"What the hell happened to this planet?"

Peter Quill, aka Star-Lord, stepped gingerly among the crumbling ruins of the decimated landscape. He had something in his hand and he was checking it as he walked. "It's eight degrees off its axis. Gravitational pull is all over the place."

That explained the pockets of floating debris. The bug alien—Mantis—happily jumped and spun high in one of those pockets, a giddy smile on her face as she enjoyed herself. Her friend, the half-naked wrestler named Drax the Destroyer, stood and watched. Peter was too timid to ask about the 'Destroyer' part of his name. Too afraid of the answer he may get.

Overall, Peter liked the Guardians of the Galaxy. Half of their members were missing though. Rocket and Groot went with Thor on his mission and Gamora, Star-Lord's lady friend, was kidnapped by Thanos because she knew the location of another stone.

Star-Lord closed the device and pocketed it. "No wonder it looks like shit."

Peter trailed after him, trying to get a look at the device. "Is that some kind of scanner?"

"Kind of," Quill replied. "It can measure axial tilts, but it does more."

"You build it?"

"What? No!" Quill clipped a chuckled at the absurdity of the idea. "You can get these anywhere."

"Never seen them on Earth."

Quill shrugged. "Almost everywhere then," he corrected. "Is this your first time in space?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah. It is."

"And your first destination is here?"

"There wasn't much of an option," Peter reminded him of the serious situation they were in.

Quill grudgingly nodded as he glanced around the demolished planet. "Well, once we kick the crap out of Thanos, we can take you to a real destination vacation," he said. "Like Contraxia! You'll have fun there."

Peter perked up, listening to Quill talk about other planets he visited. The prospect of traveling to different planets enticed Peter. It was like a real-life Star Wars adventure. Ned would be jealous. Well, more jealous if there wasn't a psycho wanting to kill half of the universe in the picture. Still, it was pretty cool Peter traveled in space, standing on a former planet.

"How long have you been in space?" Peter asked after Quill spoke to him about Xander's uptight world.

"Since I was eight years old."

Peter's mouth dropped. "W-what… how? I mean… how did you get to space?" he inquired, bizarre by how an eight-year-old human got to space. Peter got to space by accident. Others got to space through NASA. But Quill… he acted like outer space was his home, visiting vast planets and entwining with different aliens and species, which sounded more like a figment of Hollywood's imagination.

Quill kicked a broken piece of machinery aside. "That's a long story, but the short answer is I got abducted."

"By aliens!"

Quill squinted at the boy in good humor. "Yeah," he said, "by 'aliens' or otherwise known as Ravengers. Basically space pirates."

"You were abducted by space pirates!"

He wanted to hear that story, but Mr. Stark appeared at Peter's elbow, pulling him aside and away from Quill. "Gather around," he announced to everyone. "Thanos can arrive any second now. So—we got one advantage: he's coming to us. We'll use it. All right, I have a plan. Or at least the beginnings of one. It's pretty simple. We draw him in, pin him down, get what we need. Definitely don't want to dance with this guy. We only want the—"

Drax the Destroyer took that moment to yawn.

"Are you yawning? In the middle of this, while I'm breaking it down?" Mr. Stark was infuriated. "Huh? Did you hear what I said?"

Drax, fingers latched onto his pants, nonchalantly shrugged. "I stopped listening after you said 'We need a plan.'"

Mr. Stark's jaw clenched, restraining his frustrations and swallowing his temper back down his throat. "Okay, Mr. Clean is on his own page," he said like he decided they didn't need to include Drax in this effort to take down Thanos.

"See, 'not winging it' isn't really what we do," Quill tried to defend his teammate.

"Uh… what is it that you exactly do?" Peter questioned, curious. It sounded unbelievable that they don't ever plan for anything. Their attack on them from earlier seemed to have been plotted out.

But it wasn't Quill who answered. It was Mantis.

"Kick names, take ass," she declared in some kind of menacing confidence.

Drax stood taller. "Yeah, that's right."

Peter stared. He didn't know how to respond to that. Any of that. Neither did Tony. They only stared at the two. For a long time.

