PART TWO - SPACE

Chapter Six

Merry Go Round

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I slowly pull my mask out of my left pocket and put it on. The shattered eye lens from Widow's double-agent mugging is sort of glitchy, but I can still see through it.

Better safe than sorry. It's one small layer between me and… whatever is waiting for me out there.

"Karen?" I ask quietly, just to check. Nothing.

Not a peep during my adventure on the ground, and nothing now. I guess I don't have an AI in these universes. Or maybe just these two out of a billion.

That's just… great.

I slowly approach the window by the white door. The glass looks thick, like six or seven inches thick… but maybe it's not even glass. Maybe this ship is made out of stuff that doesn't exist in the normal universe. Maybe this clear stuff is called… like… transpara-plasma or invisible metal. I don't know. Could be anything.

I slowly lean closer to the window and I feel my heart pound faster in my chest.

The view is breathtaking.

It's not like the fearful, heart-stopping space outside of Earth's atmosphere. But I guess I never really took too much time to look at it. Mr. Stark and I were too busy fighting the creepy alien dude to rescue Dr. Strange, and then got interrupted by the guys that called themselves The Guardians… which I have to admit, is a pretty cool name.

I guess in the long run it's better to successfully guard something then to only be on hand for avenging everyone after they're already dead.

Mr. Stark was so upset with me for sneaking on board but… I wonder, now, just how much of it was anger, and the rest was worry… about being responsible for me if something goes wrong.

There is a chill coming from the glass. Like a winter in Queens when the bad snow storms start to travel up the East Coast. Aunt May and I would get snowed in and our very badly-insulated windows would let in all the cold, the condensation streaming down the pane if we so much as sighed.

I wonder if Aunt May knows that I am dead yet.

I press one hand against the glass and take in the expanse of space. It's huge and feels empty… not like the flattened 2D image in a photo, or even the best special effects in Star Wars. Space does not feel like a blanket hanging in the furthest background possible to give an illusion of distance. There isn't a background. This is truly eternity, endless black sprinkled with glowing balls of gas.

Below my natural eye-line, there's a huge planet below the ship. The curvature of the globe is the colors of the planet itself look like a cloudy hint of dark gray and brown, with that light blue sheen emanating off of it, hinting at an atmosphere possibly made of oxygen. It's definitely not earth, though.

Maybe it's Asgard! I've never seen Asgard, I only know that's where Thor is from.

Oh my gosh, what if I finally meet Thor? I should probably try not to freak out like a fanboy. That would be my number one priority. I mean, I guess technically I got the hard part out of the way, which is meeting an actual alien. The girl whose name I forgot with antennae growing out of her forehead. Or the big guy who didn't make any sense.

I guess Thanos counts, too.

Now that I've experienced that, meeting Thor shouldn't be so bad.

I step away from the window and take a deep breath. If I stop and think too long and too hard about what happened last time I sort of accidentally-on-purpose went into space, I'll have a panic attack. I don't want to think about that.

I need to focus on something else - like - exploring. Yeah, exploring seems like a good idea.

Another glance out the window doesn't yield any information about whether or not we're traveling in any particular direction. If anything, I'd say myself and this giant ass ship are just floating above this planet. Not even orbiting, just floating.

I begin to trot nervously down the hall. I walk section after section, each glowing with different screens in blue and green. There's also buttons. Large, obnoxiously colored ones. There's pinstripes on some pieces of the gray hall panels, even little graffiti flames on another section. Unlike the smooth, flawless white of Princess Leia's ship in Star Wars, or the cardboard and carpet look of Star Trek, this ship is leaning more along the lines of the Aliens tech, where the movie sets looked like old military built pieces welded together. Every so often a seam is lined with the yellow and black stripes of a hazardous step, or a glowing orange light rotates in a circle like a warning for an unauthorized area.

I stop and look at one of the screens. There are words scrolling by steadily in a language I don't know or understand. It's definitely alien, the letters are fluid but boxy, sort of like Mandarin, but with a lot less strokes. It's looks more like English punctuation. Dots and commas.

I reach for the screen for a second, and freeze with my fingers a centimeter from the screen.

Wait. Heck no. If I am on the spaceship of a dangerous alien - what if I touch the screen and it alerts the whole crew I'm here?

What if this was Thanos's ship? I mean, the guy has to get around SOMEHOW - wait - what if there is no Thanos in this world? What if this is the universe where, like, the Titans are the good guys? And they all weren't totally dead and their abandoned planet wasn't where my ashy remains sit in a sand pile?

I shudder and quickly withdraw my hand.

I square my shoulders and keep walking. I notice that the floor is shifting slightly - the walls, too. Not with movement, I mean, but the construction of it. It's not a hall built in a straight line. It has too many panels that sit inside an indent in the wall, but the other side of the indent does not come out quite as far, making the walls uneven.

