When they get back to Earth, Fury stares hard at Thor for a solid five seconds, gestures at the god of thunder's eyepatch, and says, "Is this a joke?"

Peter realizes the similarity there and has to bite his lip to keep from grinning. It doesn't feel very respectful to laugh about this kind of thing. Eyes were lost. That's serious.

Thor does grin. "It's very real. I heard that losing an eye is all the rage this season."

"And everyone knows how vain my brother is," Loki says, stepping out of the ship behind Thor.

"Shut up, Loki."

"Loki?" Fury's voice goes sharp. "What is Loki doing here? He wasn't part of the plan."

"There's more," Tony says, glancing over his shoulder at the doorway of the ship. A rumpled-looking Bruce Banner inches sideways into view and waves.

Fury turns back to Tony and asks, "Anyone else?"

Before Tony can respond, Loki moves forward. "Director Fury, I know that in the past you and I have had our differences—"

Fury glares.

Loki takes a cautious step back. His hands come up at his sides. "Alright. Fair enough."

Then there's a crashing sound inside the ship, and a man's voice shouts, "Groot, stop that!"

The people standing outside hear a petulant "I am Groot!" right before a walking tree —and Fury sometimes wonders how his life isn't actually some bizarre dream—falls out onto the landing pad. Then the tree looks up and, suddenly shy, says, "I am Groot?"

"Oh, great," Fury says. "There's a tree, too."

Peter winks. "Wait until you meet the raccoon."

Fury looks at him for a moment and then says, stone-cold, "I think you should see Dr. Banner about that eye twitch, Parker."

"Um, Mr. Fury, you know that was a wink—"

"It could be a sign of an underlying health issue."

And that's the moment when Heimdall's ship, which had been following behind, makes its own landing.


"So obviously some things went more according to plan than others," Peter says, minutes later, when he, Tony, and Steve have pulled Fury aside for a debrief.

"Obviously," Fury repeats.

Peter doesn't appreciate the sass. "I'm sorry about, uh, the Loki thing. If it helps, we didn't know he was around either until he beamed away from Heimdall's ship onto ours."

"He's definitely the god of mischief," Steve chimes in.

"Captain," Fury says, giving Steve a little nod of acknowledgment. "Welcome home. You've been gone for a while."

Everyone understands that 'gone' does not mean 'to space' but 'into exile'. Steve colors slightly and says, "Thank you, sir."

Tony jerks his head in the direction of the group of Asgardians gathered around a bickering Thor and Loki at the other end of the small field surrounding the landing pad. "It seems like a lot of people are coming home. We'll have to set up some kind of program to help the Asgardians get settled."

Fury nods. "Of course. I'll talk to Agent Hill about setting that up." His brow furrows. "But why are there so many Asgardians here?"

When Steve answers, he uses what Peter calls his Captain America Voice—because it sounds confident and trustworthy like the voice Steve uses when he's ushering civilians to safety or giving orders. The Captain America Voice seems to come out whenever Steve is talking about something that's tragic or otherwise serious. (The last time Peter had heard it had been in the aftermath of the Sam-finding-out-about-Peter's-speed thing, but that's a story for another time.) Anyway, Steve says, "Asgard has been destroyed."

Peter feels unaccountably guilty. It's not like there's anything he could have done to change Asgard's fate—the realm had been destroyed before Peter had returned to the past, and it was out of his control, anyway—but that doesn't keep him from wishing he could have saved Asgard anyway.

Fury wears a grave expression. He nods again, reaches for his phone, and says, "I need to call Maria."


Peter thinks he should try to get to know some of the people they've brought back. So, sometime after most of the Asgardians filter back onto their ship and the others head into the compound, Peter finds the Star Lord standing by one of the modern-looking couches Tony's interior designer had picked out.

"Hi! I don't think I ever introduced myself. I'm Peter." Peter holds a hand out for Quill to shake.

Quill eyes it. "No, I'm Peter. Come on, kid, I'm like twice your age. I have dibs."