They were about to confront the biggest threat the universe has ever known. Face the greatest enemy to threaten Earth. An enemy that sent Tony Stark—Iron Man—spiraling for six years. An enemy threatening to wipe out half of the universe at the snap of his fingers. And Peter stood in the middle of an apocalyptic dust ball of a planet, with no one except a liar, a wizard and three space bandits who were cocky enough to get themselves killed.

It didn't look good. At all.

Mr. Stark dropped his head, looking thoroughly exhausted and somewhat defeated. "All right, just get over here, please. Star-Whatever, can you get your folks to circle up?"

"It's Star-Lord," Quill emphasized and he nodded at Mantis and Drax to step forward.

Peter inched closer, ready to listen to the full plan. And praying it was good and it was going to work.

Mr. Stark addressed the misfit group. "We gotta coalesce. 'Cause if all we come at him with is a plucky attitude—"

"Dude! Don't call us plucky. We don't know what that means," Quill said, defensively as he glared at Mr. Stark. And there went Peter's hopes down the drain. "All right, we're optimistic, yes. I like your plan. Except, it sucks. So, let me do the plan and that way it might be really good."

Drax nodded, encouragingly, before boasting, "Tell him about the dance-off to save the universe."

Peter snapped his head to Quill as did Mr. Stark, who looked rightfully perplexed. "What dance-off?" Mr. Stark asked.

"I-It's nothing," stammered Quill, discomfited.

Peter's mind shuffled through his memory storage. "Like in Footloose, the movie?" he asked.

Quill's eyes lit up. "Exactly like Footloose!" he exclaimed. "Is it still the greatest movie in history?"

"It never was," Peter flippantly replied, but instantly regretted it when his careless words struck Quill hard. Star-Lord deflated, discouraged.

Peter went to apologize, but Mr. Stark stopped him. "Don't encourage this, all right?" he instructed, guiding Peter away from the group as the man huffed out his frustrations. "We're getting no help from Flash Gordon here."

"Flash Gordon?" Quill stepped back up to Mr. Stark. "By the way, that's a compliment. Don't forget I'm half human. So that fifty percent of me that's stupid… that's one hundred percent you."

Peter's face pinched at the mathematical problem, reevaluating the man's words in his head to comprehend what the man meant. Mr. Stark let out scoff.

"Your math is blowing my mind," he sarcastically fired back to Quill.

"Wait—you're not fully human?" Peter directed his question to Star-Lord. "I thought you said you were from Missouri?"

"I am, kid," Quill answered. "Human mother. Not-so human father."

"Then what's your other half?" Peter's curiosity asked before he slammed his mouth shut in horror, realizing his insensitiveness of the question. "Sorry! Is that okay to ask that? I'm not trying to be rude or—"

Quill shrugged. "I'm half human, half celestial."

"Celestial?" Peter thought it over. "Like a god? Like Thor?"

Quill boasted out his chest again, straightening his back and tipping his chin slightly up. "No—not like Thor. Better," he claimed. "He's just a god. Lower case. I'm part celestial—an upper case God. He only shoots bolts of lightning. I can actually create things."

Peter's eyes bulged in magnitude! His mouth flopped opened, looking up around Quill's head. For some reason, he expected a halo or some kind of godly glow over the guy's head. All he saw though was the flying debris from the lack of gravity. Still, Peter reevaluated Quill all over again. No wonder he went by the name Star-Lord.

Awestruck, Peter started to fire rapid questions. "So you can like build trees or control the skies? Can you create a new species? Or is that not it at all? What can a celestial do?"

"Whoa—easy kid! What are you? A nerd?" Quill joked, but he still smiled at Peter. He looked like he enjoyed Peter's admiration and attention. "No—I mean. Maybe. Who knows? I haven't tried. I did create a gigantic size Pac-Man once. Just with a thought. Used it in a fight. It was awesome."

Peter's mind lit up with endless possibilities. "This is great!" he shouted, looking between Quill and Mr. Stark, who looked at Quill with renew consternation. "That's a total advantage to us! Having a god on our side—"

"Quill? You got your powers back?" interrupted Drax. "You are more useful now."

