Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter panted, powerless to prevent the carnage, as he stared up at the sky that was tearing itself apart. Stephen’s body was in front of him. He could feel the villains’ eyes from below seer into his back, the eyes of his brothers he’d just met, the eyes of MJ and Ned, his girlfriend and his best friend, the only family he had left.

He turned back to everyone, his eyes red as he mouthed. “I’m sorry.” He seemed to do that a lot. But all he knew, all that swirled in his mind, was a desperate haze of pure, unadulterated hopelessness.

He screwed up.

He was a minute late.

Had he been just a minute earlier, he would’ve saved the universe, preventing it from destroying itself.

And now Stephen was lying dead in front of him.

And now, everyone is dead.

He hung his head and gulped heavily, gritting his teeth and yelling. A cry of grief for himself, his friends, everyone he let down and practically killed, and the whole universe he helped destabilise.

Everything around him glitched in a flurry of colours and cries, a mixture of joy, misery, dread, and rage whirling together and combining into one that sounded like tree bark wailing as it tore. He grabbed his ears and started howling, staggering back as thick, warm tears streamed down his cheeks.

All he could do was sob as he felt his cells tear and reconstruct themselves, his senses tingling, alerting him of imminent death.

Purple swirled around him, and everyone and everything was evaporating in black, inky tendrils outlined by gold.

“No, no, no, no…” Peter muttered on his knees as he held Stephen’s chest. His voice was edging on a croak. “I’m sorry, Stephen; I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t know…”

Almost unwillingly, another anguished scream ripped out from him.

Then, green engulfed his vision. A sickening hue that caused bile to rise in his throat.

It was as if everything was merely a dream—

The story screamed as it tore itself apart—the coming end of everything that shouldn’t be happening yet.

The story was frayed near the end, unravelling like a frail string until it all came undone.

—The anguished scream of the universe halted.

The silence was deafening.

Peter blinked the distortion out of his vision and found that he was curled in himself. He held his hands out, noticing how they violently shook, and gave a tight squeeze of his fists, gasping in between pants with a wheeze. He noted that the ground was tiled, too clean to be the Empire State Building, and slowly lifted his head, lacking the confidence that Spider-Man tried to carry.

Falcon and Winter Soldier stood before him, their expressions etched in matching worry, with pinched brows and mouths tilted into frowns. Falcon, as if speaking to a shaken animal, bent down on one knee with his hands in a placating motion.

“Easy, kid. You’re alright.” He said it calmly.

Peter promptly threw up.

James ran through the terminal alongside Wilson, his mind set on one task: get to the Quinjet.

Zemo planned to free the remaining Winter Soldiers, and he grimaced at the prospect of what he would do with them and what would happen if they were unleashed onto the world. He couldn’t, no matter how much he sympathised with those who had gone through the same ordeal as him, let them leave alive. They were more unstable than he was.

He looked up as he heard a tap to his right and saw the spider guy skittering almost unnaturally across the window. “What the hell is that?” James inquired, his brow furrowed in disbelief.

“Everyone’s got a gimmick now.” Wilson responded sternly.

Soon after Wilson stated that, the spider smashed the glass and kicked Wilson towards the wall, prompting James to throw his metal arm at him. But before James could land a punch, the literal kid caught his arm, and James pinched his brows in alarm.

Holy shit. A kid caught his arm.

“You have a metal arm?! That is-” Instead of continuing his statement, he cut himself off by slapping his palms to where his ears were, letting out an unearthly scream that made both James and Wilson halt.

“Holy shit.” Wilson breathed.

The kid wailed to the point that James thought he would scream himself hoarse. He jerked his head and clawed his own skull as if in agony, as if he were attempting to get rid of something. His mask fell off as he sought to relieve whatever pain was bothering him, and god, this kid wasn’t even out of high school yet.

“Hey, kid.” James called.

“Shit, this looks bad.” Wilson said. “Why’d Stark bring a kid?”

“I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go.” The kid breathlessly muttered, shaking his head and curling in himself. “I don’t wanna go. Please. Please. I don’t wanna die. I don’t- I’m going to die! I don’t want to. I don’t-”

“Kid! Kid! You’re alright!" Wilson moved to grab the child, but just before he could grab his shoulder, he let out another scream, more anguished than the last.

He coiled up further, and almost softly, he whispered. “I’m sorry…”

His cries deafened, and the terminal grew silent. The spider kid’s quick breathing softened into gasps and wheezes.

“Kid?” Wilson called hesitantly.

The kid’s breathing shuddered as he gazed at his hands, which trembled too much for them to be natural; he then clenched them and sunk his head even lower. He was too quiet for the excitement he showed earlier, and his shoulders slouched instantaneously when he finally caught his breath. The spider then gazed at them, and James felt as if he were staring at something excessively heavy and vulnerable, wanting to turn his head away but morbidly intrigued.

Wilson got down on a knee and held his hands out. “Easy, kid. You’re alright.”

The kid then lurched and threw up.

While James would’ve laughed at Wilson having vomit covering his shoes, he found himself cringing and backing away. He can handle blood, feces and urine, but vomit was something he didn’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole. Plus, there was the fact that he had no idea why the kid suddenly burst out with emotion like that.

Though Wilson seemed unbothered as he brought a hand to his earpiece, “Hey, Cap. We’ve got a problem. Spider Kid doesn’t seem well.”

James saw as the kid trembled, gasping and holding his chest while blearily looking at Wilson’s feet. “S-Sorry… ‘M sorry…”

“No, kid, it’s fine. We’re good.” Wilson reassured.

