Happy Saturday. FFnet has been glitching, so it might not be Saturday when you read this. Whenever you get to it, I hope you enjoy it :-)

Story V news – It's still slow going. I'm on Chapter 8 now, which sounds good, but I'm still building the setting of the story. Like Story I, Story V is going to be a monster. Personally, I love long stories, but I know Marvel stories tend to run shorter. To balance the idea of another monster length I can tell you it's the plot of the series I am most excited about. I think you're going to love it. It's very different to anything we've done so far.

Chapter Four

"On your right, Pete!" Tony called urgently over the comms.

Peter had already sensed it. He shot out a web and swung himself out of the path of the Chitauri that was coming at him. When it had passed, he swung to it, jumped on the rear of its chariot, and shot a taser web at the back of its head. The Chitauri made a screeching sound and dropped sideways. Peter kicked it away, sending it falling to the ground one-hundred feet below.

"Nice work, Queens," Steve said. "Keep it up."

"Sure thing, Brooklyn," Peter replied, steering the chariot to the ground where Natasha was downing another enemy. "Hey, Nat, want a ride?"

She nodded and jumped onto the chariot as Peter slipped off. "Thanks, kid," she said, taking flight up and towards a group of enemies that were gathered around the Empire State Building.

Peter shot a web at the skyscraper beside him and swung towards where Tony and Rhodey battled another group.

The chaos was starting to wind down now, most of the Chitauri dead or defeated, and Peter was looking forward to getting the last of them dealt with so he could get out of his suit and shower. He was sweaty and gross under it, and he wanted to clean up and eat. He'd expended a massive amount of energy on this fight, too, and he needed calories soon. Despite that, he was having an amazing time. Fighting with the Avengers was like a dream his eleven-year-old self came up with after watching the Invasion of New York play out on TV.

He saw another Chitauri downed by one of Clint's arrows, and a roar from behind told him The Hulk was enjoying himself. He glanced back and saw a huge green hand grab a chariot out of the air and crush it against a building.

"Nice, Bruce," he said appreciatively.

He spotted a Chitauri creeping up on Rhodey and shouted, "Rhodey, down," as he swung at it and shot out another taser web.

"Peter, I am detecting an explosive device in the vicinity," Karen reported. "I am attempting to track its location."

His heart skipped. "Tony! Karen's locking on an explosive. Has Friday got it?"

"Hold on," Tony said. "She's looking."

"Home Base has it," Rhodey said. "It's on the roof, corner of thirty-fourth and fifth. I'm going after it."

"Already on it," Peter said.

"Stand down, Queens," Steve ordered. "Rhodey and Tony can handle it, and they've got better protection than you."

Peter was already there, though. With one leap and scramble up the side of the glass wall of the skyscraper, Peter reached it and a black and silver device in the center of the roof. There was a beeping sound coming from it, and he could see green lit digits counting down the seconds. Peter shot out a web that caught the canister, and he swung it up.

"I've got it high, Tony," Peter said. "Shoot it, and it'll be out of range when it blows."

"Dammit, kid," Tony said. "You and I need to have a talk about following orders. When the Cap says stand down, he means stand down!"

"Yeah, absolutely," Peter agreed. "Are you going to shoot now?"

He already saw it was going to be too late, though. The propulsion that had lifted the canister to get it away from him was lost, and it was dropping towards him again, and there wasn't enough time left. He shot a taser web at it, it hit, and the bomb exploded.

There was a blast that rocked the roof under Peter's feet, a blast of hot air, and then he was flying back over the lip of the building.

He heard voices calling his name and the sound of thrusters powering towards him, but he was unable to answer. Sharp pains penetrated his chest, and then a fire seemed to light under his skin. His breath became impossible to catch, and he felt himself falling.

"Peter!" Tony shouted.

Peter couldn't reply. All he could do was try to relax his body to minimize the damage of his landing. Thrusters drew closer, and then he was slamming into something hard—someone had caught him.

"I got you, kid," Tony said. "I got you. Natasha, we need Bruce now! Get the damn lullaby done!"

"S-s-sorry," Peter stuttered.

"It's okay. We'll do the lecture thing later," Tony said. "Right now, we're going to get you fixed up."