Peter grins. "I've been on the planet longer, though."

Quill frowns, but he shakes Peter's hand. "You know what? Fine. You can be Peter. Star Lord is a cooler name anyway."

"No offence, Mr. Quill, but does anyone actually call you that?"

Rocket cackles. "Good one, kid."

When did he get here? Peter wonders.

"Mr. Quill," Quill echoes, disgusted. "That's terrible."

"It's your name," Peter says.

Quill frowns again. "It makes me sound like an old man."

"Well…," Peter says.

"Are you trying to imply that I'm an old man?" Quill asks. "Really?"

Peter exchanges a knowing look with Rocket and says, "Uh, on the trip here you kept making references to movies that came out before I was born."

"How dare you," Quill says. "Footloose is timeless."

Peter adopts a faux-serious expression that's betrayed by an amused glint in his eyes and says, stepping closer, "If you need someone to talk to about acclimating to the twenty-first century, you should go to Steve. He has a lot of experience with that kind of thing."

Quill reaches into one of the pockets in his leather jacket and pulls out...an MP3 player. "Oh, yeah? If I'm so outdated, how do I have a Zune?"

"A what?"

"Are you kidding m—?"

"Peter," Gamora calls from the other side of the compound's communal living space. Both Peters turn to face her. "Stark says he can introduce you to Kevin Bacon."

Peter hears a sharp intake of breath, and then Quill rushes over to Gamora and Tony to ask if Tony was being serious. (He was.)

Peter pulls out his phone to Google who Kevin Bacon is. The name sounds vaguely familiar.


The Asgardians are fun. Many of them are (understandably) tired of being cooped up on their ship, so Peter spends the rest of the afternoon in the field outside the compound teaching Heimdall and several of the others how to play baseball (with Steve's help, because the man's childhood crush on the entire roster of the Brooklyn Dodgers led to his having an almost encyclopedic knowledge of the sport). It turns out that the all-seeing eye thing comes in handy when trying to gauge the right moment to swing the bat.

"That's so awesome," Peter says, when Heimdall reveals the secret behind his incredible batting average.

Heimdall looks amused.

"Hey, Queens!" Steve's getting restless on the pitcher's mound (which is just a patch of dirt they all agreed to pretend is a mound). "Stop distracting him. We're playing a game here."

Peter steps back into the catcher position. "Sorry!"


Peter has to go to school the next day. He took the last two days off under the pretense that he came down with a cold, but he's running out of sick days and doesn't want to get even more behind in his classes if he can help it...though it's a bummer to leave behind his cool second life with the Avengers to go back to being normal Peter Parker.

At least he gets to see Ned.

"So how did it go?" Ned asks, keeping his voice low. They aren't in a storage room this time, thankfully—they're standing at a lab table taking turns pouring chemicals into a beaker and observing the reactions. (There's more to the lab than that, but neither of them is paying much attention.)

Peter finds the meniscus and jots down the volume of the solution on his worksheet. Then, when he passes the paper to Ned, he says, "We got Thor."

"Yes!" Ned holds out a fist for Peter to bump. "I knew you would do it. Congrats, man."

"Thanks. I was kind of worried for a while there," Peter says. "And...Mr. Stark took the news surprisingly well."

Ned lowers the bottle he'd been about to tip above a measuring cup. "How much did you tell him?"

"Everything." Peter watches as the solution in the beaker changes color, going from clear to a dramatic, murky blue. "He knows about the time travel and the, uh…."

Peter's confronted it already, but he still doesn't like saying it aloud.

"The dying," Ned says for him.

"Yeah."

"I hope that didn't make things awkward," Ned says.

Peter shrugs. "There hasn't been much time for it to become awkward, I guess. It was just 'hey, Mr. Stark, I've been inexplicably sent back from a future where you've died', and then we were in space."

"I'm so jealous." Ned leans his chin into his hand. His elbow is propped up on the lab table. "I've always wanted to go to space. What's it like?"

And then Peter waxes poetic about nebulas and stars and galaxies that had flit by the windows of the ship in the blink of an eye. It takes up most of the rest of the class period.