”We have a problem here as well.” Instead of Steve’s voice, it was Black Panther’s.

“Where’s Steve?” James demanded.

”Hold your tighty whities, The Collector. We didn’t do shit.” Stark’s voice came next. ”Cap started screaming and is now passing out. What happened on your end?”

“Same thing, the spider started screaming and threw up on my shoes.” Wilson said.

”Food poisoning?” He suggested, before Rhodes’ voice came over the intercom in almost disbelief, echoing. ”Food poisoning?”

Wilson ran soothing circles on the kid’s shoulder blade, deadpanning. “In what world does food poisoning cause pain like this?”

”I don’t know, weak appetite?” Stark weakly suggested before sighing. ”Alright, look, let’s just end the fight for now and get the two help.”

“We can’t! We need to get to Siberia before Zemo!” Barton interjected.

”Are you fucking kidding me?!” Came Stark’s incredulous bark. ”That’s why you’re here? That’s why I had to chase you goddamn assholes to Berlin? Because this Zemo guy is going to Siberia?!”

“He intends to release the other Winter Soldiers.” James said.

The other end became deathly silent, save for Steve’s whimpers, which caused James’s heart to leap to his throat. They didn’t have time to fight and argue, but as much as James wanted to leave now, he knew that the two needed help first and foremost. They were more important than whatever Zemo was planning.

“Fine.” Rhodes agreed after a moment.

”Rhodey-”

”Tony, if they’re right, we can’t let Zemo reach Siberia.” They both then heard fabric and metal rustling in the background. “We’ll take you guys there; bring Spider-Man to the Quinjet; we’ll bring Cap.”

”So we’re ending the fight, then?” Ant-Man asked.

”For now.” Romanoff cryptically said.

Stark muttered incoherently before groaning. ”Quinjet. Now. We’ll discuss everything once we’re aboard.”

Wilson hefted Spider-Man’s arms over his shoulders, helping the kid stand up as he groaned and held his head with shaky hands, leaning against Wilson’s weight. “Sorry… sorry…” Spider-Man slurred, his head hanging.

“I’ve got you. Just hang tight, kid; we’re getting you some help.”

Chapter Text

The Quinjet was deafeningly quiet, save for the odd muttered warning whenever a member of the other team approached. Rogers was lying on the other side of Peter, breathing even though his face was pinched in pain, as Peter clenched and unclenched his hands, muttering incoherently every so often.

It was difficult to pinpoint what happened and what caused the two to react as they did. Until they woke up, they didn’t have any way of finding out what happened. From what he saw and what Wilson told him, nothing beyond a punch being thrown had occurred, and suddenly the two were on the ground, yelling in pain. Well, except for Peter, considering he was the one throwing the punches, but that’s besides the point.

Though Tony had to give Wilson credit where credit is due for putting Peter’s mask back on rather than revealing his identity to the others. But judging by the knowing looks Wilson and Barnes gave the kid, and when they arrived at the Quinjet, Wilson’s ‘we-need-to-talk’ look he gave him, he could get an idea of what the conversation later will be about.

He became desperate for help and made a mistake by bringing the kid, but that excuse wouldn’t have held in court if the kid had died.

On other topics, Tony turned back to the others, asking while simultaneously breaking the delicate silence between them all. “What’re we expecting when we find Zemo?”

‘Team Captain America’ looked at each other uncomfortably, gazes shifting as they wondered what they should say, and before Tony could become annoyed, Wilson spoke up. “Zemo is going to an abandoned HYDRA facility in Siberia, where he’s planning to release the remaining Winter Soldiers.” He then looked at Barnes, sighing and grimacing. “There’s five Winter Soldiers, all of whom, including that guy, were created using stolen super soldier serum.”

“Great, not only do we have to deal with one batshit crazy man, but five others.” Tony hung his head back and scowled.

By no means were he or the others weak, but even he knew this battle would be difficult.

Barnes merely shrugged. “The trigger words are lengthy; as long as Zemo doesn’t say them in order, it’ll be easy to take down the Winter Soldiers.”

“‘Easy,’ he says.” Rhodey scoffs and shakes his head. “Instead of running in like headless chickens, we’ll need to come up with a plan.”

“Come up with a plan, but I’m not working with my father’s killer.” King T’Challa stepped in with ease, scowling at Barnes.

Barnes froze.

Everyone looked at King T’Challa with varying expressions, but none of them intervened. Not out of the ordinary for their dysfunctional bunch. They all wanted someone dead at some point. But now was not the time or place for this. Tony said as much.

“Look, your majesty, I want them gone just as much as you, but now isn’t the time.”

He ignored him and continued glaring, claws clenched. Barnes made an unintelligible face at King T’Challa before his teeth audibly clicked together, and he creased his brows in remorse. A tight hush fell between them all, everyone watching with worry or curiosity, but just as a fight was about to break out, Clint let out a loud ‘huh?’ That grabbed everyone’s interest.

“What do you mean?” Clint asked in a blurt. “He was brainwashed.”

“I know who I saw,” King T’Challa said, raising his chin in the air. “And who I saw responsible for those bombs was him.”

“He was being brainwashed by Zemo.” Wanda added, taking a quick step forward to defend him.

Barnes looked surprised when they began to defend him, but stayed relatively silent.

Wanda’s statement made everyone freeze in curious shock, with Tony feeling as if that one convoluted puzzle clicked together. Natasha especially as she straightened and looked at Clint, an understanding passing between them.

Clint nodded. “Yeah, you think so too, right?”

“Everything is too organised.” Natasha said.

