Once again, please check out 'Peace on Middle Earth' over on EnduranceinHope's profile, if you would like to read a LOTR Christmas fic as well. Should be one more chapter to go, posting tonight!

Hello, everybody; ModernDayBard here!
Well, here we are at the end, and here we are at Christmas Eve. Hopefully, you all found the last chapter exciting, and will find this one a satisfying conclusion!
Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel, their characters, settings, McGuffins, etc. I own the ideas I suppose, as much as anyone can (though they've been heavily influenced by listening to discussions and reading other fics) and the words that I have chosen to narrate with.

At once, there was a twist, a jerk, a stomach-churning sense of impossibly swift movement then—nothing. Stillness.

When sight and reality returned, everyone who'd made the journey to Thanos' final planetoid was standing on the Wakandan field, right as they'd been before Thor raised his axe to send them forth. Everyone—whether or not they'd fallen in that final, desperate battle—was standing there as if the battle had never happened, but with the full memory of what had occurred out there.

Well, almost everyone.

Steve's spot by Thor was conspicuously empty; for the moment, that was their only proof those hours had actually happened, in at least one timeline.

Eventually, in the hours, days, and weeks to come, they put together what kind of miracle, exactly, had been wrought with the Infinity Stones. Time had rewound, in a sense, to the instant just before the Snap, returning those who'd dissolved, as well as sparing any accident victims, or anyone who'd died—by any means—since half the universe had vanished. But as much as matter was now untouched by the events that never were, mind and memory, across the universe, still were. Those who'd vanished remembered it, those who'd survived remembered days that no longer existed. Only Thanos' army remained gone—not even a corpse behind, though the field was still torn and blood-stained.

They never could fully explain why, for those who'd gone to assault Thanos, they'd all ended up back in Wakanda instead of wherever they'd been before the Snap, but eventually, they drew the conclusion that it had something to do with their proximity to the 'center of the storm' as it were, and perhaps even the part each of them had played in causing it.

The Stones themselves had not traveled back with the Avengers, nor where they on the battlefield where they would've been before Thanos used them. Whether being used twice so closely together for so contradictory a pair of purposes had destroyed them or scattered them through the universe once more was not known, and eventually, some who were on earth but did not count it home would go out in search of them, and of a safe place to hide them so that no one could use them again.

But those were realizations and concerns for later, when reality as a whole picked themselves up, dusted themselves off, and got back to the business of going on. At that moment, though, the Avengers found their attention split between Steve's empty space, and the figures that could now be seen leaving the field of desperate battle, making their way towards the assembled crowd, seeking answers.

The two groups stopped some few yards apart, staring at each other, hardly daring to believe and not being able to understand just what had occurred.

The spell was broken at last as Shuri, who'd emerged from the palace, pelted past Peter, Thor, and the others and flung herself into her brother's arms. The dam broken, the two groups moved together, embracing and calling out tear-filled greetings.

Dozens of reunions happened at once across that field, a mere microcosm of what was happening over and across the universe, but there was hardly one more joyful (or bizarre) as when the raccoon and the sapling found each other in the crowd.

Rocket about bowled over the much-taller Teen Groot, and, for a while, neither could make a sound besides half-choked sobs of relief as they clung to each other, the young tree kneeling, as his legs had given out in the first moments of that embrace.

Without pulling away, Rocket started pounding on the wooden back and scolding as soon as he could speak. "Don't you ever do that to me again, kid—you punk! Gave your old man a heart attack, you selfish little twig! And another thing: what's with callin' me 'dad' right before you go up in a flurry of goddamn ash! Hell of a time to drop that bombshell, termite-bait!"

Groot did not respond, beyond clinging tighter to silver-furred figure, all the vitriol stolen from the words by the tears on face and in voice.

"I love ya, kid."

"We are Groot."