Mr. Harrington pulls him aside after class. "Peter, do you have an explanation for why you were in my room last Friday while I was out? Flash told me you said you had permission."

"I didn't say that," Peter says. Then he mumbles, "I just implied it."

Mr. Harrington frowns. "Detention, Parker."


MJ shows up at the detention that afternoon, and Peter has this fleeting thought that maybe she came to this one because she knew he would be there and wanted to keep him company.

Don't be stupid, Peter, he thinks. She's just looking for people to sketch.

But he thinks it's kind of nice to have her there anyway, even though they don't talk much—they just sit a couple of desks apart from each other, Peter working on math homework and MJ focused on her sketchbook, both of them biding their time until the coach overseeing detention tells them they can leave.

Then detention is over.

They stand outside at the front of the school waiting for their respective rides home, and what Peter does next is not his fault. It's the sun's fault, because how is Peter supposed to not be reduced to incoherence by the way the golden sunset-light makes MJ look like she's glowing?

"You're pretty," Peter says, faster than he can think about what he's saying. Then his eyes widen and he adds, "Cool. Um—you're pretty cool."

MJ raises an eyebrow. "Thanks," she says. "I think you're pretty, too."

Peter's never been called pretty before. His thoughts short-circuit a little bit, and he can feel his face heat. She thinks I'm pretty! he thinks, frantic, and it's like alarms are blaring in his head. He needs to evacuate from this situation.

Why is it that he can fight supervillains just fine, but he can't talk to a girl he likes without getting tongue-tied? That seems unfair.

"Haha, thank you. I have to go. Bye," Peter says. He pretends Aunt May has just text him that she's down the block and walks quickly away. He'll swing home. It's easier.

"And then I told her she was pretty," Peter says, putting emphasis on the last word, as if he's sharing something dire. "Can you believe that? I'll never be able to talk to her again."

Natasha sets her mug down. She and Peter are sitting across from each other in the compound's kitchen, which has become something of a routine for them. "I don't see the problem here. Don't you like her?"

Peter lets out a strangled dramatic noise. "Of course I like her! That's why I can't talk to her."

Natasha smiles at him, fond, like he's a puppy that's just done something cute. "Listen," she says, "we're already playing matchmaker for one pair of dorks. Why don't we add you and MJ to that list?"

Peter isn't a fan of the implication that he and MJ are a pair of dorks, but he knows to accept an offer of help when one is extended to him, so he agrees. But he still wants to seek a second opinion—maybe from Tony.

And, speaking of Tony….

Things are better now that Tony knows. Peter had been worried that something would change between them if Tony knew—that their comfortable mentor-mentee dynamic would be ruined—but when he sees Tony again, it's not awkward.

If anything, things are better than they've ever been. Peter doesn't have to explain himself anymore if he wants to call Tony at weird times to hear Tony's voice and reassure himself that Tony's alive, and Tony has been a little more considerate than usual about keeping the door to his lab open and answering his phone.

Peter hopes that consideration carries over to not making fun of Peter for what he's about to ask. They're working together in Tony's lab, as per routine, and Peter says, "Mr. Stark, I have a question. But you have to promise that you won't laugh."

Tony raises an eyebrow. "Interesting. Go on."

"How do I ask someone out?" Peter asks. "You have a lot of experience with that kind of thing, right?"

Tony blinks, taken aback. "Okay, that is not where I was expecting that to go," he says. He puts down the tech he'd been working on. "Geez, kid."

After taking a second to gather his thoughts, he says, "Peter, you should not model your love life after mine. If anything, before you do something you should ask yourself, 'What would Tony Stark do?' And then you should do the opposite of whatever that thing is. I think that's a good general life rule."

"Does that mean you don't want me to go to MIT after all?" Peter asks, because they both know Tony is the one who's been slipping college pamphlets into Peter's backpack when he thinks the teenager's not looking.

"Touché."