Tony paused and considered it. It was obvious that Barnes was brainwashed for the terrorist attacks, due to the fact that throughout the two years he’d been on the run, he hadn’t committed any crimes, no robbery, harassment, or anything in between. It’s not that he couldn’t get away with it, but it was too abrupt a change for someone who lived a relatively “normal” life.

“What if Zemo is trying to split us up by creating havoc amongst us?” Vision opined.

“We were already split with the Accords.” Wanda affirmed with a nod. “It would take merely a push to split us up indefinitely.”

“But setting the Winter Soldiers loose would only push us to work together.” Wilson said.

“Unless they’re dead.”

Everyone looked at Barnes, shocked that he would suggest something like that.

Tony assumed he would sympathise with the Winter Soldiers, but after further consideration, he realised why he would want them dead. The remaining, or rather, deceased Winter Soldiers, may have been awful people before becoming the Winter Soldier, and having an evil person run around with the super soldier serum was arguably worse than having one unstable Winter Soldier who wasn’t all that bad a man.

Rhodey nodded, humming in agreement. “It makes sense to make us fight each other at the airport and cause us to fragment further, then lead some of us to Siberia and cause more havoc. But the question is: why and how? What is he planning?”

Silence.

Barnes’ shifty movements then caught everyone’s eyes, Natasha almost immediately narrowing her gaze as if she caught a fly in her web.

“You know something.” She accused.

“I do.” He confirmed.

“What is it?” Tony asked.

He looked at Rogers—curiously enough—then back at Tony and nodded, as if coming to terms with something.

Silence, then, “Stark.” He said a moment later.

Tony blinked.

Barnes drew a long breath in and looked remorseful, his expression strange since Tony had only observed neutral reactions so far. He then fixed his gaze on him, his frown deepening.

“I killed your parents.”

A branch could be heard snapping.

Steve arrived in 2012, after the invasion had destroyed the streets below. As he peered over the edge of the apartment building he was in, he saw cars toppled over, buildings crashed to the ground, and the roadways concretes fractured and spidered like a tangled web.

“Are you the one returning the stone?” A voice rhetorically asked behind him, Steve turning around to look at who spoke to him. She smiled serenely, her voice soft as she introduced herself despite—and Steve knew looks could be deceiving—the obvious power she held. “Ancient One.”

“Steve Rogers.” He greeted her back with a faint nod. He then held up the time stone. “I believe this one’s yours.”

She took it with protective hands. “Thank you.”

“Just doing my job.” He said.

She focused her eyes on him, as if she could see right through him. She most likely could. “You aren’t planning on returning to your original time.” The Ancient One accused.

Steve hesitated.

“Yeah.” He replied shortly. “Yeah, I don’t.”

“When are you going?” She inquired.

‘When’ may suggest when he’s leaving, but Steve understood what she meant and replied truthfully. Even if he was only a stranger, at least one person deserved the truth.

“1945.”

She made a humming sound. “Are you sure of that decision?”

He shook his head. “The future doesn’t need me anymore.”

“Doesn’t it always.” She mused.

He chuckled and peered over the edge, taking one last look at New York. The future was a complex thing; he came to discover, with technology far more advanced than the previous generation, articles of clothing unique to this era, and many things to occupy oneself with.

But he didn’t belong here.

Despite living in the future for almost a decade, he could never find himself fitting in.

Time was well aware of this.

And he understood that he would never belong anyplace, not here, nor there, or anywhere else.

He paused, though, instead of contemplating his thoughts and turning back to the Ancient One. “What did you say?” He asked, furrowing his brows.

“Doesn’t it always.” She echoed.

They were simple words, and Steve knew they shouldn’t mean anything, but he took them as something, turning back to the street.

‘Doesn’t it always.’

Time has always needed something, even if it was always undefined. It was fickle, but it meant something.

’Doesn’t it always.’

“Maybe the future still needs me.” He muttered, more to himself than to the listener behind him.

He lingered in the moment, just for a second, before shutting his eyes and softly inhaling in.

He then twisted the knob on his watch.

He messed up.

The story didn’t need him anymore.

The future didn’t need him.

It was as if he’d been ripped through the fabric of reality and deposited into a twisted nothingness that was the universe, the multiverse, the end and the beginning, the vacuum being nothing and everything.

It was as if days, months, and years passed him by, but his body knew that no time had passed at all.

He attempted to scream for anybody who would listen, to apologise, to plead, to cry, and wail, until he had nothing left to say.

He messed up.

Then, when his soul was on the brink of shattering, of letting the void consume his mind.

The story—the everything and nothing, the tree, the god who needed to be—listened then.

It told him that he wasn’t supposed to be here.

It extended an olive branch to him, and he accepted it with such ferocity that it was a marvel he was ever a man. It was a compromise. A choice.

Steve remembered being torn apart after accepting the offer, his very being, his very soul, ripping from the seams. Pain seared throughout his body, like a fiery flame that internally boiled his blood, like molten lava that replaced his insides.

Then he woke up.

Rogers stirred, blinking and wearily looking at the ceiling. “…Where…?”

“You have a lot of shit to explain, Rogers.” Tony growled, standing over him and glaring viciously.

His eyes narrowed when they landed on Tony, his forehead becoming crestfallen.

“Stark…?” He began, making to straighten himself before his elbow collapsed under him and he hit the metal bed with a thud and a grunt. “How…?”

Tony didn’t want to hear his excuses, pulling Rogers by the collar and holding him up as he continued glaring. “You lied to me for two years, Rogers.”

