiercest woman in the galaxy', Peter's found she can be ridiculously sappy when the mood arises. That had been one of the sweeter revelations he'd discovered weeks into their relationship, tied only with her cuddliness when they drifted off to sleep and the enthusiasm for dancing she'd embraced once her walls came tumbling down.
What he wouldn't give to dance with her now. To put on some music and take her in his arms, maybe even let her lead the way as they lose themselves in the rhythm. Perhaps dancing isn't an impossibility here. They may not have recorded music in their possession, but they have good enough voices to create their own.
That can wait, however. They have nothing but time here, and for now Peter simply wants to focus on the weight of Gamora in his arms; on the warmth of her skin as he traces a thumb across her cheek and the way she sighs at the touch. As is often the case, she's the one who makes the first move; leaning closer while he simply closes his eyes and basks in the desire to feel her warm lips on his. To pretend they are simply snuggled in a dark corner of the Benatar, snatching a small but perfect moment alone before urgency inevitably comes calling.
"I am Groot!"
Peter pulls away with a start before his lips can even ghost upon Gamora's, though his disappointment is almost worth it for the giggle she lets out in view of Groot's clear disgust. This, more than anything, reminds Peter of home so deeply it hurts; where any degree of intimacy beyond holding hands was constantly in peril of being interrupted by one of the others barging in on them. Depending on the intruder, the outcry that broke the mood would range from one of encouragement (inevitably Drax) to a muttered "That's disgusting!" (Rocket, often before a quick getaway). While interruptions rarely faze him these days, Peter supposes they should shield their child's eyes for the time being, so he reluctantly turns away from Gamora to face the new arrival.
Groot can only be standing feet away from them, but the gold encompassing his body makes him seem distant all the same. He has the same shimmering, fluid outline as Peter – a lack of consistency which only Gamora lacks – but at least he's more solid than the shadows which pass him by, and his furrowed brows are unmistakable as he pretends to gag.
"Hey, we're not disgusting, you're disgusting!" Peter snaps back once his shock has dwindled, though he realises how immature he sounds when Gamora throws him a disgusted look of her own. Groot seems equally unimpressed, crossing his arms in a display of adolescent disrespect that has Peter cringing. "Okay, not the most mature comeback I could have come up with but give me a break. It's been a stressful few days. Groot, we'll be with you in a minute, just... go somewhere else."
"I am Groot?"
Good question. It's not as though Peter can draw a map and ask Groot to venture somewhere specific. Landmarks are a sparse novelty here; the only structure Peter has come across was the stone archway, and even that vanished in an instant. If there wasn't an invisible thread linking him to the people he loves – those killed by Thanos anyway – Peter imagines he would still be wandering aimlessly like many of the souls trapped in this place.
Besides, it's probably not a good idea to encourage Groot to wander off. He's been understandably distressed ever since it became clear Rocket wasn't among them, and though time is slowly healing that wound, Groot is still too young to shoulder the burden of his own death alongside the loss of his father on his own.
"Find Drax and Mantis and tell them we'll catch up," Peter tells him, softening his tone as much as he can to ensure Groot understands he's not trying to chase him away. It seems to be enough, for stubborn arms are finally uncrossed and the kid nods in acknowledgement of the plan without complaint. "Oh, ask if they have any cool ideas on how to break out of the afterlife while you're at it."
"Do not ask them that!" Gamora interjects, though Peter doesn't miss the way her lips reluctantly form a smirk. To be fair, she's probably in the right. It's early days yet; there's still so much to come to terms with before they can even consider planning for the future. Assuming a future even exists in this place.
When Groot glances between them in confusion, Gamora's soft smile returns to put him at ease like it used to when he was a baby. "Just tell them we'll be there soon. We won't be long, I promise."
That seems to be reassurance enough. Groot nods at Gamora, showing her far more respect than Peter ever gets, before silently wandering away. It takes only five steps for his body to fade like smoke on a breeze; golden shadows embracing him completely as the ripples cease; the water betraying no evidence that anyone ever disturbed its surface. There's an element of creepiness to the way people just disappear in this place that sends a chill down Peter's spine, but when he focuses intently he can feel Groot's presence only a matter of feet away. He can't lose him here.
When he turns to Gamora, he finds her staring at the empty space Groot has left behind, her brows pinched slightly and her lips downturned. No doubt there's far more preying on her mind than she'll ever willingly share – Peter thinks he can relate, if only a little – but she lets herself breathe when he squeezes her hand in a feeble act of reassurance.
"I'm serious, you know," he says, though his words only elicit a weak scoff. He can hardly begrudge Gamora her scepticism. They've barely been dead a week so it's a little premature to concoct some grand scheme to overthrow their murderer. If this is truly all there is, perhaps making such plans will even do them more harm than good. False hope has harmed him enough as it is, though he still can't bring himself to let it go entirely. "Give it time and I'm sure we'll find a way to make things right. That's kinda our thing."