Peter flickered a look back to Quill, who winced at hearing Drax's words. "Wait… what… what does he mean?" he questioned, searching again for some kind of mystic glow around Quill. "Do you not have—"

"I did have powers at one point," Quill quickly answered. "Long story short. My real father was an egomaniac douchebag with plans to convert the whole universe into his image. We stopped him, but… it meant losing my powers. So—"

"You remain useless," Mr. Stark filled in. "That's great. Now that you got our hopes up only to crush them, can we carry on with creating a real plan on destroying Thanos?"

Quill eyes flared, mouth small. "Kid—your dad is a real asshole."

"He's not my dad," Peter immediately responded.

"Step-dad."

"No relations whatsoever."

Quill scrutinized Peter and Mr. Stark with a questionable brow. "Okay… what is this?" he asked, wagging a finger at them both. "Did you kidnap him? Hey, kid? Blink twice if in danger."

Funny how almost spot-on Quill was. Although Peter knew Quill was joking, Peter almost blinked twice, but Mr. Stark's face went rigid and his eyes cold at the Quill's remark. "He's my intern," he stated, "and at this moment, I'm his guardian. You hurt him, I kill you."

Quill was nonplussed by the threat. Almost like it was the norm for him to be presented with death on a daily basis. "Whatever man, I'm here to kill Thanos and get my girl back," he replied. "Maybe afterwards, I'll kill you."

Before Mr. Stark could fire back, Mantis' voice broke between the two duelists.

"Excuse me, but does your friend often do that?" she asked, pointing to Dr. Strange.

Strange was seated cross-legged, floating in mid-air with the assistance of the Cloak of Levitation. His hands were formed in a strange position in front of the now opened necklace. The Time Stone glowed, the green bursting in color as it surrounded the wizard like some evil mist. Most disturbing, however, was the quick movements of his head. They moved in quick successions, all in different positions. It moved so fast that his face was simply a blur. Even Peter had a hard time concentrating.

"Strange! We all right?" Mr. Stark called up to him, but received no answer.

Panic seeped into Peter. He raced forward, climbing up the discarded and littered ruins to get to Strange. As he reached him, Strange's frantic motions stopped and his body crashed back down onto the planet. Peter bent down to help him up, but Strange grabbed onto his shoulders instead, steading himself into a seated position as he came off his trance.

Peter noted Strange was breathing heavily, like he woke up from a nightmare. His forehead shined with sweat and his eyes were twitching a bit.

"Dr. Strange?" Peter knelt next to the man as he heard the others approach from behind. "Are you here? It's Peter. You're all right."

"Hi," Strange groaned to Peter, recovering himself.

"Hey, um, what was that?" he asked, curious to know what happened to Strange. It didn't look good at all.

Strange recollected himself, regaining his composure as he addressed the group. "I went forward in time to view alternate futures," he said, taking a gasp as he blinked a few more times. Peter imagined all those visions did a number on his eyesight. "To see all the possible outcomes of the coming conflict."

"How many did you see?" Quill nervously asked the wizard.

"Fourteen million, six hundred and five."

The silence that followed afterwards was hard to describe. It pricked the heart and taunted the brain. Everyone knew of the follow-up question, but dreaded the answer.

Mr. Stark squatted low, meeting Strange's eyes as he tentatively asked the dreaded follow-up question. "How many did we win?"

Strange took a long time to answer. Each second that ticked by became deeper and deeper hole, standing and being waited to have dirt bury them in the ground. Strange's haunted eyes locked on Peter, making his heart quickened and seize to a stop all at once. The wizard's voice was hoarse when he spoke the single, most dreaded word anyone ever heard.

"One."

Strange outlined the plan of attack. Each had their task, their positions. No one could falter. No mistakes could be made. They had to fight with all their strength. It was the fight for their lives. Fight for others' lives.

The big battle. The final war.

The Guardians of the Galaxy huddled in their group, using the last moments of their possible lives to cherish friendships. One last hurrah, as Quill quipped and then he jokingly offered Peter that once they win, he could take him to a much cooler planet. Or at least, Peter thought Quill was joking. The man may actually be serious.

Dr. Strange sat on a crashed star-like machinery, meditating and finding his center. Or possibly doing some kind of magical chant. Peter didn't know, but he let the wizard be. They all had their different ways of spending their possible last moments alive.

Peter sat alone. The people he wanted to be with were lightyears away. His aunt probably sickened with worry, wondering what happened to him, not knowing he was in space, on a dead planet, waiting to fight for his life. She wouldn't want that. She would order him to come home. Come right back home and straight to his bedroom. Grounded, for sure, and lecturing him that it wasn't his responsibility to fight in wars.

But it was his war. It was everyone's war. The fight for life against death. If he wanted to live, he had to fight for it. If he wanted Aunt May to live, he had to fight harder. Whatever it took.

He released a nervous sigh. Fighting. Life. Death. He practiced and trained for this very situation and yet, he felt underwhelming unprepared for it. He wasn't a soldier. Never was. He couldn't even fire off a gun. A gun filled with bean bags. Not bullets. They tried their best to weaponize him, but… Peter never got passed that part. Never got to the killing.

One chance. One chance to get everything right and win. The universe's existence depended on it, resting heavy on his shoulder—their shoulders!—to keep the thread from breaking and unraveling. Peter's chest constricted and his stomach did a few more flips of unease. He should be used to this. The concept of death. He knew of it since he was five years old. Then again at fourteen. All those experiences in his short life made him feel incredibly old, but at the very moment, he felt like a child, clinging onto himself for one last comfort and looking around at all the adults with hope to finish it.

He looked out, seeing the Guardians together, patting each other on the back with well-wishes and good lucks. Peter blinked, holding back as he once again wished to see his aunt one more time. If only to tell her he loved her and that he was sorry. He wished to see Ned too. Just to tell him he was the best, the greatest friend anyone could ever have. He hoped they both knew how much they meant to him. He hoped they knew how much he loved them.

God—it was horrible to be alone at the pinnacle of death.

"Is this seat taken?"

Peter flinched up. Mr. Stark stood above him, but the man already started to sit down without waiting for permission. Peter dropped his knees, switching into a cross-legged position. The man plopped down on the dirt, keeping his legs spread and leaned his head back against the broken pieces of their spaceship.

Neither said anything. They stayed quiet, but Peter's mind whirled with new worries and anxieties with Mr. Stark seated beside him. Mr. Stark, however, looked relatively calm. His breathing pattern was normal, his heartbeat in good rhythm and his whole body looked relaxed—nothing like Peter, who squirmed and fidgeted at every second. The only thing that gave Mr. Stark away was his eyes. In the depths of the man's vision, laid a haunted man. Ghost fluttering in and out of his irises. The dark circles around his eyes got worse, and the man kept looking at everything, waiting.

Then, suddenly… "You ready for this?"

Peter blinked up at the man. "Um, yeah, ready as I will ever be."

They both went silent again.

Mr. Stark shifted and sighed heavily. "I know you don't want an explanation," he began, biting the insides of his cheeks, "but I need you to know this before we go out there fighting."

Peter licked his lips in worry. Last moments. These were going to be his last moments if they fail. If everything goes wrong.

"The Accords, as you know, was meant to regulate superhero business, be the middle-ground between the Avengers and the world. Help establish peace and a working network of heroes to get things done and protect Earth," Mr. Stark started as Peter remained silent. He already knew this. It was part of his indoctrination when he lived at the Compound. "But things got more complicated. Got worse. Then Deadpool dumped you for cash and… Jesus—you were just a kid. This tiny kid, running around playing superhero—"

Peter made a face and Mr. Stark quickly amended. "Not like that," he said. "I mean, you were actually going around stopping bad people from doing bad things.

"My point is that you were thrust into this situation and… I didn't know what to do," Mr. Stark carried on his confession. "You were a kid and Ross… the others didn't care. They saw you as something else and I just couldn't live with that." He paused, finally turning his head to look down at Peter. "Thing is, Peter, I did what I did because I thought it would protect you. I thought it would be easier for you—no, easier for me to keep you safe."

Keep him safe? Peter cocked his head, eyebrows furrowing as his mind processed the information. Keep him safe? That didn't make any sense to him. He hadn't been safe at all, living in a compound filled with dangerous individuals, some even trying to harm him. What dangers were Tony Stark protecting him from? Because it wasn't from the Accords. Mr. Stark had no problem tossing him in the Hole for his insubordination. And it wasn't from the government because Peter now knew Mr. Stark was the one driving the Accords.

The only way to find out was to ask.

"From what?"

Mr. Stark blanked. "Huh?"

Peter faced him. Really looked right into Mr. Stark's eyes. "What were you protecting me from?" he asked again. "What got you so scared that you thought it would be safe for a teenager to be living in a compound filled with egotistical superheroes and lie to his aunt that he's dead?"

Mr. Stark drew in a sharp breath. "That wasn't me. It probably was the officials who decided to lie to her about your whereabouts. Probably did it to save face and keep everything under control. You're a child. People don't respond well when children are involved."

"Wonder why?" Peter sarcastically mused. "You still didn't let me talk to her." He recalled all the times he begged to speak to her. "You even set up a fake recording. She never got my message, Mr. Stark. The one you helped me get."

Mr. Stark looked apprehensive, eyes moving away from Peter, looking elsewhere. "I know."

"You know what?"

"That your message to your aunt was deleted," Mr. Stark answered. "The Watchdogs spotted the ping and reported it. I was forced to erase the message by orders of the Secretary Ross." He gave a little shake of his head, muttering underneath his breath. "Should have told you, but I didn't want to hurt you. I knew how much that call meant to you and I didn't want you to worry."

Peter rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. "You didn't say anything because you didn't want me to know about my aunt," he scornfully retorted. "And when I found out, you decided to kill her and—"

"Whoa! Back up," Mr. Stark ordered, face darkening with grave insult. He jabbed a disciplinary finger right back at Peter. "That's not what happened! I didn't order anyone to kill anyone. I told Happy to bring her to the Tower for her own safety. That's it. Not to kill her. To talk to her."

"About what? How you were training her nephew to become a soldier? Or that you threw him into some kind of effed-up prison?"

"I'm sorry about that. It was an impulse reaction—"

"I don't care!" Peter's eyes stung again. A lump forming at the bottom of his throat, croaking his words out. "You don't care. I'm nothing more than… than…

And that was what Peter was to Mr. Stark. A thing. A soldier. An asset.

"Don't do that."

Peter squinted reproachfully at Mr. Stark. "Do what?"

"Don't start thinking that you're nothing more than a power play," Mr. Stark asserted, looking hurt that he had to even say that. "You're more than that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Really?" The corners of Mr. Stark's mouth were downturned, startled by Peter's question. "After all this time, you still haven't figured it out?"

He placed a hand on Peter's shoulder, gripping it tight, but not aggressively. Enough to indicate to Peter that the boy needed to hear his words. Needed Peter to listen to him.

Mr. Stark lowered his head, gaze right upon Peter. "You're important, Peter," he said it so soft that Peter actually had to concentrate to hear them. "To me. To a lot of other people. If you were just another enhanced human like the rest of them, I wouldn't have given you a second thought. But you're not. You're much more than you think you are. And while I know you have reservations and insecurities, I never doubted you.

"I believe in you," Mr. Stark avowed, a proud grin on the man's face that surprisingly warmed Peter's heart. "You're going to be the best hero out of all of us. I know it. I just know it."

Mr. Stark looked determined, righteous and full of renewed belief. "And that's why I did everything I did," he admitted, wiping his hands clean of all his transgressions and follies against Peter. "I know I fucked it up, but all I wanted was to protect you. Keep you alive and safe until you were ready…

"Apparently, I fucked that up as well," Mr. Stark said, looking around at the planet again, frowning at the others. Fingers carding through his hair in frustrations at the situation they both found themselves in. "You shouldn't be here. You're not supposed to be here."

He sighed, longingly, regrettably and then acceptably. Nothing could be changed. Peter was there. Nothing Mr. Stark could do about it.

Mr. Stark pursed his lips in thought, searching up at the red, blue skies. "I swear… the world keeps getting stranger and stranger. Sometimes, when I think I know everything... bam! Out of nowhere! Gods, celestials, empaths, magicians... the universe is far dangerous than anyone ever thought."

Peter guessed so. The universe certainly tripled in size for him. The Earth no longer felt big. It was small. Tiny. Almost insignificant now that he's been to space and met the Guardians. The universe was vast, unknown and scarier than Peter ever read in his textbooks at home.

"Yeah," Peter muttered a quiet reply. "Definitely not what I imagined."

Mr. Stark turned back to him. "You'll survive this," he reassured Peter, confident like he already saw the future like Dr. Strange did and knew his words were to be true. "I'll protect you 'til my last breath. Whatever it takes."

That single statement resonated something in Peter. Captain America's words returned, echoing loud in his head.

"I believe when the time comes, Tony would do it. Choose you. Over power."

Peter let out a long steady breath, thinking. What Mr. Stark did was wrong. The lies and the manipulations were wrong and he hated Mr. Stark for it. But, hearing him speak about his reasons and faults, it knotted everything Peter knew it a wadded mess of knowledge and emotions. Hard to untangle and hard to keep it separate. Peter wanted to believe in the man. He wanted to let that sense of comfort and love envelope him again as they ready to mount a life-changing attack. He wanted Captain America to be right. That when the time came, Mr. Stark would do the right thing.

"Anyway, that's what I wanted you to know and I am honestly sorry I didn't do more for you," Mr. Stark finished up his confession. "I should have and I know this now, but… that's how it was. I never meant to hurt you. All I wanted was to protect you."

Mr. Stark straightened up again, back erect and becoming more collected than he was a minute ago. "We'll get through this. You and I. We're survivors. We persevere." He looked down at Peter, eyes on him with gentle softness, almost pleading. "And I'll look after you. I promise. I'll keep you alive so that you can see your aunt again. Okay? Yeah? Do you trust me, kid?"

Trust. A dangerous game, especially for Peter. He had trust many people only to get hurt at the end. It's hard to move on when one loses the game. The wounds he endured still bled at times, ache at nights. He desperately wanted to trust the man. How many times had he seen Iron Man save the world? Save countless lives time after time? So many people rested their hopes and faith in him coming to their rescue. Peter reluctantly felt the same. Mr. Stark had experience. He knew the drill. Knew what to do. Knew how to win. And Peter… he wanted to believe that Mr. Stark can pull off another miracle like all those other times.

Mr. Stark must have noted the hesitation and quickly spoke, "It's okay if you don't," he reassured him. "It's not like I earn—"

"No, I do trust you," Peter replied, shocking Mr. Stark. "I trust you in this fight. It's the afterwards I don't... I don't know."

Mr. Stark took a deep, ruminative breath. "I guess we'll cross that bridge when we get there," he said. "Once we win this, we can talk again."

Peter nodded. Neither he nor Mr. Stark knew what would happen after the fight. If they would win or lose. Peter didn't know. If they won, he hoped Mr. Stark would let him go. Leave him be. At the moment, he was consent that they settled their difference, able to tolerate and come to a mild understanding. Enough for Peter to relax around the hero. If Mr. Stark was sincere in his words, in his apology, then the man would let him go. Let him and his aunt live their lives without interference.

Time was almost coming to an end. Peter sensed it. Felt it right through him and straight to his bones. The moment was racing toward them. The fight for their lives screeching toward them at full throttle and Peter's heart raced alongside it.

His uncle's words echoed in his head: "Whenever the time comes, you must be brave."

He hoped he was brave. Enough to stop the Mad Titan. Enough to save the universe. At the moment though, he was rattled and panicked. Nothing like the stoic heroes around him, who all faced aliens, madmen and murderous robots. Peter was the only one. Alone in his fear and trepidation of the fight to come. And despite Mr. Stark's assurance that he would keep Peter from getting hurt or killed, he knew the possibility was still high. This was war. This was a battle. Promises are always broken in times of fighting.

Peter timidly flickered a look up. "Mr. Stark?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you scared?"

Mr. Stark went quiet for a moment. "Always."

That wasn't the answer Peter expected. The man hardly ever looked scared. Always stoic and flippant about any situation he faced. He ran toward danger. Every single time. A scared man didn't do that.

Peter's face must have revealed his thoughts because Mr. Stark added, "It's okay to be afraid. It means you have something worth fighting for."

Peter thought of his aunt. Ned. Trillions of lives across the universe. "What about you?" he asked, wanting to know what kept Mr. Stark fighting. "What are you fighting for?"

A small smile posed on the man's lips. "The future."

The scuffling of dirt aroused Peter and Mr. Stark to look up right as a shadow fell over them. It was Strange.

"Time to get into positions," Strange announced. "Thanos is on his way now."