Peter felt a jostle as they set down, and then Tony was lowering him to the ground. His eyes were starting to blur, and the burning in his chest was fading. Everything was fading, in fact. He was starting to feel extremely lethargic, and it became harder to open his eyes after each blink.

"It's okay, kid, just stay awake," Tony said in a tone that he thought was supposed to be reassuring but sounded strained.

"I'm trying," Peter said, or at least he tried to say it; all that came out was a wheeze.

"Peter?" Tony said anxiously. "Nat, where's Bruce? We need him!"

New voices joined Tony's—Rhodey, Steve, and Clint—and Peter saw their faces above him. They all looked terrified, and he thought there was something important that he was missing. Surely, he wasn't that badly injured. It didn't even seem to hurt that much anymore.

His suit was stripped off, and there was a collective gasp, and then Tony spoke in a wrecked voice. " Shrapnel."

"Breathe, Tone," Rhodey said. "It's not the same. Bruce is coming. Just keep pressure on the wounds."

"But his heart!"

Peter understood now. Shrapnel. Tony had been hit with it in Afghanistan, and it had led to surgery in a cave and an electromagnet implanted in his chest to keep it from moving into his heart. But it wasn't like that for Peter. He felt okay. He was tired, sure, but the pain wasn't that bad. He'd heal. He really wanted to sleep for a while, but he knew that would freak them out, so he forced himself to listen to their voices and keep his eyes open.

"Eyes on me, Queens," Steve said, his voice authoritative. "You're going to be okay, but you've got to stay awake, understand?"

"Yeah," Peter said, though it came out as another wheeze.

He was so tired. He blinked, and this time his eyes didn't open again. He struggled with his full might, trying to focus on the urgent voices demanding he stayed with them, but he failed. Everything was dimming now, becoming soft around the edges.

There was a dragging sensation over his face, and then cool air touched his skin. They'd taken his mask off. Why would they do that? Everyone was going to see who he was. People would know Peter Parker was Spider-Man. He'd be exposed. His family would be in danger.

"Peter, stay with me, please," Tony begged. "Where the hell is Bruce?"

"I'm here," a breathless voice said. "Let me near him, Tony. We've called Cho into the compound. We'll get him back there and fix him…"

His voice trailed off, and there was bated silence, which Tony broke with a snarled, "Fix him, Banner!"

Peter felt fingers on his throat, and there was a sharply drawn breath. "He's going down. Steve, get him up and run him to the jet. We've got to get him to Cho."

Going down? Peter thought. Did that mean he was dying?

He didn't think he was dying. He was just tired. If he could sleep awhile, his healing would take care of it. He couldn't open his eyes, they were too heavy, but he was still listening.

"Now, Steve!" Bruce snapped.

Peter felt himself being lifted, and then there was a rush of air and jostling that made his chest burn again. He really wanted to tell Steve to slow down because it hurt, but he had no voice. He was just sensation, thoughts, and a will to fight—to live.

He had a feeling that will wasn't enough, though. His thoughts were starting to trail away from him. He had a hazy moment of awareness again, the sound of thrusters and Tony's voice shouting, "Hold on, Pete. You've got to hold the hell on, understand?"

Peter felt his heart starting to fail, beats coming weaker, and a longer space between them, and then the wait was too long. Peter's mind dimmed, and a slow breath left him.

He didn't know for sure, he'd never felt this before, but he thought this was what it must feel like to die.

Peter's eyes flew open, and he sucked in a heaving breath as he scrambled up against the headboard and placed a hand over his racing heart. He squeezed his eyes closed, and then they opened again as the darkness behind his lids made him think of what had happened in his nightmare.

He looked around the room he was in. It was his in the compound. His blankets and throw pillows were on the bed beside him. Spider-Albert was against the headboard. The bean bag chairs he and Morgan sat on when playing on the PlayStation were in the TV corner. The drawings Morgan had made him were tacked on the closet door, and the pinboard covered with photographs of his friends and family was there. He was home.

"Not dead," he whispered. "Just a dream."

"Peter, your heart and respiration rates are elevated," Friday reported. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Peter gasped. "Just a nightmare. Just a…"

It was just death.