Swarmed as he was by sister, general, and (surprisingly enough) M'Baku, there was no way T'Challa could make it back to the city, much less the palace. But Queen Ramonda and Nakia had been making their way out to the field as soon as the let's-go-kill-Thanos army reappeared, thus the young king did not have to go anywhere for the reunion to be complete.

For a moment, the six-person clump could tune out the rest of the world and revel in the miracle that had returned the Black Panther to the world. Soon enough, responsibility would call them all again—there was a kingdom to reassure, and to run. Wakanda had been granted a reprieve, yes—all the soldiers lost in the Snap were gone no more—but she had not been spared: those killed by conventional means in the battle against Thanos' army had not been resurrected.

It was not fair that those who'd buried their friends once would have to do so again, and even the added help of the new survivors and returned heroes would do little to salve that wound. But it seemed that not even the Infinity Stones would or could undo all the sorrow that the Mad Titan had wrought upon the universe.

And even their power came with a cost—a toll.

It'd fallen to Rhodey to find Sam and Bucky in the crowd, both searching, scanning with ever-increasing dread and desperation for Steve.

He'd drawn them to the side, but found that he could not give them all the answers they needed: all those on the outside had been able to see was the six grab the stones, starting a swarm of light, colors, and teeth-rattling power and energy. Then orange light shad coalesced around Steve before he disappeared and the universe reset.

Col. Rhodes had fumbled through this story—he couldn't really call it an explanation—and the two were still staring at him, wordlessly asking him to make sense of it, when Natasha joined the three and filled in what he could not: the Stones' demand for another life in order to set all to right.

Sam had looked away, jaw clenched and face set, saying and showing nothing. Bucky had been much more expressive, pacing and cursing his friend's selfless idiocy. They let him, knowing there was nothing they could say or do to make this better: some things couldn't be fixed or glossed over, and only be gone through.

Rhodey glanced at Natasha, noticing an absence in the crowd behind them. "Clint?" Then, hoping the answer was what he thought it just might be, "Scott?"

There it was: a flicker of a smile that spoke of joy and sorrow mingling in this new aftermath. "They grabbed the nearest phones, then took the Quinjet. I opted not to stop them. I just hope Clint remembers to drop Scott off first, before going home."

He did—of course he did, Natasha: he wasn't about to deny the other father the same reunion he was desperate for.

That being said, Scott was barely off the jet before Clint was taking off again, leaning forward as if that could encourage the craft to any greater speed as he made his way to the coordinates he knew so well.

He landed at last and flung himself out of the craft and up the stairs of the porch with the urgency of desperation, suddenly terrified that the voices he'd heard on the phone had been some cruel trick of a hope-starved mind.

But before he could even reach for the door, it flew open, and two small forms threw themselves into his arms, their mother just behind them, baby Nathaniel in her arms. The family of five didn't move for the longest time as they just held each other on that porch, Clint clinging to his family—his anchor—his lifeline.

Peter couldn't really blame the archer for not thinking of taking the boy back to New York when he and Scott left—to say the two fathers had other things on their minds was putting it so lightly it verged on flippancy. And there would be other people making their way out of Wakanda soon enough: it wasn't like he was stranded for good, or even for long.

Just—if he couldn't get to May, Ned, and MJ soon, could he call them, at least? Could someone help him find out if Ned and MJ got their families back? And let them know he was okay—he was back? Please?

But who could he go to? Who could he ask? Rhodey was busy off to one side, Steve was gone, and Clint had taken off. Nebula was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Thor, and the teen found himself alone and feeling more than a little out of place.

He was just looking for another roof to climb to when a sparking golden circle appeared in thin air, just to the side of the assembled crowd. The center rippled, then revealed an arid, alien landscape behind a cluster of figures stepping through.

Peter froze, staring and hardly daring to believe what he saw, even as Rocket and a tree-looking thing charged the main bulk of them, the raccoon yelling insults he clearly didn't mean to the three returning Guardians. The last one through the portal was the wizard, surveying the field with the eye of one who'd seen it all before, which Peter supposed he had, at least once, but just in front of Dr. Strange, his armor nearly destroyed, face covered in grime and blood of that desperate, ultimately fruitless, battle was none other than Mr. Stark.