His eyes widened. “Stark, what-”

“Don’t make excuses!” He yelled, and everyone behind him stayed quiet, watching the exchange. Typical. “You lied to me! You used me and fed me bullshit for two years!”

The blood in Rogers drained, and his eyes almost widened comically. “Stark-”

Tony banged him against the metal makeshift bed, gritting his teeth and practically snarling. “You lied to me!”

“Stark-!” Rogers called, not fighting back, not because he wouldn’t; no, Tony knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t take this lying down. It was because he couldn’t, weakened by his freakout earlier. Tony knew he shouldn’t be kicking a man who was already down, but an ugly venom writhed in his chest, begging to be let out.

He could hear the wince of Ant-Man behind him, Vision holding Wanda back to prevent her from intervening, and the rest merely watching. Everyone coming to a mutual agreement to not intervene.

Rogers’s eyes darted throughout the Quinjet, dazed and not entirely there, as if he was in a dreamlike state. Despite that, his eyes were sharp, analysing the situation automatically out of reflex.

“Stark, what-” Rogers grunted when Tony’s grip tightened. “What happened? Why’re you-”

“Why am I angry?”

The audacity to even ask that.

He leaned forward and his voice came out snarled. “You lied to me about my parents’ deaths.”

Rogers’ complexion paled further.

“For two years, Rogers, you lied to me, used me for my money, just to search for the killer of my parents.”

“Stark, I-”

“You had TWO YEARS TO TELL ME THAT HE KILLED MY PARENTS!” Tony yelled.

“I know, I know.” With his eyes wide and frantic, Rogers encircled Tony’s wrists with his hands without removing them, murmuring. “I know, I know, I know.”

“That’s all? THAT’S ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY TO ME?!”

His fingers trembled uncontrollably as he closed his eyes. “I don’t-“ he swallowed, shaking his head jerkily. “What else am I supposed to say? ‘Sorry’ doesn’t cut it.”

Tony abruptly flung Rogers back into the bed and screamed away from everyone. “FUCK!” Rang in everyone’s ears, reverberating off the small walls of the jet. He kicked a seat and cursed a few more times.

For two years, Rogers used him.

Lied to him.

He was right, and god was that a horrible thing to think, because a simple sorry won’t ever cut it.

He never told him the truth about his parents’ deaths for two years. He looked at him, smiled as if nothing was wrong, and pretended to be friends for two years. Because of what, exactly? Fear? Of Tony of all people?

“Stark.” Tony swung around with such speed that he would’ve got whiplash if it hadn’t been for the writhing tightness beneath his skin when Rogers called.

He trembled with rage. “No, Rogers! You don’t get to say anything else!”

“Steve.” Barnes warned, speaking up for the first time since his confession. He appeared disappointed and outraged on Tony’s behalf, which was surprising, but Tony was too upset to say anything.

“Just listen!” Rogers hissed.

“Listen, my ass!”

“Look, Stark.” Rogers continued, glaring at his feet with a sense of determination, guilt, and anger in his eyes. “You can hate me. I’m fine with that. I deserve it. But we can’t let the team split because of this. That’s what Zemo wants.” And wasn’t that a shocking thing, the words carrying throughout the Quinjet.

“Why should it matter if the team splits?” Tony challenged.

Even if there were alien threats in the future, he could always make do and create a new team, one where there were no secrets between them. Hell, he’d hire Spider-Man on the spot, no questions asked. At least then he could trust the kid to not hide anything this damning.

Rogers looked at his shield, almost longingly, as if he hadn’t seen it in years, before he shook his head and pulled his hair back. “I don’t deserve the name Captain America or the shield. I know that more than anyone else.” That earned a couple of confused and concerned looks. “But if the team splits, if we let my mistake get to us, then we’re only screwing ourselves over.”

“Rogers, you don’t get to say that,” Rhodey said, staring him dead in the eyes. “You, of all people, don’t get to say we’re screwing ourselves over.”

“Then let me.”

Everyone looked at Peter, shocked.

“How’re you doing?” Tony asked. If the kid wasn’t doing well, his aunt would most likely throttle him. Or worse than that, probably.

Then, almost immediately, Peter jerked his head up and looked at Tony, stunned. “Mr. Stark…?”

“What?”

“No, it’s just…” the kid trailed off, his mask’s eyes widening. “How…?”

“How what?” Tony asked.

Rogers, on the other hand, looked like he was reevaluating life. “…Queens?” He quietly inquired.

Peter whipped his head towards him, staring him in the eyes as if looking for something. Rogers returned the look, his face pallid but his eyes demanding and urgent. It was as if there was a hidden communication going on behind their gaze, something only they could understand.

Slowly nodding, he greets in a quiet tone. “Brooklyn.”

“Shit, kid.” Rogers responded after a brief second.

Peter huffed. “Yeah…”

“Okay, whatever the hell communication you two have going on, explain yourself.” Tony said sternly, looking Peter dead in the eyes. “What do you mean, you agree with him?”

Peter slightly curled in himself. “Sorry, but… I… kind of agree with him.”

Tony frowned further. “Yeah, I know.”

He squeaked and looked anywhere else that wasn’t Tony’s face. “I- I mean… I’m just the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man! I only look out for the little guys, s-so… I guess…” he sighed and rubbed his face, muttering. “I’m really bad at this. This is way too confusing… this shouldn’t even be happening.”

Peter leaned back and looked Rogers in the eyes before looking back at Tony, staring at his arm and rubbing his own. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Cut the bullshit!” Tony snapped. “Speak clearly!”

“Go easy on him.” Rhodey said from his side.

Tony grumbled, but stayed quiet.