Some of the grating on the floor grows narrower, and larger, and narrow again.

It's curving. The hallway is slowly but surely moving to the right.

I pass a lot of doors. Some of them huge and gray, like blaster doors on the Death Star, with a diagonal line cutting it across the middle, probably sliding two large triangle pieces to each side when someone needs to exit. They're only ever on the right side, never the left.

Sometimes I pass a small, rectangular white door, icy mist pooling at it's frame.

I ignore those.

But it makes me feel a little better knowing I have possible exits.

I get to another section with windows. This time, windows on both sides. I race to the left, looking out to see the same planet I saw before. No change there, it looks like the ship is still relatively in the same spot.

Then I trot over to the window on the right. This view is entirely different, and it solves the dilemma of the curving hallway.

The ship is shaped like a wagon wheel. I guess it's sort of like the one that kidnapped Dr. Strange, but that one flew vertically. This one stays horizontal. Er at least, relatively horizontal, since there's no horizon line in space… I mean, there's some sort of gravity working here, so I don't feel like I'm walking sideways or upside down. Just… normal.

The different hallways jutting out of the doors I've seen on my right are moving towards the center like wheel spokes. In the center where the axle would be, there's a giant, spherical pod, coated dark gray with a 360 view set of tiny windows along the top. Maybe that's the cockpit? It would be the ideal spot for it, in a small globe with great visibility and the rest of the ship circling where you sit like Saturn's rings.

I mean, it's a pretty cool ship, but, what the hell am I doing here?

What sort of alternative life is this?

I feel an instantaneous clamor of deadly alarm in my spider-senses, jolting all over the place and every hair on my body standing on end. It's coming from the hallway I've been walking down, from the same direction I came from.

I whip my body around defensively, realizing already it's too late to hide, as whomever-whatever-it-is is rounding the corner NOW -

The dark outfit looks like -

The metal arm looks like -

Mr. Bucky again - but, not Mr. Bucky.

There's something very different about him.

He's dressed for war. Every inch of him covered in thick black clothing, a bullet proof vest, his metal arm glinting with the reflection of the ship's myriad of technology color, heavy military boots, a massive alien gun as big as myself is in his gloved hands - pointing right at me.

He stops short and looks at me in shock and surprise. His hair is chin length, his eyes glittering with murder and strangely lined with heavy smudges of dark makeup.

The eeriest thing of all is the entire lower half of his face is covered by a chin-fitting mask. It looks like he's about to rob a bank or cosplay as that one comic book villain that blew up a stadium. Ned would remember his name.

"Whoa!" I exclaim, holding up my hands very slowly, defensively. "D-d-d-don't shoot! Don't shoot! It's me! It's ME? Hey… uh… hi? Mr. Bucky?"

There's a transparent yellow cord winding in, around, and through the gun pulsing with some sort of crazy liquid energy. I have no doubt this gun could incinerate me where I stand. The grip and the barrel of the overly large, square shaped weapon is painted bright purple, though, so kinda fun. I mean would be if it wasn't pointed at me.

Mr. Bucky tilts his head and appraises me, gun still pointed at me, his eyes squinting as he…

I would almost think he's trying to place me, and can't.

"Who the hell is Mr. Bucky?" he asks.

I realize almost too late he's being rhetorical. He doesn't expect me to answer.

"Uh oh," I bleat out, just as he raises the massive barrel to his eyeline like a sniper and squeezes one eye shut.

The weapon makes the horrible, ear-splitting sound of a blender crunching huge ice cubes; and amidst the shrieking roar of the mechanisms I'm already diving sideways. I roll to the side of the hall and scramble to my feet, lifting my head to see a huge plasma-blast erupting right where my body had been. It looked like a bubble of energy had popped like a water balloon, sticky yellow pieces lying in heaps on the walls, the floor, even the ceiling. They're steaming.

I don't stand there long enough to admit how fascinating the alien tech is, I'm too busy bolting down the hallway as fast as my short legs can take me. If only there was an end to this hallway that I could see - if I could at least see a dead end, I could shoot a stream of web down to the end, hit the reel option, and get ZINGED down the hall at whatever high speed I deemed fit!

But that's not gonna happen -

I know this hall goes in a circle, now, a giant one - maybe an entire two, three miles in circumference - so if Mr. Bucky isn't chasing me, he could be waiting for me to make it full circle and run into him again, only this time I'd be exhausted from running three miles.

I should probably take one of the right exits down the spokes to the cockpit.

Because if Mr. Bucky is here, who else might be here?

When I get to the next double blaster doors, slate gray and unyielding to my fists pummeling the metal, I skid over to the control panel and start hitting every button.

