Welcome to the weekend!
Yep, I am cheery because I am back in the UK after a nightmare ending to my holiday and it's update day. I'm not expecting you guys to be as cheery once you've read this chapter :-(
Chapter Ninety-Nine
Peter was sitting in the living room with May and Happy. They'd been home a few hours, and Peter had video chatted with Ned and MJ, avoiding questions about when he was coming back to school but inviting them to come over the next day for dinner. He wanted to go back to school, but how would that work with May? It wasn't like she could come to class with him, and he couldn't leave her to fend for herself.
Peter knew Happy would do whatever it took to protect May, that he'd die for her, but he wasn't Peter—he wasn't as strong and fast. If someone came for May, Happy might not be able to protect her. It was Peter's job.
He didn't know what was going to happen when May needed to go back to work. She had been given sabbatical leave when he was kidnapped and now she had time to help him recover since his return, but eventually, the hospital would run out of patience and want her back. They could get by financially with Happy's salary alone but May loved her work and wouldn't want to give it up.
But if Peter wasn't there, at her side, who was going to protect her?
But if Peter never left her side, how were either of them supposed to live?
Peter dismissed the thoughts, again, and vowed to think of it another time.
He leaned against May's side, and she wrapped an arm around him. Sitting on his recliner with his feet kicked up, Happy watched them, smiling but his eyes sad. Peter looked away. He didn't like to think of what he was doing to May and Happy, and all the other people that loved him. He wanted to be with them, but their voices were all so loud and it was hard to keep May safe if he was distracted.
Also… He didn't want them to see the truth about what happened and what he did.
They could never know he as a murderer.
And he was. He remembered the exact pressure it took to pull a trigger; he knew the jolt that would run up his arm as it fired. He knew the sound a neck made when it was snapped. His fists knew the feel of pulped flesh and broken bone. He knew exactly how blood felt when it was fresh on your hands.
Peter remembered it all, and no one could ever know. They wouldn't be able to look at him the same way.
"Are you hungry, Pete?" Happy asked.
In response, Peter's stomach growled, even though he'd not been aware of being hungry until he asked. "Yeah. I'll make something."
He looked to May and she nodded and said, "I'll come with you. Maybe I'll pick up some of your skills by osmosis."
Peter grinned in spite of himself. "We can only hope."
She elbowed him in the ribs, and he curled up, laughing for what felt like the first time in a lifetime. May laughed, too, and when he looked around, Peter saw Happy's eyes were light with relief.
"How about I get us takeout?" Happy suggested. "You both deserve a break."
As Peter had been pretty much hiding in his bedroom the whole time he was at the compound, that wasn't true, but he appreciated the offer and nodded.
"Thai!" May said happily, and then leaned in and kissed Peter's cheek. "You know I larb you, right?"
Peter laughed again. "I larb you, too."
She grinned. "I larb you more."
"Not possible."
"I'm missing something here, aren't I?" Happy said, brow furrowed.
Peter laughed. "We larb you, Happy."
May nodded solemnly. "We really, really do. We larb you so much."
"You're both nuts, but I guess I larb you, too. Is that how it works?"
May rose from the couch and kissed him on the lips. "That's exactly how it works."
Happy smiled and kissed her back then said,, "Does everyone want their usual, or is it larb all around?"
"The usual," May said, and Peter said, "Can I get sticky rice, too?"
"You can," Happy said, patting his pocket for his wallet. "I'll be back soon."
"We'll set the table," May said.
When the clicked closed behind Happy, May said, "I really do love you, sweetie."
"I know," Peter said. "I love you, too."
He felt lighter than he had since he was sitting in the grounds of the compound, waiting to watch Tony and Pepper exchange their vows. It was as though the weight of what had happened to him and what he had done had left him for a while, as though he was free of it.
"Come on," May said, patting his knee. "Let's set the table. You know it never takes long for Happy to be served there."
"That's because he glowers at them," Peter pointed out.
"He does," she said with a fond smile and slightly distant look in her eyes.
Peter got out of his seat and headed to the kitchen, feeling that the distance was okay this time—they were home and he was here to protect her.
He opened the drawer and took out the cutlery, setting it at each place, before going to the cupboard for wine glasses for May and Happy as Happy always came home with a bottle of wine when he got takeout.
Suddenly, there was a crash that was horribly familiar as someone kicked open the door. He was frozen in place for a split second, unable to believe it was happening again, and then he snapped into action as May screamed.