Peter was no stranger to nightmares, but this was the first time he'd dreamed of his own death. And it had been so real. He'd felt the fear and pain, the helplessness as he'd faded away, the guilt that he was leaving the people he cared about behind. The fact he couldn't die anymore hadn't occurred to him during that moment—it had been happening.

His breaths came faster, and he struggled to control them. He squeezed his eyes closed and said, "Lights… Friday…" he gasped. "And music."

"Any particular song?" she asked as the lights rose, casting the room into reassuring—real—bright life.

"Anything," he moaned, curling into a ball and hugging his arms around himself.

AC/DC's Thunderstruck started to play, and though it was in no way a calming song, it helped. It was one of the songs on Tony's playlist for when they were working together, and it helped him imagine he was in the lab again, laughing, talking, having fun.

Peter tangled his fingers in his hair and tried to slow his breaths.

"Peter, would you like me to call Boss to sit with you?" Friday asked.

Peter shook his head, then rasped, "No… I'm fine."

"I think he would like to know."

"No!"

Tony probably would want to know, and Peter had no qualms about Tony seeing him like this as he'd seen him a lot worse before, but Friday would not be able to wake Tony without waking Pepper, and that wasn't fair.

Before he could try to explain his need, someone opened the door anyway. Peter's eyes widened, hoping it wasn't Morgan coming for another early snuggle.

It was Bucky that peered in, though, his face falling as he took in Peter's state. He rushed in, letting the door swing closed behind him, then quickly crossed the room to climb onto the bed beside Peter.

Peter forced a smile for him and gasped, "Sorry… I woke… you."

"I was already awake," Bucky said. "I heard the music, and then I heard you. What happened, bud?"

Peter tried to find words but failed, so he shook his head and focused on trying to slow his breaths.

Bucky leaned over him and grabbed the fluffy throw. He carefully untangled Peter's fingers from his hair and placed them on the blanket. Peter's fingers began to move without conscious instruction, stroking over the soft fabric, and Bucky said, "That's it, bud. Focus on how it feels."

Peter did, feeling the soft strokes against the tips of his fingers, and found that it actually helped. There was a strong sense of familiarity attached, and he thought he knew what it was. When he'd gone back with the Stones to see flashes of his catatonia, needing to see what he'd put the people he cared about through, he'd seen himself with blankets and pillows in his hands many times.

Bucky placed his arm around Peter's shoulders and hugged him close.

Slowly, achingly slowly, Peter's breaths slowed and his heart calmed. He leaned his head against Bucky's shoulder and said, "Thanks, Bucky."

"How do you feel?" Bucky asked.

"My chest aches and my throat is dry, but I feel better. Friday, turn the music off. I don't want to wake anyone else."

The music cut off, and Bucky said, "I'll get you some water."

He removed his arm from around Peter, slid off the bed, went into the bathroom, and then came back with a glass of water. Peter took it and sipped at it, feeling it soothe his throat.

"Thanks, Bucky," he said again.

"What happened?" Bucky asked.

"I had a nightmare. A really bad nightmare."

"You get them a lot?"

Peter shrugged. "I used to get them all the time, but I've not had one since I used BARF. I thought they were, you know, gone."

"I learned a while ago that nightmares are never gone for good," Bucky said. "But it sometimes helps to talk about them."

Peter considered. He didn't particularly want to talk about the fear and horror of dying in his dream. He thought he should, though.

"I will," he said. "I just need a minute. I need to clean up. I'm all sweaty and gross."

"Take as long as you need," Bucky said.

Peter got out of bed, grabbed clean sweats and a t-shirt from the dresser, and carried them into the bathroom. He started the water running and splashed his face, then tugged his t-shirt off and dropped it into the laundry hamper. He turned back to the mirror and then gripped the counter as his knees weakened at what he saw.

There were scars on his chest in the places he'd felt the burning pain in his dream, the places the shrapnel had hit him—scars from the wounds that had killed him.

He pressed a finger to one of the scars, the largest one over his heart, and felt the ridged skin beneath. It felt real, looked real, but it couldn't be. It had been a dream.

His breaths came faster as he began to freak out again. How was it possible that wounds from his dream were leaving him with real scars?

He walked back into the bedroom where Bucky was sitting on the edge of the bed, head bowed and hands clasped between his knees.