"And what if we can't?" Gamora counters, though if there's a debate brewing she doesn't appear to have the energy to spark it off. It's likely she's as willing to get caught up in fantasy as he is, but she knows their enemy better than Peter ever could and she's always been the more sensible one in their relationship. "What happens if all your plans fail?"
'When' is what she clearly wants to ask, but Peter lets that slide. Deep down, he knows there's no getting out of this. Not without one hell of a fight. And honestly, he's not sure he'd deserve the opportunity to escape even if it were right in front of him. Too many mistakes on his part are what led him here along with trillions of others.
Perhaps one day he will learn to forgive his mistakes and recognise Thanos as the only one worth blaming, though in his current mindset even that prospect is quickly banished to make way for guilt. Staying here for an eternity would lead to one hell of an absolution, he thinks, but it's likely better than he deserves.
After all, he still has Gamora. He still has his family, though his heart can't help but cry out for the mother he'll never find. And he still has a tiny streak of optimism buried underneath his pain. So long as he has that, he might actually be okay in the long run.
"In that case," he says, lifting a hand to Gamora's cheek and taking a moment to simply appreciate the fact that she is here; that in spite of all he's lost, she is still right by his side. "I guess there are worse ways to spend eternity."
There's that smile again. Peter grins as he watches Gamora fight to contain it; feels the twitch of muscle beneath his fingers before she relents and lets it overtake her. It's likely her amusement comes at his expense – it's been a while since he's sounded so unbearably sappy – but any silent teasing is worth it when she leans forward and presses a soft kiss to his cheek. Her lips are warm against his cool skin, the contact all-too-brief as she pulls away before he can blink.
"We should find the others before they manage to burn this place down," she says as she rises to her feet, shedding the visage of 'hopeless romantic' to don the role of Strongest Guardian once more. Peter feels a vague sense of loss when her hand leaves his. Every time she lets go of him it feels like ice is settling beneath his skin, serving as a harsh reminder that he is no longer as alive as she makes him feel, but the mere sight of her is enough to remedy that.
Only then does he remember his promise to find Stark's kid and offer him company. There may be no need – statistically speaking, it's likely the boy has family of his own here – but if he remains as lonely as the brief glimpse of him had implied, offering a place to stay is the least Peter can do. The Guardians are... interesting company, to say the least, but it's difficult to sustain a foul mood in their presence. The boy might even come to appreciate their boisterousness with time.
"You go ahead," he tells Gamora before she can wander too far and vanish from sight. "I need to track down a teenager."
"Do you have a specific one in mind, or is this a new craving I should be worried about?" she retorts, one eyebrow raised and a proud smirk gracing her lips when Peter's left gaping, inwardly cursing himself as no witty comeback presents itself.
This, more than anything, makes him believe they're actually going to be okay. If Gamora's capable of ribbing him mercilessly and Groot still acts ashamed to be in his presence, perhaps normality is achievable even here.
"I...I'm not going to dignify that with a response," he says, though any pretence at being horrified by her insinuation is betrayed when he fails to hold back a grin. Her smirk softens in a heartbeat, rendering her so beautiful that an "I love you" of his own escapes without a second thought.
There's a momentary beat of hesitation then, before they move towards each other in unison. Gamora reaches him first, taking his face in her hands and pressing her lips to his in a silent reciprocation. Her lips are warm where his are cold, the contact all too fleeting despite its sweetness, but her smile and soft hands caressing his cheek are enough to sate him for now. Her warmth lingers even after she draws her hands away, leaving him with a quiet farewell which his brain refuses to acknowledge until she's already gone.
It takes an age for Gamora to vanish from view, but Peter can still feel her as surely as if she were standing by his side. The silk thread tying their hearts together – connecting their souls across a sea of shadows – ignites a fire which makes him feel more alive than he's been since the chill of disintegration washed over him. It remains too early to do anything other than come to terms with what they've lost, but with time Peter hopes a plan will come together, injecting a sense of purpose into a realm which otherwise has none. The Guardians will not be the only ones eager for a fight, he knows; all they need to do is reach out to the shadows and there'll surely be others willing to fight tooth and nail to avenge themselves.
Whether there is truly any point in trying, Peter doubts it, but a small flicker of hope is better than none. All he has to do is cling to it.
He owes the universe that much.
A/N - Thank you so much for reading this. This is one of those stories that came into my brain fully-formed, only to wrestle with me the entire time I was writing it :P I adore Peter and Gamora to bits so it was lovely to write for them again. I'll admit, I'm both excited and terrified to see what'll happen to them after Infinity War...
Thank you again for reading this and I hope you enjoyed it!