"May, run!" he bellowed as he ran for the door. "Get out of here."
He raced into the living room to see the man that had made him a murderer, the man that haunted his dreams, raise his gun.
May and Peter screamed in unison, and Peter leapt at the man, ready to do what he knew he had to do for his aunt's life.
But this time it was different. The man whipped the gun across Peter's face, and the barrel hit him on the temple. Pain exploded behind his eyes, and his head swam. He tried to shake it off, to attack, but he was dizzy, and his moves were sloppy.
"Not this time," the man said in that horribly familiar accented voice.
Peter struck out again, but his fists met empty air and then he heard the most awful thing in the universe: the crack of a gun, a gasp, and then a thud.
Peter screamed as he turned, and he saw May's eyes fall on him, her hair fanned around her, a stunned look on her face, and then the soft sigh of death as her eyes became vacant.
Peter roared with rage, turning back to the man who was the true murderer here. He was watching Peter with a smile on his face, enjoying his pain.
"Are you going to do it?" the murderer asked. "Will you do it one more time?"
Peter knew what he was asking, and he answered through his teeth, "Yes."
He flexed his fists and launched himself forward, planning to snap the murderer's neck, but arms caught him around the back, strong arms that pulled him back and a voice spoke.
"No! You can't! We can't! Please."
It was Peter's own voice, though it sounded different, not older but… stronger? Somehow there was more in this voice.
And Peter hated it.
He struggled to be free, to kill, but the pain in his head was building and making him weak. He didn't understand why his other self was holding him back when he should be raging to kill, too.
The man watched them both with a smile, seeming to enjoy the scene, and Peter roared with rage, hearing another sob from behind him and his older-self saying, "I know. I feel the same, I do. But we can't kill. You don't understand what it means."
Peter did know, though. He had killed hundreds of times. He had murdered this man again and again and he wanted to do it now.
The man smirked and said, "I will see you again," and then turned and walked out of the apartment.
The arms pinning him shook and the voice bellowed in his ear, "I will find you, Josef, and you will pay!"
There was a distant laugh in return.
Bereft of the object of his rage, with his aunt dead on the floor behind him, Peter started to sob and struggle again. He didn't want to kill now. He wanted his aunt.
"Let me go!" he sobbed, begging. "I want May."
"So do I," he replied, constricted and pained.
The arms loosened, and Peter had a moment of indecision as he thought of running after the murderer—Josef—but then his legs shook and his knees buckled, and the other him caught him around the waist and led him to May.
Peter dropped down beside her, hands touching her face, cupping her cheeks, stroking her hair back, whispering her name as if that could bring her back to him.
"Do it again," he whispered. "Let me change it. Please, give me another chance."
"I can't," the older version of him replied from behind. "It's not the same. There are things I can't do. This is one of them."
He sounded wrecked by the admission, and Peter screamed, his head cleaving open with the pain. He bowed over May's chest, her blood smearing his cheek, and sobbed for her to wake up, to come back to him, to not leave him like this, not to mean he failed.
Tony shot down Queens Boulevard, flying over the traffic as fast as he had ever moved. His heart was racing and he was terrified of what he was going to find.
He told himself that Peter had the Time Stone and that it could have been something that hadn't yet happened that they saw, but Mind's reaction, the horror on his face, made Tony believe they were too late to save May already.
He couldn't imagine Peter living without her, though he knew he would. Peter had come back to a new world in 2023 without his aunt, and one of the first things he'd done with the Infinity Stones was go to find her again. He'd been in the Soul Plane with May and Ben many times that Tony knew of, and probably so many more times than he knew. Peter had never really lost her. But this Peter, the Peter that belonged in 2017, wouldn't have that contact with her. He was going to live another six months without her, and Tony wasn't sure how he was supposed to do that or if he even could. He'd turned a gun on himself once in the illusion, and Tony couldn't help but fear he would do it again.
Their apartment block came into sight, and he saw something to add a new lead weight to his gut—Happy walking along the street with a bottle of wine in one hand and a bag of takeout in the other.
He didn't know. He had no idea what he was walking into. Peter's world wasn't the only person whose world was about to be destroyed.
Happy must have heard Tony, and he shaded his eyes and looked up. The smile on his face faded, and his fingers slackened around his load. The bag and bottle hit the sidewalk, the bottle smashing and spilling red wine everywhere.
Tony landed beside him a moment later, and placed a hand on his arm, "Hap, I—"
"Peter?" Happy whispered.