He looked up and said, "How are… Peter!" He shot to his feet and rushed towards him, his eyes roving Peter's chest. "What happened to you? Who did this?"

"It was the dream, I think," Peter said, walking slowly to the bed on trembling legs and sinking down. "There was a bomb in my dream. It exploded, and I was hit." He fixed his eyes on Bucky's, seeing the horror in them as he finished. "I died in the dream from the wounds that left these scars."

Bucky paled and staggered forward to sit with Peter. "It was definitely a dream? You can't have gotten confused by something that happened last night? Did you patrol?"

Peter shook his head. "I don't think so. I remember watching a movie with you guys and then going to bed." He pressed a hand to his forehead. "Friday, can you check with Karen if I patrolled last night."

There was a pause, then Friday said, "No, Peter. You did not leave the compound last night, and the suit was not taken out. It has not been used for two days."

Peter nodded. That was the last time he remembered patrolling, too. And there was no way he'd be in New York fighting Chitauri with the Avengers without Bucky knowing.

"It was a dream, Bucky," he said. "I was out with Tony, Rhodey, Steve, Bruce, Clint, and Nat. We were fighting Chitauri in the city. That didn't happen."

"No," Bucky agreed. "It didn't. God. How could this happen with a dream? Do the Stones know anything?"

"I haven't asked," Peter said.

As if the statement was the permission they needed, the Stones began to speak in his mind, overriding each other in their haste.

I am sorry this happened…

How do you feel?

You did not leave your room last night…

This ain't good, kid…

We need to talk, Peter…

I do not know how this happened, but I know where it did…

Time's statement came last, and he was the one Peter needed to speak to.

"I've got to talk to them," he told Bucky. "I'll be right back."

Bucky nodded and wrapped his arm around Peter's back.

Peter felt himself slipping back into himself and then settling in the chair around the table with the Stones.

His eyes found Time straight away, and he asked, "What's happening to me?"

Time steepled his fingers under his chin. "We do not know, not really. We can explain the scars and the dreams, but how it happened is a mystery to us."

Peter ran a hand through his hair and said, "Okay, start with the scars. How did something that happened in a dream leave me with scars in the real world?"

"Technically, that's on us," Power said, rubbing his chin. "The fact you are us and we are you connected you to the events that you saw in your dream. It's not something we saw coming, so we didn't think to warn you."

"I still don't understand," Peter said. "You gave me the scars?"

Power waved an airy hand. "I said so, didn't I? I mean, technically, yeah, it's our bad. Sorry."

Peter turned to Mind, who always seemed the most straightforward of them all. "What's he saying?"

"This is something we did not see coming," Mind said. "There was no reason for us to believe it ever would. We're sorry it happened."

"Here is how it happened, Peter," Time interrupted. "There are endless universes, different timelines and dimensions. In some, there are only the smallest alterations to this one—which is now what we might call the Prime Reality as it is within this one that you and we are one. In some of those realities, there are differences such as your aunt died and your uncle lived, or that you were born and raised in England by your parents, or you were not an only child. In some, there are changes such as the Avengers never separated or that you did not go on the field trip which led you to become Spider-Man—these are larger differences. Thanos came in only one reality, the one you remember, but the results of that attack, split into millions of different paths."

"Strange saw over fourteen-million outcomes," Peter said. "I remember."

"But you created a new ending that was not seen," Time went on. "You were judged Worthy by us in a moment than not even I foresaw. This Prime Reality was born there, with your side the victors of the battle and you, Peter, bearing us."

"I know. But what does this have to do with how I got hurt from a dream?"

A small crease appeared between Time's brows. "The dream you had was a reality in which the Avengers did not separate, and you, as Spider-Man, joined them when you were sixteen. The battle was one that was fought in 2017."

Peter placed a hand over his heart where the biggest scar lay. "Okay. So was I in that time in my dream? That's how I got the scars?"

"No," Soul said. "You were just sleeping."

"Then how did I see it?"

"Through us," Time said. "And because it was altered. Unless you were to use us to go there, you would not be aware of what happened in those dimensions or times."

Peter groaned. "You're still not making anything clearer. I didn't ask, and I wasn't there, so what changed?"

"That particular time and reality was changed, and therefore a direct link was created between you and it through us in your dream. The wounds that occurred in that instance have marred your body here with scars."