"Come on, come on, come on!" I shriek, smacking them all, my spider-senses jolting to say that Mr. Bucky was seconds from walking around the exaggerated curve and have a clear line of sight for me -

The doors suddenly groan open, and I hear the horrible, high-pitched crunching sound of a blender. I throw myself through the doors and hear the SPLAT of something huge exploding behind me with wet, slapping pieces.

I feel something slimy touch the back of my calf. I nearly trip, but the pain is dull - more annoying, even, than it is debilitating - I can still run, and now I'm in the different hall -

This one is straight and heading right for the cockpit.

I only take a second to glance down and see one of those rubbery, yellow things stuck to the back of my leg. It really looks like a popped balloon, and it burns like - well, like stomach acid, when you've thrown up too much and there's nothing else to throw up.

"What the heck! Gross!" I exclaim, not wanting to touch it with my hands, even suited up, to see if it'll come off just by tugging it. I'm gonna stick it out for now.

I send a web string out, and it sails on and on and lands on the floor, falling short of the end. I groan with disappointment and keep running, needing to me closer.

My leg is starting to feel buzzy and tingly, like a sunburn. Shit.

I catch a glimpse of Mr. Bucky entering the door behind me, raising his gun again -

I leap high into the air, catching the ceiling above me with my hands and swinging myself up so that I am kneeling. A huge, nasty yellow bubble of steaming acid slams the floor right where I was, exploding in pieces like wet pumpkin shell. Good thing I decided to come up here instead of ducking…

I start crawling as rapidly as I can, skirting along the ceiling like the bug that I am, zig zagging ever so slightly to throw off Mr. Bucky's aim.

My leg is starting to go numb.

Closer to the entrance to the cockpit now, which I can see isn't exactly a door, but more like the entrances on the Millenium Falcon to the quads where they keep the laser cannons. At the end of the tall is an opening that leads into a tube, and in that tube is a ladder so you can go up or down.

I hear the blender sound again, and fighting the urge to just clap my hands over my ears, I send a webstream to the ladder - nailing it perfectly with a splatter and a spider-web fraying at the edges - and I let go and hit reel.

I detach from the ceiling and zoom down the hall at a ridiculous speed, my feet sliding on the floor like it's an ice rink, the friction burning in my heels - but the decision was worth it -

I slam into the ladder inside the tube.

Down, there's darkness.

Up, there's light - and my spider-senses tell me - movement of another person.

Not just any person, I think, when I smell a recognizable cologne.

Mr. Stark!

I move hand over hand to get up the ladder, but not before the screech and crushing, bashing, horrible crunch of that damn gun again - and something hot and sticky explodes on my back like I'm a coach getting dumped with a barrel of yellow gatorade.

"YUCK!" I scream, the buzzing and numbing almost instantaneous, but I have just enough time to scramble up the last of the ladder to a small, circular door above me like a manhole.

I hit it with all the force of one fist, and it pops out of place, whatever hinge it had breaking clean off, sending it up into the cockpit with a whistle as it spins out of sight.

"JESUS CHRIST, BARNES!" Tony Stark's voice erupts angrily.

I tuck my elbows over the edge and onto the floor, pulling myself up. The floor is black marble like a replica of the night sky, and all around me are the windows with the 360 view I had spotted before. Underneath all the windows are control panels, far more elaborate than the ones that controlled the doors or were stuck strategically throughout the hall. There's levers, vents, buttons, touch screens, cranks, things that look like gear shifts…

There's several space-age looking chairs, black ones with high backs, placed around the room in a circle, one for each different station.

One of the chairs has swiveled around, and Tony Stark is sitting in it, looking totally pissed. He's dressed in a blue shirt and black pants, a glowing reactor visible in his chest through the fabric.

"Peter Benjamin Parker," Mr. Stark says slowly, drawing out each syllable as if using my middle name is supposed to punish me more. "What the actual ever-loving effing hell are you doing here?"

I am starting to lose my grip on the floor, and my legs are not cooperating, trying to step the rest of the way up the ladder.

"Mr. Bucky shot me!" I gasp, my mouth even becoming slightly slack, my words growing garbled. "Ammmiiii gonna die agaaaaain?"

"Good grief!" he exclaims, annoyed. By the rolling of his eyes, I can instantly tell this yellow honey-like substance all over me is definitely not deadly. He stands up out of the chair so quickly it spins aimlessly for a moment behind him.

I hear Mr. Bucky on the ladder below me and panic. "GETMEUP, GIRRRMEEUP," I screech. Drool falls out of one corner of my mouth and I can't even stop it.