Tony shook his head. "We don't think so." God, he hoped not."
Happy paled. "May!"
He ran through the door of the apartment block and raced up the stairs, Tony following him, the suit receding into the housing as he did. Happy was panting with exertion and May's name puffed from him in increasing desperation.
When they reached the fifth-floor hallway, Tony heard screams which he knew could only come from his son. They cut off, and his heart stopped as fear flooded him.
"Peter!" he bellowed, running past Happy and through the apartment door, which had been busted open.
He stopped dead in the doorway and took in the scene.
May's face was pale and her expression was startled, as if death had been a shock. Tony couldn't see the wound that had killed, concealed by Peter's heaving form, but there was no doubt she was dead.
"May!" Happy cried, shoving past Tony and falling to his knees on May's other side. "No, May!"
There was a third person around May's body: the rainbow-eyed Peter of 2023. Tears were spilling down his cheeks and he looked as though he had lived a thousand years since Tony saw him only minutes ago. His was kneeling behind his younger self, his hand on his back and his chest heaving with silent sobs.
"Peter, I'm so sorry," Tony said, talking to them both at once.
The younger didn't respond at all, still pleading with May to come back, but the older nodded and said, voice dead, "We know."
In response, the younger Peter began to scream, It was a pure, horrific sound which spoke of agony beyond bearing, and it pierced Tony's ears and made him want to cover them. He forced himself not to, though. If Peter was feeling this pain, Tony was going to bear it with him. He walked forwards, intending to embrace the younger version of his son, to try to take the pain into himself, but the older held up his hand and the younger screamed once more, reaching a new pitch and element of agony.
"We can't take this, Tony," the older said. "We have to go away."
"Wait, what?" Tony asked. "Go where?"
He didn't answer. He bent behind his younger self and wrapped his arms around him. "I'm going to help us," he said. "Come with me and we'll be okay."
The younger didn't answer, just screamed again. Rainbow light spread over both Peter's, enveloping them. The orange seemed to glow brighter and brighter, burning Tony's eyes until he shaded them automatically.
Then there was a gasp, a sigh, and the sound of something soft hitting something hard.
Tony lowered his hand and saw the older Peter was gone and the younger was lying on the floor, his eyes closed, his face pale, the bloody bruise on his right temple standing out.
"Where did they go?" Happy asked, glancing up from May and then looking back to her.
"I… I don't know," Tony said. "He… he took him."
Peter had taken them. Both versions of his son were gone, he didn't know where, and he was left with the unconscious and injured form of one, a heartbroken best friend, and the dead body of a woman he called family on the floor of the apartment which was once a happy home.
Peter found himself in his bedroom again. The sounds and smells of home, and for a moment, he felt a wave of happiness, thinking this was it, time had reset.
But then a voice spoke behind him, and the hope was banished and replaced with something painful.
"We can't fix it. I can't fix it, but I can give you this."
It was his other-self talking, and Peter started to turn, and then strong hands planted on his shoulders.
"You don't need to see me," he said. "That won't help you. They will help you."
"Who?" Peter asked, his voice even and not hoarse as he expected from his screams.
The hands squeezed his shoulders and then they weight vanished, and Peter realized he was alone.
No, not alone. He could hear voices coming from down the hall.
With unsteady steps, hopeful that he was going to find who he needed—who he thought he could hear—Peter made for the door.
The voices grew louder, and Peter moved faster.
He heard his own voice say, "He's coming. I know you can take care of him. I'll be back when he's ready."
"You'll know?" May asked.
There was a soft laugh. "I always know."
Another voice spoke, and tears sprang to Peter's eyes as he recognized it as his uncle. "Come on out, kid. We're waiting for you."
Peter rushed out into the living room and saw the two people he'd been hoping for and that he needed more than anyone or anything else in that moment.
May and Ben were standing side by side, both smiling at him, and as Peter staggered towards him, they opened their arms.
Peter fell on them both, his arms looping around their necks and their arms wrapped around him in return.
Their words overlapped each other as they spoke their love and words of comfort. Peter began to sob, clinging to them they were going to be snatched away. Again.
He didn't know if he was dead and this was heaven, if he was in an illusion or this was a hallucination.
All he cared about that the two people he loved and had lost were holding him.
And he hoped he could stay.
So… Yeah, I killed May, I did that, but… Soul Plane? Do you forgive me?
Until next time…
Jadey xxx