"Thing is," Power drawled. "We don't know how or why it was changed. It wasn't us."

"That reality was not one that existed until hours ago when it was branched away from established history into a new line," Time said. "The battle was there already, it happened, but you made it through without injury. Someone adjusted that reality and time by introducing a bomb to the situation. When you intervened and the bomb detonated, you were hit with shrapnel."

"Yeah, I remember that part," Peter muttered.

"Exactly," Power said, waving a hand. "You died in Captain America's brawny arms when they were trying to get you out of there." He blew out a breath. "And the new timeline that was created is a mess. Talk about survivor's guilt. Stark is a wreck, which is kinda sad, even to me—and I think he's an asshole, so that's saying something."

Peter flinched. He didn't like to think of Tony hurting in any reality, even if the man he knew and loved was in the same building now, happy and well, probably sleeping peacefully.

"So, someone planted a bomb in that time," he said.

Time nodded. "Whoever did it traveled through both time and the Multiverse to that reality, therefore creating yet another reality in which you were dead. That is the reality in which your loved ones are suffering."

Peter breathed out in a gust. "A new reality. Okay, that makes sense. You explained that was how time travel worked for other people. I'm the different one, right? I can change things without just creating new realities."

"That is true," Mind said. "But that reality was changed by someone else."

"Who did it?" Peter asked. "And how? If the battle already happened once and I lived, how did someone plant a bomb there?"

The Stones all exchanged looks laden with meaning that made Peter's palms sweat.

"What?" he asked. "How did it happen?"

Time cleared his throat. "We do not know, Peter."

"Wait, what? How is there anything you don't know? You're the Infinity Stones!"

"We are," Mind said. "And there should be nothing we do not know. What we do know is that someone somehow found a way into that reality and time to place the bomb. We're at a loss who. However, we can think of only one reason to alter a place in your timeline that way."

Peter stared at him, waiting for him to finish, and then he realized he didn't need to. He already knew why. "They were trying to kill me—Prime Me or whatever you call it."

Mind nodded. "That is the only explanation we can think of. But it cannot work, Peter. Whoever is doing it, for whatever reason, all they will do is create new futures for those worlds without you. You, in this reality, are safe with us."

Peter sighed. "So, someone tried to kill me in that reality, and I get scars in this one. I guess that makes sense. Can't be all fun and games and traveling in space with you guys."

"It can't," Reality agreed.

Peter raked a hand through his hair. "Someone's trying to kill me. Great. Figures Parker Luck would kick in now. Things have been too good for too long, right."

"Pretty much," Power said. "Sorry, kid. If it's any consolation, it's not going to actually kill you."

"You know, it's not as much of a consolation as you'd think," Peter said honestly. "Sure, I can't die, which is great, but someone wants to kill me. Any idea who?"

"Nope," Power said. "And does it really matter? They can't succeed anyway."

"You think I should chalk it up to experience and hope it doesn't happen again?" Peter asked.

Power shrugged. "I would. What does it really matter, kid? They can't kill you, so let them get on with it. It might happen again, it might not."

Peter rolled his eyes and turned to Mind, expecting a more sensible approach. Unfortunately, Mind was nodding. "We don't know who is doing this, Peter, and we don't know how, but they cannot succeed. While it cannot be pleasant to dream of these things and have these scars, they cannot hurt you."

That was easy for him to say, Peter thought. Dreaming of your own death turned out to be pretty painful, actually.

If this was going to happen again, if there was another attack, he was going to suffer through that horror of death and panic of waking again. He'd seen and done a lot, and he'd felt stronger than ever because of it, but he didn't want to die every night in his dreams.

"Look, man, it sucks," Power said. "And if you really want to know who's doing it, we can go looking, but there's no real point. It'd take forever—and I mean forever with all those realities—it'd be boring as hell, and haven't you got better things to be doing with your time?"

Peter looked from Power to the other Stones, searching for their opinion, and was surprised to see they all seemed to agree. He realized he did, too. He didn't want to take off to search, not when he was happy with his family and for something that he might never be able to do. Like Power said, there was no real point. Endless realities, all his timelines in various iterations, he didn't want it.

"Okay, thanks," he said. "I should go talk to Bucky."