The inventor scanned the staring crowd, noting his fellow Avengers, but not lingering on them. Then his gaze fell on Peter and he visibly relaxed, crossing to him when it became clear that the boy couldn't force himself to move any closer. The older hero held Peter by the shoulders, looking him up and down, taking in the repaired suit and the lack of any injuries he'd taken on Titan, then pulled him into a hug that caught the teen off-guard.

"I'm sorry—" Peter tried to start.

"Don't." The single word rang with finality, whispered though it was, and the normally talkative Spiderman held his tongue even as he failed to hold back his tears.

Gone. Slipped through his fingers.

Back.

It was late.

Peter wasn't sure how late, exactly, but he didn't particularly care, at the moment. He'd just realized that there were a few people missing from the large meeting room where everyone was comparing notes and stories and trying to figure out just what had happened. Thor kept slipping in and out, though no one really remarked on that. Sam Wilson was sticking it out, but Bucky Barnes had excused himself pretty quickly. Some had looked around for Wanda, but Natasha had firmly insisted the girl be given some space and time.

But Peter knew there was one more person missing that no one else seemed to notice: Nebula.

Making his muttered excuses to Mr. Stark and Col. Rhodes, Peter slipped out to look for the girl who'd saved his life back on Titan.

Gamora lived here. With her friends. I didn't.

Thanos took her life, I will take his. Alone.

He found her at last, not far from where all the reunions had occurred, as if she hadn't moved for the whole day. Maybe she hadn't.

Wordlessly, he sat beside her. She didn't turn or acknowledge him, but he had the feeling he hadn't exactly snuck up on her. In fact, he'd made it a point to make noise—some people it did not do to startle.

"I will not go inside."

Peter nodded after Nebula broke the silence. "Ok." Then: "It is a nice night."

The answering snort indicated something like disagreement, but without any force behind it. Quiet closed in around them again, and still they stared out, not looking at each other. "I won't go inside, no matter how long you sit there."

"That's not why I'm here." He could practically feel her surprise and apprehension at that, but then malaise washed all the tension from her, and left her question flat.

"Why, then?"

Peter paused to search for the words. "Like I said before: not alone."

Nebula leaned back, looking up at the stars she once traveled between. "Maybe I like being alone."

"No."

With a sense of déjà vu, Nebula turned to look at the teen beside her. "No?" She asked at last, amazed he could still surprise her.

Peter shrugged. "You stayed here to attack with us, instead of trying on your own. You saved my life on Titan, instead of just leaving me there. And, despite me not leaving you alone right now, you haven't killed me yet."

"Tempting," she drawled, but without any threat behind it and Peter felt he'd won the point. "I wanted Thanos dead, and now he is. There is no more reason to—"

"Don't," Peter cut in, surprised at how much it'd come out like Mr. Stark. "Don't say it, don't even think it. There's always a reason. Always."

Nebula gave a cynical chuckle. "Not. Always. Perhaps if Gamora had lived, but probably not. She chose the Guardians over me a long time ago. I am alone, and always have been."

"No, you're not. I'm right here. And everyone in there that helped defeat Thanos knows how much we owe to you. If you need a goal, a place to crash, someone to listen, something, you just have to ask. Hell, May would make you up a bed on the couch in a heartbeat if you came to New York. And that's before she finds out how much you've done for us."

Silence again, as she stared at him in disbelief. "Does everyone here care this much for near-total strangers, or are you just particularly friendly?" she asked at last in a tone of amazement and confusion.

"Jury's still out," Peter admitted, shrugging, "and MJ would probably say I'm too naïve, but we've all got our own reasons for donning whatever suit we wear."

Nebula didn't answer at first, but some tension drained out of the silence, then Peter thought he heard her mumble, '…like this MJ person…' and had the admittedly terrifying mental image of those two meeting. MJ learning how to dual-wield swords…that would definitely make prom interesting. Hm, maybe bringing Nebula back to New York wasn't actually such a bad idea…

Before he could stumble any further down that daunting mental rabbit-hole, there was a flash of orange light behind them and a muted 'whompf' that had the two spinning to see two figures standing where no one had been a half second before.

Nebula was on her feet, reaching for her weapons, even as the woman stepped forward. "Sister," the stranger said in a kind tone, reaching out a hand.

His companion was frozen, trembling, but she managed to force the name out: "Gamora…"

Suddenly the newcomer surged forward, wrapping her arms around the blue cyborg, and Peter couldn't tell which of them was crying—maybe both. Instinctively, he stepped away, letting this moment be for those two alone, and he looked to the other arrival, recognizing him.

"Hey, kid. Turns out there's a sort of 'back door' out of the Soul World Gamora was able to find. Did we do it?"

Peter nodded, unable to verbalize and answer to the question, particularly when he saw the approaching form of Mr. Stark, who must've seen the orange flash from inside and come out to investigate.

"Cap?" the inventor asked quietly once he came within hearing range, and Steve turned, looking at the inventor—his friend.

"Stark."

There was a moment—a heartbeat—of unresolved tension and unspoken words, then it was brushed aside as the two old friends embraced.

They didn't know what was coming next, but then: no one ever really did. It didn't matter—the War was over, and the Avengers were together once again, their roster expanded and bonds strengthened. It didn't matter that they didn't know, it didn't even matter what came next.

They'd face it (like the old man said) together.

So, yeah.

Like I was going to off Steve without at least giving him and Tony a chance to reconcile. (In fact, the realization that scene hadn't/wouldn't come in the story as I'd originally planned it is why I wrote Steve back in—and of course, if he got out, of course Gamora did, too.)
Also, I unintentionally gave myself the plot bunny of Nebula going to New York with Peter after this story (at least briefly) and meeting MJ. Terrifying, but possibly awesome. We'll see if I opt to make anything out of that.

This fifty-page monstrosity (altogether, not counting any authors notes besides the first one and this) took a couple of months to write, but came pretty easily when I found the time to sit down and write. About halfway through, I plotted out what scenes I wanted to see, and a lot of the how things went/worked, particularly of the last battle, were taken from other versions of this story, and even other stories also dealing with these events, that I ran through in my mind in the weeks following watching Infinity War, but still most of the details were decided as I wrote them.
Btu by far, the biggest thing about this story, and the one-shots that inspired it, at least for me, is this: writing fanfiction became fun again. I know some of my stories probably felt lackluster or formulaic right before my hiatus, and certainly some of the ones I started when/because I felt like I had to did (hence never finishing/publishing them), but I could sit down to write this and be several pages in and just excited with the scene I was discovering—it really did feel more like discovering than writing.
What does this mean going forward? Well, I'm going to write when and what I want to—I've started another story, but it's a long one, so no idea when I'll finish it (if I do—but I feel confident, at the moment, as early as it is, right now), and I'm only going to post stories that I have finished, so that I don't get anyone hooked on a story and then vanish halfway through. I have ideas I still like, but I don't know if I can—or want to—write them. We'll see. I guess what I'm trying to say is, this isn't an end on the hiatus, precisely, but I am writing again, and enjoying it. I'm probably going to be an on-again/off-again poster for the next few years, but at least posting a story in its entirety before vanishing. Thank you for your patience, and above all, thank you for your interest in and feedback on my stories—as someone who wants to write professionally, this is a wonderful learning platform.
Anyhow, I'm going to stop before this author's note is longer than the story. As always, if you saw something you liked, or something you think I can fix/improve on for next time, don't hesitate to leave a review and let me know!

And Merry Christmas!