“Okay, um… I agree with Rogers because… What if…” he stuttered, looking at Rogers, who subtly nodded. “What if there was a really bad guy, one that could kill millions of people? What if… what if we have no way of defeating him, not by ourselves?”

Natasha narrowed her gaze. “What do you mean?”

“It’s only hypothetical.” Peter blurted. “Just… What if? I only look out for the little guys; I’m not really… suited for this kind of fight. Most of us aren’t, but you guys are strong, so what if there was a scenario like that? Like, universal threat kind of thing?”

“Then, hypothetically, the Avengers are needed.” Rhodey muttered in exasperation.

“Rhodey, in what world would something like that happen?” Tony asked.

He didn’t miss Rogers’s cringe.

“You never know, but…” he sighed and grimaced. “Rogers is right.” He practically spat. “It’d be too risky to split the team.”

Tony hung his head and clenched his hands, his scowl worsening. ”Fine.” He begrudgingly admitted. “Fine! You’re right. Fuck, you’re always right.”

He turned away from everyone and rubbed his face tiredly. Rhodey was right, it’d be too risky to split the Avengers, especially when there was always a threat somewhere. He couldn’t let his emotions or ego get in the way, at least not now.

“I hate to be the bearer of… more bad news.” Wilson said afterwards, wincing when everyone exhaustedly turned to him. “But we’re here.”

“We’ll deal with this later, Vision and Falcon, stay on board and babysit the two.” Tony heard Peter squawk indignantly. “Everyone else, capture Zemo.”

He then turned back to Peter and Rogers, frowning. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“I wouldn’t expect less.” Rogers said.

Chapter Text

Steve still felt nauseated; his stomach tightened at the thought of food, and he felt bile rise in his throat whenever he made abrupt movements. Being half-beaten by Stark didn’t soothe the sensation; it only worsened it. Not that Steve felt that Stark treated him unfairly or wrong; he deserved it.

Everyone had departed the Quinjet seconds before, leaving just Vision, Sam, Spider-Man, and him remaining. There was a delicate stillness between them all, as Vision and Sam remained mute and Spider-Man didn’t have anything to say besides the obvious.

The obvious being that they somehow time-travelled.

Steve didn’t recall much of his time in the void after his screw-up; it seemed like a quick blink, and he awoke to find Stark furious, for good reason too. He had no idea why he was in the Quinjet, nor how or why any of that conversation happened. That didn’t happen during the media-dubbed ‘Civil War.’

But him suddenly collapsing in pain and throwing up didn’t happen either.

As Sam looked across to him, he bit back a groan when he leaned his head back against the jet’s wall. Sam undoubtedly had questions but was hesitant to ask, owing to his condition. Steve had no idea how he looked right now.

So, he waited for someone to speak up. He knew someone eventually would.

A second goes by.

Then a minute.

Then five.

Ten.

Before finally, Vision was the first to voice a concern. “How did you know that was what Zemo wanted?” He asked, earning the trio’s attention.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked.

“We were unaware of Zemo’s plan until we discovered Zemo staged King T'Challa's father’s murder. But you somehow knew it.”

“How’d you find that out?” Instead, Steve questioned.

Steve really didn’t want to talk about him supposedly time-travelling until he figured out whether everything was an illusion or not right now. The void, despite it feeling like a blur, wasn’t gentle on his mind.

Vision smiled. “Courtesy of Clint and Natasha.”

Steve chuckled, but his smile dampened when he remembered Natasha’s death.

“But you didn’t answer my question,” said the android. “How did you know?”

Steve frowned as he looked at Spider-Man and then back at the ground. He wasn’t sure if the kid was keen on sharing details of the future, and he wouldn’t betray his trust by forcing him to share the future.

Which was another thing he’ll need to confront later: why did Spider-Man come back in time? Why the kid out of every other person? That wasn’t to say the kid was incapable—it was the opposite. He admired his tenacity—but he was just a boy.

“Figured it out when Stark told me he knew.” Steve answered instead.

The lie tasted sour.

“From just that?” Sam asked.

“Among other things.”

Sam looked contemplative before he inquired. “Why hide it?”

Suddenly, he was acutely aware of the guilt that writhed within his chest, as if someone had tossed a weight onto his shoulders. He didn’t need to ask to know what he meant.

“It was a mistake.” Steve said, hanging his head. “I should’ve told him.”

“But why didn’t you?”

There were several factors: denial that Bucky would do anything like that, wanting to save Stark from having to relive the grief of his parents’ deaths again, and Steve’s unwillingness to see Stark spiral because of it. But it all came down to one thing in the end.

‘There’s a bit of green in the blue of your eyes. How nice to find a flaw.’

“Selfishness.”

Steve had a lot of time after the Civil War to learn that he was a selfish man who refused change. He only relapsed further into that mindset when he couldn’t handle the guilt near the end, and he had almost made a mistake by going back to 1945.

“It was just out of selfishness.”

Silence reigned.

“It’s okay to be selfish.” Spider-Man hesitantly began. “I made a mistake. B-Because I was… I wasn’t selfish, but I was naïve.”

“You’re a kid. That’s understandable.” Sam said.

Spider-Man shook his head. “Not for the mistake I made. The mistake you made doesn’t even come close to mine. You were just… trying to protect Mr. Stark. I understand. I don’t really know what you did, just that you did it out of selfishness. That’s not really cool of you, but I understand.”

“I kept the truth of his parents' deaths a secret from him for two years. I lied to him and used him for his money.” Steve averted his gaze from the kid’s, swallowing the thick lump in his throat. He abandoned Stark in Siberia, damaged his arc reactor, and let him bleed out and almost die of hypothermia. That isn’t what a hero does. What a soldier does. What a friend does. “That’s not something you should understand.”