They nodded, and Peter took a breath, focused on removing himself from them, and then opened his eyes back in his bedroom with Bucky's worried gaze fixed on him.

"You okay?" Bucky asked quickly. "Did they know what was happening?"

"Yeah, they uh…"

Peter stopped himself. He was on the point of telling Bucky what the Stones had said, how he had essentially been targeted for death by someone that could travel between time and realities. But was the point in telling him? What could Bucky do but worry about it? Peter could not die, not in this reality, which was the one that mattered. All Peter would gain by telling him was to worry him.

Though the situation was different, he couldn't help but think of the Tony in that other universe who was grieving the Peter that had been hit by shrapnel. He didn't want to spread that pain into this reality.

"They said it was a glitch between dimensions I'm connected to," he said, pleased by how easily the words came. "Nothing to worry about."

Bucky frowned. "It's a glitch?"

"Yep. I dreamed of a different reality in which I died in a battle. The scars came from them. It's okay, though."

"Peter, that's not okay."

Peter realized he was overselling it, so he let his face fall into lines of sadness and said, "It's not great, I know, but I'm safe—it was just a dream. There have to be consequences of the Stones, all that power and freedom has to come at a price, and this is it."

Bucky stared at him a moment, seeming to be seeing right through him, and said, "Why are you lying to me? You know more than you're saying. Talk to me, bud."

Peter flinched. He'd hoped he could get away with this, but Bucky knew him too well.

"Peter," he pressed.

"I am dreaming of the deaths because of the glitch, kinda. I am connected to all times and dimensions, and I guess that's more prominent when I'm sleeping, but… Someone changed the time and reality I was in. The Stones think, and I agree, that it's because someone is trying to kill me."

Bucky's mouth dropped open. "Someone's killing you?"

"Only technically," Peter said quickly. "They can't kill the real me, this one, Prime me. I am safe."

"Bud, you can't just ignore this."

"I don't have a choice. I can go looking for whoever is doing it, but Power says it could take forever, and I might never find them. They've moved through time and the Multiverse to do it. I'd be searching for them in billions of places all at once, no way to find the right one."

Bucky sighed. Peter could see a war being waged in him, his need to protect Peter against him going away for weeks, months, maybe years to find the threat.

"I can't die really," he reminded him.

"No, but that doesn't mean it can't hurt you."

"It might not happen again," Peter pointed out.

"It might not," Bucky said.

Seeing he was weakening, Peter pushed his hair back from his face. "Look, Bucky, can we keep this between us? You know how Tony gets, and there's nothing he can do about it. It's just a nightmare and some scars that will fade in a few days." He fixed his eyes into innocent pleading. "I don't want to hurt him."

Bucky stared at him a moment, seeming to be searching for something, and then he nodded and said, "Okay. Yeah, I won't tell him, though I've got one condition. If this happens again, I want you to tell me. I don't want you going through something like that alone, bud."

Peter nodded eagerly. "Sure, I will. It probably won't happen, though."

"It won't," Bucky agreed, though Peter could see he doubted it. Bucky ran a hand through his hair. "It's still early. You want to get some more sleep, or you done for the night?"

"I think I'm done," Peter said. "I'll clean up then head out to find Peter Quill and his friends. We've got the press conference later, so they need to be here. Can you tell Tony where I am when he wakes up?"

Bucky nodded. "No problem. Have fun."

"I always do," Peter said.

He thought it would be good for him to get off-world for a while. He could spend some time with Quill and his family then get them back here for the press conference. It'd be a distraction, and it'd also give him time to work through what had happened in his dream—in that reality—without the rest of his family looking on.

He wasn't a great actor, and he didn't want them worried, not for this. There was no real risk to him; the worst that could happen was that he'd have nightmares and scars, which he could handle.

He'd get away, deal with it, and then come back happy again.

So… What do you think? I'm curious about what you think of Peter keeping this a secret, as it wasn't planned that way initially.

Despite this dream—and the ones which will, of course, follow—this story is not all about the angst. We have family moments and bonding, too. I won't bog you down in sadness and stress. The next chapter is a fun one as it has the press conference, and I try my hand at writing the Guardians of the Galaxy again—apologies in advance for Drax.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx