The medical rooms were chaos. Controlled chaos, however, as medics and doctors – military and SHIELD, both – worked on injured defenders as they were brought in. The numbers were overwhelming, of course, and most of the injuries were severe. If a person was merely scratched, they weren't going to leave the fight to get a band aid, after all. Not when every fighter mattered.

Stephen wasn't a stranger to the chaos, though. He walked to the door of the closest room, watching as doctors snapped orders, nurses took care of the more delicate bandaging, and conscripted helpers of all sorts carried out whatever chore, great or small that they could in order to help. The large room that he poked his head into first had held three operating tables, and enough equipment to support the people working at them.

The next room was just as big – and just as busy, and gurneys lined the corridors, filled with injured, who were either gritting out the pain as well as they could, or had passed out – either from pain for from injury – and were being tended by unskilled helpers, for the most part, overwhelmed by the sheer number of wounded.

Stephen looked for, but didn't see, Natasha in any of the rooms that he checked. He did see Mantis and Groot helping, but didn't interrupt what Groot was doing to ask if he knew where she was. Instead he looked at the cloak.

"I don't suppose you can find her so we can check on her?"

It slapped his shoulder, almost excitedly, and tugged him toward the left most corridor – although it didn't leave his collar, and he knew that it wouldn't. Not while there was a danger so close at hand. He allowed himself to follow that somewhat gentle tugging and was led to one of the many conference rooms in the area. He found that it had been converted into a makeshift infirmary, complete with cots and blankets and rows of injured laying on them, covered with blankets to keep them warm, and also to protect them, somewhat, should the worst happen and the ceiling came down on them.

Natasha was on a cot closest to the far wall, carefully protected in a corner and bundled under blankets, and she didn't open her eyes when Strange picked his way across the room to kneel down next to where she was. Her eyes opened when his hand found her wrist, automatically seeking her pulse to check it. When she realized who it was, she gave him a smile.

"Hey…"

"Hey." He checked her over; his sharp gaze not missing anything. Her eyes were glazed – almost certainly a product of painkillers – and a huge unflattering bandage was on her forehead, wrapped with a thick layer of gauze. "How do you feel?"

"Sore. Sleepy. A little sick."

He nodded; not at all concerned. Sore was obviously from the hit she'd taken. Sleepy and nauseated were probably from whatever painkillers they had in the IV attached to her arm.

"You're going to be fine."

Her expression grew pained as she tried to focus on what was important – and managed to do so for the moment.

"Peter?"

"He's here," Strange told her, brushing his fingers along her cheek. "I just saw him."

"He came back?"

The doctor nodded, leaning over and brushing a kiss against her forehead.

"I'm going to go see what I can do to help. I just came to check on, first."

"I'm fine. How did he look? Was he still wearing his suit?"

"He's fine…"

She closed her eyes, relieved; the medication and the injury allowing him to lie to her far more easily than what would have normally been the case.

"Where is he?"

"I'm going to go find out, right now," Strange told her, his hand pressing against her cheek. "Get some rest, alright?"

Romanoff nodded, not opening her eyes, and Stephen leaned over and kissed her, lightly, unable to stop himself – and having no reason to try. Natasha smiled, but she was already falling asleep, again. The sorcerer allowed himself a moment to make sure that she was resting comfortably, and then got up with a swirl of the cape that he was wearing, and headed for the exit.

OOOOOO

The blow – because it was going to be a mighty blow; Thanos wouldn't allow his victory to be anything less than resounding – never landed.

As the gloved hand swung forward to deliver a slap to Stark and then unleash the power of the stone that it contained, there was a soft – almost unnoticeable – hissing noise and Thanos suddenly found that his hand wouldn't move, at all.

Startled, he looked at it, only to find some kind of white goo stuck to the back of it, and held taut – like a spider's web. The titan's surprised gaze followed that string of webbing, hand still in the air, poised for the blow, and was shocked to see that someone else was on the roof with them, suddenly. Someone dressed in all black, wearing a glove of his own and holding the other end of the webbing from his left hand

Freezing Thanos' momentum.

He turned, confused, but ready to deal with whatever threat this was to his destiny. Even as he did, the hand holding the webbing jerked, suddenly exerting enough force to pull the glove off Thanos' hand, completely. The mighty gauntlet flung backward, seemed to hold in mid-air for a long moment, and then came to a clattering stop at the feet of the black-clad figure.

The mask retracted, revealing a ridiculously young face. The face of a boy. Pale, but resolute, and sheened with perspiration, despite the sudden chill of the night. Thanos frowned, his brain almost frozen. But not so much that he couldn't speak.

"What-"

"You had something that belongs to me," the boy said, flexing his other hand, and Thanos was shocked to see that the glove he wore was adorned with glowing gems. "I'll take it, now."

The jewels - and he realized there were five of them – all flared, slightly, in response to the boy's words and the proximity of the other stone, as if in greeting. The titan's eyes widened as he realized that something was definitely not going to plan. His destiny was being thwarted.

"You!" He whirled, looking at Stark and the woman – and more importantly – the form in black standing between them. "But-"

Tony Stark smirked, despite the fact that his expression was slightly concerned, now, and even as he did, the form standing beside him lifted its hand, pulling off the mask that had been obscuring his face. Clint Barton suddenly looked a little less small and insignificant and his eyes were lit up with contentment and amusement. It was always fun to screw with an enemy, after all, and this wasn't an exception.

In fact, the bigger and more dangerous that enemy, the better the satisfaction.

The fake stone that he'd been holding fell to the rooftop without a sound.

"Surprise."

"But…" Thanos' eyes narrowed as he realized that he'd been tricked. He turned back to the boy, and he watched as the stone in his own golden gauntlet detached itself, suddenly floating upward. Toward the glove that was waiting for it. "You're Clyde…"

If Peter was confused, it didn't show in his expression. As Tony and Pepper (and Clint and Thanos) watched, the stone hovered in place above the glove the boy wore for just a moment, then settled itself beside the mind stone. The flare of power that coursed from the stone – joined by the addition of the others – so great that it made them all raise their hands to protect their eyes, and drove Peter to his knees with a suppressed moan of agony.

Pepper started to take a step forward – as did Thanos – but a gesture from the gloved hand froze both of them, keeping everyone at bay while he tried to assimilate the newest surge of power that was suddenly coursing through him. Tony saw Peter's eyes lock onto Thanos as the boy seemed to catch his breath, still on his knees, and a long moment in recovering.

Then he got to his feet, and Peter's eyes were suddenly just a little crazed, making Tony wonder if the power was simply too much for Peter to handle. He looked extremely fragile, just then, despite the fact that he was practically glowing with energy, and the stones in his hand were beginning to mute their brilliance, as if trying to ease the damage they were doing to him.

"I am…" Peter said, his jaw clenched. "And you're Thanos."

The titan nodded, calm, and over his shock, now.

"I am," he agreed, echoing Peter's words. "Don't be foolish, boy. You can't handle the power of the stones. They're killing you. Give them to me. Let me take that burden of the universe from you."

Peter's eyes narrowed – whether in response to being called a boy by someone who had no right to do so, or at the implied insult that he was stupid enough to be swayed, it didn't matter.

"They're mine," Peter told him, and the stones all flared at the words, as if agreeing with him. Tony saw the sudden almost insane glee in his son's eyes at the realization of what he was saying, but he couldn't do more than watch, just then, worried that he'd distract Peter. "The universe is mine," Peter said, softly, closing the gloved hand into a fist.