“Oh…” Spider-Man scratched his neck before an odd bittered chuckle trickled from him, an almost too unfortunate sound to belong to a boy as young as him. “Sadly, I understand even more.”

Steve furrowed his brows, and when Spider-Man looked at everyone’s concerned expressions, the eyes of his mask widened.

“N-Not the betraying bit, no!” He reiterated. “Just the whole…”

He tried finding the correct words, bouncing his hands. “I was betrayed. I don’t forgive him.” He added bitterly. “But I understand where he was coming from. He used me- my grief, and killed some people. Framed me for… a-anyway, he was just angry. He was angry because someone took away his life’s work, unlike you, who did it to protect someone. S-So, I understand where you’re coming from. I would’ve done the same thing.”

Yeah, Steve was definitely talking to the kid after this.

“Yes, but Tony may not see it that way.” Vision said.

“He won’t,” Spider-Man agreed. “But he learns from his mistakes.”

Sam sighed and cupped his mouth. “True, but whatever happens, this mess is between Steve and Stark.”

“It is. I didn’t want to drag you guys into it.” He still doesn’t, but it seemed like the universe was pulling a cruel joke by tossing him back into the Leipzig battle. One differing action, and suddenly everything in the timeline was ajar.

“Then, for a fresh start for the Avengers, how about not taking sides anymore?” Spider-Man weakly jokes, though it came out as more of a suggestion.

“A brilliant idea.” Vision said, and Steve suspected that he didn’t quite get that there was a joke in there. Only confirming his suspicion seconds later. “I’ll bring it up with the others when tensions aren’t as high.”

Sam clapped his hands. “Great plan, but you two need rest. We’ll talk about whatever happened to you two earlier after we deal with this… mess.”

“I’m okay.” Both Spider-Man and Steve simultaneously said.

"Oh, dear lord, there’s two of them.” He muttered as he shook his head. “No. Sleep. Now. Steve, I’ll debrief you. Kid, get some sleep while we fly you home.”

“What? Again? I’m capable! I can help!” He squawked.

Steve snorted and looked at Sam with amusement swirling in his eyes. “C’mon, Sam. The kid has heart. He’s very capable.”

“They’re so uncannily alike.” Vision mumbled.

Steve laughed and ignored the ache that longed for his new family back, holding onto the guilty part of himself that knew he was the one who tore them apart.

When Peter awoke, everyone was back on board, including a bound, knocked-out Baron Zemo, with the sun beginning to set. His nausea had subsided to the point that he could think properly and grasp what was going on, looking at who was in the Quinjet with a stunned expression.

It was almost impossible to grasp that he was in the past, and if it hadn’t been for Captain America being here and confirming that they were in the past, he would’ve assumed that everything currently happening was his own mind coping with the fact that the universe was dying.

Peter could see Captain America, who was still sleeping, as well as a glaring Tony, a wary Black Widow, and King T’Challa—Black Panther? He wasn’t sure what his majesty wanted to go by—Hawkeye dozing next to a weary Winter Soldier, and Vision and Ms. Maximoff conversing softly. He wasn’t sure where War Machine or Falcon were, but they were most likely piloting the Quinjet.

Peter puckered his lips in thought.

He really was in the past.

At least, he wanted to think that he was.

But he didn’t know.

Ant-Man hovering over him drew his attention, his mask off and an uncertain expression on his face. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m okay. I think.” Peter replied hesitantly, nervously lacing his fingers. “What’s happening now?”

“We’re going to drop you two off.” Tony stated, without glancing over at them.

Ant-Man made a hum. “What he said.” He then turned back to Peter, his grin weak. “So, uh… what was that thing that happened earlier?”

“What thing?”

“That whole…” he made a fake scream. “Thing.”

Peter frowned. “I’m… not really sure what you mean?”

“That freak-out.” Black Widow clarified.

“Oh, that…”

Peter considered it, but it didn’t make sense to him either. Was it him being pushed through time that caused him to freak out? Or was everything that happened in the future an illusion? Was everything happening now fake? Or was the future he imagined fake? He didn’t know. Did he want to know?

“I don’t… know.” He answered slowly.

“Did you eat some bad food?” Tony asked.

“We’ve been over this, Tones!” War Machine yelled from the cockpit. “Food poisoning doesn’t cause freak-outs like that!”

“Maybe?” Peter said.

Tony made a gesture towards Peter. “See!”

“Hope it’s just a bug.” Ant-Man says.

“Yeah, I, umm… hope so too.” Peter clears his throat and nods at Zemo. “Is that…?”

“Yeah, that’s him.” Ant-Man responds, looking at Zemo. “He sort of monologued about destroying the Avengers before being taken down by Iron Man. It was kind of underwhelming.”

“Better underwhelming than overwhelming, right?”

“That’s true.”

Tony exchanged glances with the two before sighing, shaking his head, and muttering under his breath. He then returned his gaze to Zemo and grimaced. Peter wasn’t sure what was going on in his head, but he didn’t question it.

He displayed more vulnerability than Peter had ever seen from him, except from when Peter died and came back to life, and knowing what Captain America did to him, he understood that Tony was reliving his grief from his parents’ deaths.

Even if Peter understood Captain America's point of view, he had no idea how his reaction would be if someone kept the truth of his parents' deaths from him. Would he respond in the same way Tony did? Probably. Though all Peter can do now is be there for Tony, even if he wasn’t the same Tony. Even if he was probably a fake created by an illusion.