In somewhat related news, the latest stage in Operation Ironcap (which Peter still thinks needs a better name) is underway. This time Natasha is the mastermind behind their plans.

"I've known Steve and Tony for years," she says, when Peter brings it up. "I think I know each of their weaknesses."


On the other side of the compound, Steve hovers by the kitchen counter. He had planned on walking down the hallway past the kitchen to his room, but something had caught his eye to make him stay: papers strewn out on the countertop next to a steaming mug of fresh black coffee.

Steve has a hunch about who these things belong to, but a glance over his shoulder confirms that Tony is nowhere in sight. Odd.

Steve steps closer to get a better look at the papers. There, drawn in crisp, clean pen strokes, are sketches of things Steve doesn't understand but appreciates on an aesthetic level. Robotic arms. Propulsors. Hi-tech-looking rectangles.

Tony must've done these, Steve thinks. It's not a surprise, but it's not something he had expected, either. The thought of Tony sketching in his lab—thoughtfully making line after line, each of them inspired by brilliant insights into tech that no one in the world has had before—makes Steve feel flustered in a way that he can't explain. Invention is a kind of art, and Steve sometimes thinks that Tony is one of the most impressive artists of the past hundred years.

Tony's weakness comes next.

"Did you make these?" Steve asks, gesturing at the papers with his hand, when Tony comes back from the bathroom.

"Yes." Tony flashes Steve a suspicious look and reaches for his coffee mug. It leaves behind a pale brown ring on the corner of a sketch of something that resembles an arc reactor. "Peter and Nat kicked me out of the lab, so I had to come in here to work."

"They're amazing," Steve says. He sounds totally sincere. "You have real talent, Tony."

"Oh," Tony says. He takes a sip of his coffee to mask the way his face flushes. "Thanks."


"You were right," Peter says, glancing away from the security footage FRIDAY is streaming to them to look at Natasha, who's leaning back in her chair with her legs propped up on the table in front of her. They're sitting together in the lab with a tablet propped up on the table between them.

Natasha smiles. "Does that surprise you?"


Thor confronts Peter after the Asgardians have been parked at the compound for a week. "I hear that you have a project. I'd like to help."

"Oh," Peter says. He's initially caught off guard, but then he remembers that he'd recruited Bruce to help with the "research" project for "school", and it would make sense for the doctor to have told Thor about it. "I'd, uh, I'd appreciate that. Did you hear from Dr. Banner?"

Thor's brow furrows. "No, from Natasha. Why would Banner be involved?"

Peter has lost track of what's going on. "What are you talking about? I'm doing a project on the Avengers for school."

"Oh," Thor says. This is clearly news to him. "Wait, Banner found out about that before I did?"

"Sorry, Mr. Odinsson! I meant to ask you, there just hasn't been a good time, and you're so cool that I was kind of intimidated—"

"That's alright, then," Thor says, mollified. "And I was referring to your other project—the one with Captain America and Iron Man. There seems to be something very intense going on between them, and I want to offer my help. My services."

"Your services," Peter repeats.

"Yes. I'm very good at encouraging budding romances. Just ask Heimdall. I got him a date once."

"Y-Uh, you did what?"

"Of course it didn't end well, because she was a warrior goddess sworn to celibacy and he was married to his job guarding the Nine Realms, but you know how it goes."

Peter doesn't think he does. But he sees an opportunity to ask, "Do you think you could teach me how to talk to a girl I like?"

"The secret to charming someone," says Thor, with the air of someone imparting ancient wisdom, "is to speak softly and carry a big hammer."

Peter laughs. "Are you serious?"

Thor crosses his arms. "If you don't want my advice, I can take it elsewhere."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Odinsson, it's just—where would I even find a big hammer? It's not like there's a Mjølnir lying around."

A dark look comes over Thor's face. "Don't remind me."


Peter works up the courage to ask MJ out. Eventually. There are no hammers involved—it's just the two of them in detention (again), because Peter had deliberately gotten caught skipping P.E. for the opportunity to talk to MJ without their Academic Decathlon teammates (especially Flash) being in the way.

In hindsight it was a dumb strategy, because he had no way of knowing if MJ would even show up, but she does.

Peter leaves his second detention of the week with MJ's number in his phone and plans to go on a date that weekend. !, he thinks.

Peter calls Ned as soon as he gets home and, before his best friend can even get out a hello, says, "I did it!"

Peter's practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. He has too much energy to sit down. Phone pressed to his ear, he eyes the wall behind his desk and contemplates using his spider-powers to climb up it.

Maybe that wouldn't be enough, though—maybe what he needs is to go out swinging from skyscraper to skyscraper and let the rush of adrenalin he gets from that carry him through this she-said-yes euphoria.

Ned asks on the other end of the line, "Did what?"

Peter's smiling so wide that his cheeks kind of hurt. "I asked MJ to go out on a date with me."

"Dude," Ned says.

"I know!" Peter maybe dents his phone a little with the force of his grip. (Sometimes super-strength has its downfalls.)

Then Ned says, "You have to tell me everything."

And Peter spends the next half-hour hanging upside down from the ceiling and spilling the details.


Peter checks his reflection in the mirror one last time—maybe; he's checked it one last time several times in the past minute, so his credibility where that's concerned is waning—and straightens his shoulders.

Would now be a good time for a self-pep talk?

"You can do this," Peter tries. He gives himself an encouraging look. "You're Peter Parker. You've fought hardened criminals and won. Compared to that, this should be easy."

He tries to muffle the voice in his head that argues that MJ is way more intimidating than hardened criminals. Hardened criminals, after all, don't smile at you and call you pretty.

"That's a good point," Peter says to his mirror-self.

Aunt May calls out from another room, "Peter, are you talking to someone?"

"Uh," Peter says. He makes eye contact with his startled reflection. Then, raising his voice so it will carry, he answers, "No!"

Soon after that, it's time to go. Peter meets May in the living room to say goodbye and promise that he'll be back before curfew, et cetera.

"How do I look?" Peter asks. He tucks his hands into his pockets. Hopefully he doesn't look how he feels, because 'nervous wreck' isn't the vibe he's going for.

May reaches out a hand to smooth some of his hair back. The half-proud, half-sad smile she gets on birthdays makes an appearance, and she says, a little wistful, "Like you're growing up."

"May," Peter complains, looking away.

She laughs. "Sorry for getting sentimental on you. It's my job."

"I thought your job involves going to an office," Peter says.

May finishes smoothing his hair and stands back to look at him. "I can have multiple jobs."


Fury's doorbell rings at eight o'clock on a Wednesday night. He's halfway through the season finale of Dog Cops, and when he pauses it to answer the door, Sergeant Barkley is preparing to question a terrier suspected of stealing millions from powerful businesswoman Pupper Paws. The entire season has been building to this climactic moment.

So Fury is more than a little peeved about having to get up to open the door, but he does it.

And then he freezes. Standing on his doorstep is someone he hasn't seen in twenty years. Fury's mouth feels dry when he says, "Carol."

"Fury," Carol says back. She has a duffel bag tossed over her shoulder, casual-like. As if she's a friend visiting for the weekend instead of a superpowered space traveler here to help with an emergency that could have world-changing consequences.

Fury notes that she hasn't visibly aged in the time since he's seen her. Carol looks the same: her hair is the same color and the same length, and she's wearing the same kind of band shirt under a denim jacket. He also recognizes the face she's making now from a conversation they'd had before she left; she had looked the same way right before teasing him about Goose. Carol squints at something on his shirt and asks, "Is that cat fur?"

Fury glances down. He frowns when he spots the little orange hairs clinging to the cotton. "Damn it, Chewie," he says, mostly to himself. Then, glancing back up at Carol: "It's flerken fur, actually."

Carol brightens. "I knew you would keep him."

Fury scowls. "Of course I kept him. He would have been a danger to the outside world."

She smiles. "And you liked him."

Fury makes an ambivalent noise. He opens the door wider and gestures for Carol to come in, which she does.

As she scans over the interior of his house, Fury says, "You didn't tell me before you left that flerkens can reproduce asexually. Or that their lifespans are so long." Fury nods in the direction of the fur ball curled up on his couch. "I'm calling this one Chewie."

"Like Chewbacca?"

"It fits. He gets hair everywhere."

Carol pets behind Chewie's ears, and the flerken starts to purr. "That's perfect."

Then she turns back to face him, and the conversation seems to take on a new weight.

"Why did you contact me, Nick?" Carol's voice goes low and serious. Her eyes when Fury meets them are concerned. "I know you wouldn't have used the transmitter unless there was a real emergency."

Fury sighs. "I hope it's not a real emergency. If my source is correct, we've got a huge problem on our hands." He sits down on the couch and gestures for her to take a seat. "I'll tell you what I know."

Carol sits.

Fury begins by asking, "Have you ever heard of someone called Thanos?"


Peter stands outside the doorstep of his and May's apartment building, bracing himself for what the evening will bring (which, as far as he can tell, will probably be awkward dinner conversation and so much blushing that he becomes a safety hazard and MJ will need to find a fire extinguisher).

That's when his phone rings.

He doesn't check the caller ID before answering. "MJ?" Peter asks, heart in his throat, thinking what if she's canceling the date, what if this was all an elaborate prank—

"No," Fury says. "This is Fury. Peter, it's time."

And Peter feels like the roller coaster his life has become has finally begun its descent down that steep drop, so now all he can do is hold on tight and try not to throw up. Because he knows what it's time means.

Carol has arrived, and Thor is already waiting in one of the spare rooms at the compound. Most of the Avengers have reassembled.

It's time to go find Thanos.


"Thank you," Peter says, when he sees Carol. Her hair is longer now, but she is the same woman he remembers from the battlefield, looking down at him with a kind of reassuring confidence.

"For what?" Carol arches an eyebrow.

Peter shifts. It's kind of awkward to thank someone for saving you when that's a thing that hasn't happened yet. It would be weird to say I hope you never have to find out. Instead he settles on, "Uh, thank you for your service. You were in the Air Force, right?"

"I was." Carol smiles. She glances between Peter and Fury. "And now I'm part of whatever this is. Where are we going next?"

Carol and Fury both look to Peter, who realizes with a jolt that he's the one calling the shots. He wipes a sweaty hand on his nicest pair of jeans—this is definitely not how he had expected tonight to go—and says, "Um. I guess we should assemble the Avengers and see if they have any questions."


The team has a lot of questions.

"So who is this Thanos guy, anyway?" Sam asks.

Rhodey raises a hand. "Didn't you just get back from space? Why are you going back out there so soon?"

"Is it even a good idea to take the fight to Thanos?" Bruce asks. "What if we get there and we're undersupplied? We could be stranded."

Steve says, "Do you think we should bring in more people? T'challa? Wanda?"

Thor, standing up from his seat, asks, "When can we leave?"

"We need to find Thanos first," Tony says. "But Gamora says she may be able to help us with that."

That provides a nice segue into turning the conversation over to Gamora, who explains in more detail who Thanos is and why he's a threat to the universe.

Peter watches all of this and tries to pretend that he's not getting anxious. It's a good thing that he's not wearing his suit yet, because Karen would have already made some comment about slowing his heart rate.


Steve's acting weird when they leave the team meeting. He falls into step beside Peter, body language seeming strangely shifty, and says, "Peter, did you—?"

He cuts himself off.

Peter's curious. "Did I what?"

Steve looks away. "Nevermind."

Peter rolls his eyes. "I hate when people do that. You can't just be like 'oh, Peter, here's a mysterious question I want to ask you' and then not ask it. That's the worst. I'm going to be wondering about it all day."

Steve adjusts his shield where he's carrying it on his shoulder and says, mysterious, "I'll ask later."

And Peter would ask more about it, but they're kind of in the middle of something (defeating Thanos), so he lets it drop. For now.