"Yeah, sure, I'll help you, Jello Shot," Mr. Stark leans down and grasps me by the forearms, lifting me out of the hole and then shoving me without much kindness down onto the floor beside it. I lay there like a beached whale, unable to move, my hands curled into my chest and my legs splayed out like a dissected frog. Mr. Stark pulls off my mask and looks at me, eyes narrow.

"WhAAARTTTTTSSSS UP!" I blare like a foghorn.

He blinks rapidly in response and tucks my mask in my hand, which I realize, is frozen stiff exactly how it was a minute ago. "Oh, nothing much, how are you?" he responds.

My eyes widen at his sarcasm. "PLEASH TULL MEH WHAATSHUP!"

Seconds later, Mr. Bucky's head pops up, and he looks at me, then at Mr. Stark, then at me, confusedly. I'm guessing he's never seen my face in this universe.

"Easy, Barnes," Mr. Stark says. "He's one of MY kids." He looks down at me with a sigh. Then, weirdly, he completely ignores me, doesn't pester me with questions or answer any of mine, and walks back to the chair he had vacated. He sits in it and twirls it absently for a second.

One of his kids? How many kids are in the Avengers in this universe?

Mr. Bucky's eyes soften slightly, but are still confused. First he lifts the massive gun out of the hole and sets it down on the floor beside him, and then crawls the rest of the way up. Then he looks around confusedly for the cover, and finds it beneath one of the consoles on the other side of the round room. Stalking back to the manhole, he slams the cover back in and twists it, till something clicks.

Then, and only then, does he remove his mask from the lower half of his face.

"Nice to know that perimeter patrol you insisted on did us a lot of good, you know, for protection and all," Mr. Stark grunts, his back to us. He twirls the chair again. "Good thing he wasn't an alien monster or something worse."

"The kid is fast," Mr. Bucky replies in a monotone. He ignores his gun on the floor and goes over to the chair beside Mr. Stark, sitting next to him.

"And you let the lil' parasite right in," Mr. Stark quips back, glancing back at me.

I want to protest - exclaim - I AM NOT A PARASITE - but no words come. My lips flap together, and more drool comes out.

Mr. Stark looks sympathetic, but only for a moment. "Son," he says gravely, "I'm afraid you're nothing but a piece of gum for the time being. Your speech will be back in - oh - say - three minutes or so. Depends on how much your super-healing powers effect Barnes's favorite new toy."

I feel super hot, wet, and tingly, like I have a bad fever and peed myself. "BLAAAAH," I respond.

"Oh, much faster for you, Spider-Boy," Mr. Stark laughs.

Even Mr. Bucky cracks a slight smile, but quickly sobers. "Sorry, kid," he says, turning his chair to me, "I didn't know you were one of us."

"UHH HUH," I say, and this time, I feel some feelings in my hands return. I wriggle my fingers and they buzz like they're recovering from hypothermia.

Mr. Bucky turns to Stark and says in a low voice, assuming that I can't hear him. "Have I met this one before?"

"Uh, no, you have not." Mr. Stark looks at me. "Kid, Winter Soldier. Winter Soldier, meet the Kid. Otherwise known as Spider-Man."

"Pooter Parble," I try to introduce myself, but it doesn't come out exactly right.

Mr. Stark can't even laugh. He looks up the sky and whispers dramatically, "There is a god. I will never forget this."

"He called me Mr. Bucky," Mr. Bucky persists, still looking perturbed about it.

"Oh that's… that's your nickname. Bucky. You know. Like a thing your friends call you?"

Mr. Bucky gazes at him steadily, and then realization dawns on his face. "James Buchanan Barnes," he repeats. "Bucky must be short for Buchanan."

"Ding, ding, ding!" Mr. Stark says, slamming a random button on the console. Nothing happens. "Points for Barnes." He looks back at him, looking a little bit more… tender. "When we get back to Earth," he says, "Captain America will explain everything."

"Because he and I are friends?" Mr. Bucky asks - or, I guess - just Bucky. He nods for confirmation. "Best friends. And he knew me before…"

"Oh, yeah, pal, way before you were iced and turned into a mindless weapon for our government. He'll be able to catch you up on… a lot."

There's an awkward silence.

"Thank you, again," Bucky says. "That will help very much."

After a pause, Mr. Stark calls over his shoulder at me. "How are you feeling over there, Pooter?"

I can't answer yet, I flap my dead arms from side to side, instead.

He looks at Bucky. "Should we have some mercy and help him up?"

My feet regain movement, now, and I kick around awkwardly like a seal trying to lumber along the edge of the dock to throw myself off the end of it.

"Your call," Bucky replies, perfectly seriously.

"All right, let's get him in a chair," Mr. Stark sighs. "Then we need to have a serious chat."

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Coming Next: Sitting in dead space on a dead ship, Peter finally has some answers. Maybe more than he wanted.

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