“What will happen to Zemo?” Peter asked.

“Wakanda will have custody of him.” King T’Challa answered.

Peter looked back at Tony, then at everyone else. “And the Accords…?”

He saw Tony tense from the corner of his eyes.

“Not sure,” Tony says, sniffling. “We’ll deal with that when we get there.”

“I mean, I probably shouldn’t say anything since I’m not- but- what if-” Peter stuttered.

“Spit it out.”

“Why not amend them?” He blurted out. “I don’t want to give up my identity, and I don’t want my freedom taken away if I refuse, and I don’t want them to control what I do. So why not change them?”

Silence.

Peter cringed.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything, just, uh… Ignore I’m here…”

“That’s not a bad idea.” Black Widow started, her gaze fixed on Tony. “I don’t want the government to have a say in what we do. They’re not the ones fighting our battles. They’ll endanger us more if they have control.”

"I don't mind them having control, but I wouldn't mind making it flexible." Vision added.

“I don’t want my freedom taken away.” Wanda stated.

Everyone turned to Tony, who had his gaze averted with an almost constipated expression. He grumbled and hung his head after a few minutes of silence. ”…Fine.” He spit, as if the words had left an acidic residue in his mouth. Though Peter was more startled that Tony admitted he was wrong.

“No more fighting amongst us, then?” Black Widow inquired.

“No more fighting.” Tony stated this before severely looking at everyone. “But you better sign them if the change does go through.”

Black Widow nodded and smiled. “All we ask is for our opinions to be heard.”

Peter grinned from ear to ear as he exhaled in relief. It only took him and Captain America being thrown back in time to preserve the Avengers’ future. The Avengers staying together won’t affect the future much, but it will change elements, and that’s all Peter can ask for.

Chapter Text

Peter stepped off the plane, certain of his intentions, as he waited for only him and Tony to be alone. Everyone was weary as they walked in while an awake Zemo snarked with the Winter Soldier and Falcon. It was almost funny seeing the trio’s dynamic. It reminded him of his, MJ, and Ned’s dynamic, except more dysfunctional.

The night air felt chilly on his face through his mask, and clouds and light pollution obscured the stars. He let himself get lost in the sky before he looked to where Captain America delayed mid-step, offering Peter a subtle queried expression, most likely wondering if they’d chat later, to which he answered with a slight nod and watched as he went, leaving Tony and Peter alone.

“Good job, kid,” Tony said as he walked towards the entryway where everyone had gone. “See you later.”

“To- Mr. Stark, just a second.” Peter called.

Tony returned his gaze, his brow furrowed. “What? You need something else?”

“No, actually, I just wanted to-“

“Need an upgrade?”

Peter was taken aback by how effortlessly he offered it. Had he been quick to offer things when they first met? Tony usually said no to him. “No, uh… No, I don’t.”

“Then what?”

“I…” He anxiously licked his lips. After a brief moment, he removed his mask to show his face, sighing and steadfastly staring at Tony. “Take the suit back.”

It was Tony’s turn to be taken aback. “What? Why? Is it not good enough?”

He sounded slightly hurt, which was odd to hear from his mentor, who was usually confident in what he did, but didn’t dwell on the odd emotion for long.

“No!” Peter yelled, raising his hands in the air. “No! It’s honestly perfect! I love it! It’s so much better than my old one! I-It’s just…”

“You need a better one? I can make you a better one.”

“No!” He snapped, then flinched back at his tone and shook his head, speaking gently. “No, I… I don’t.”

“What is it? Why don’t you want it?”

Peter moved anxiously on the spot, moving his weight from one foot to the other. He adored the suit, and it was taking more effort than it should to give it up, primarily because it was one of Tony’s last gifts that didn’t attempt to kill him, not to mention how the small gadgets in the suit and Karen herself helped with Peter’s adjustment after Tony died, but…

“I’m not worthy.” He stated.

“What do you mean?”

“Of your suit, I’m not worthy of it.” Peter replied, his head down.

He wasn’t. At all. Not when he attempted to murder Goblin, not when he gave away Tony’s legacy and had it backfire on him, and not when he disregarded Tony and May’s words and advice.

Tony deadpanned, oblivious to Peter’s inner thoughts. “Worthy.” He repeated, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Peter nodded firmly. “I love it; it’s fantastic, but I don’t deserve it. You can take it back.”

“Okay.” Tony answered easily.

When Peter didn’t make an effort to remove it, they both awkwardly stared at one another, Tony arching his brow in mute question.

“I need a bathroom.”

“Right, you’re naked.” Tony realised as he jabbed his thumb towards the open entryway. “FRIDAY will take you to the bathroom.”

Peter smiled gratefully when he headed towards the doorway and returned his attention to Tony as he walked by, his voice coming out fonder than he wanted it to. “Thank you.” For everything that hasn’t occurred and is unlikely to happen.

With a strange face at the tone, Tony nodded, not making any further move to walk ahead of Peter. “Yeah…” he murmured, blinking and shrugging off his thanks. “See you later, kid.”

Before he left, he heard Tony’s muttered. “Weird kid.”

He huffed in amusement and took a few slow steps down the stairs, following FRIDAY’s directions to the bathroom even if he didn’t need them. Hearing her again caused a shock in his system, though he managed to hide it by acting as if he tripped on a step, laughing it off.

It was also strange being back in the tower since, before the blip, Mr. Stark had sold it after the Civil War, and during the blip, something happened and it no longer existed. Ant-Man said it was destroyed, but he had no idea how it had been destroyed and he wasn’t going to ask. It brought back too many emotions that he didn’t want to acknowledge.

FRIDAY, Mr. Stark, the tower, the Avengers, Captain America being sent back in time with him, and the whole gist of whether everything was an illusion or not, it was a miracle he hadn’t broken down yet.

He felt befuddled and unsure if he should hide in a corner or not right about now, but Falcon, standing in the centre of the corridor and fidgeting with his wrists, answered that for him.

He turned toward Peter and furrowed his brows. “What’re you still doing here?” He asked, walking towards him.

“I need to change out of my suit. S-So…” Peter trailed off awkwardly; he wasn’t really wanting to explain the conversation he had with Mr. Stark earlier.

“Oh, the bathrooms over there, but before that…” He fixed his gaze on Peter, as if he didn’t know what to think. It drove Peter to fidget unconsciously with his fingers. Falcon shook his head when he realised he was staring. “Sorry, but you’re just a kid.”

Peter nodded slowly. “…Yeah?”

“Here…” He rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a little scrap of paper and a pen, scribbling words on it. He then handed it to Peter, chuckling as his eyes enlarged comically. “My number. If you need help, just call me.”

“You don’t need to do this, Mr. Falcon, sir!” Peter exclaimed.

“Mr. Falcon, sir?” Falcon echoed incredulously. “Just call me Sam, or Wilson. Doesn’t really matter.”

“Mr. Wilson-”

Mr. Wilson waved him off. “It’s fine, kid. I’d feel more bad if you didn’t have external help. Besides, it’s my job to be a backup.”

Peter stared, looking back down at the paper and then back at Mr. Wilson, nodding minutely as he numbly put it into his pocket. “Thank you, sir…”

Mr. Wilson patted his back and walked in the opposite direction, grinning. “See you around, kid.”

“Yeah…” Peter nodded again, swallowing the thick lump in his throat. “Y-Yeah, thank you again, Mr. Wilson…”

He walked to the bathroom numbly, his head down, as he processed what had just transpired. Falcon had given him his phone number. When they first met, Falcon wanted nothing more than to punch him. What happened to him to be that easy going with him? Was it him revealing his face?

That didn’t happen last time.

Oh, dear Thor. Did he just mess up the timeline already?

When a hand touched his shoulder, he startled suddenly and let the thoughts vanish entirely, yelping and turning around to confront Captain America, his eyes wide and his hands placating. “Easy, kid.” He murmured gently, stepping away just enough to avoid being punched through the wall.

“Captain America.” Peter greeted him, his eyes still wide from the last encounter.

“You look like you’ve been through the ringer.” Peter could sense the unease in his voice as he joked. “Are you… okay?”

Peter shook his head and shrugged. “I guess? What, um... what’re you…?”

“Needed to talk to you.” He replied easily, then looked at him carefully. “You… remember, right?”

Peter swallowed hard. “Y-Yeah… You remember, too?”

Captain America let forth a melancholy sigh. “Yes, I do.”

“Do you-” Peter began, before Captain America shook his head and eyed a camera warily.

“Not here.”

Peter blinked and made an ‘o’ shape with his mouth as he stared at the camera. He subsequently returned his attention to Captain America. “Do you have a phone?”

Captain America, myth and legend, 75 years in the future and practically ancient, pulls out a flip phone. Peter pale as he stared at the antique technology and the man, as if he couldn’t believe what he was witnessing.

“Yes, I know this is ancient tech.” The older man responded with a roll of his eyes. “You need my phone?”

“That’s not a phone…” Peter mumbled in horror.

He raised his brow. “It works like one, right?”

“Do newer phone numbers even work on that thing?”

“So far, yes.” He responded with a pleased tone.

“All right, um, I’ll put my number in there.” Peter said, making plans for how he can get Captain America a new phone. “Um, actually, can you do it? I’m not sure how flip phones work.”

As Peter relayed his number to Captain America, he eyed the flip phone warily. How did he even manage to get one? He would’ve thought flip phones were destroyed at this point. The other Avengers must’ve pointed out how old the flip phone was if Captain America was aware that it was old, but did they not forcefully buy him a new one? Or did he not want one?

“Kid?” He called.

Peter shook out of his thoughts and smiled. “That’s uh… that’s my number. My name’s Peter Parker. Just so, y’know, you aren’t calling me Spider-Man.” He introduced, raising a hand to him.

Captain America smiled and took the hand. “Steve Rogers. I’ll be seeing you around?”

Peter froze.

“I don’t know…” Peter answered lamely.

He didn’t know how this—how everything played out—would affect him and Tony’s relationship, and now that he thought about it, he didn’t get Happy’s number either. Meaning that his connection to Tony was essentially cut off. Will he ever have that same relationship with him again?

That caused Captain America to frown. “Well, then, I’ll see you… Tuesday afternoon? You have school, right?”

Peter blinked, his eyes widening with surprise. “You…” he wants to meet him again?

“We need to discuss…” He leaned in close and said, “The thing.”

“Oh, right…” Peter gave a nod and leaned closer. “The thing. I can do tomorrow! That’s all right with me.”

“Okay. I’ll see you later.” He remarked.

Peter then started walking towards the bathroom, nodding and smiling. “I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow, Captain America?” It was strange to say that to Captain America of all people.

“Steve.”

“O-Oh… um…” Peter gave a bashful smile. “Peter, then. N-Not that you didn’t have permission before or anything!”

He chuckled and nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Peter. Get some rest.”

“You too, Cap- Steve.”

Peter returned home from the Avengers tower—which was a strange thing to see again—with empty luggage, low web-fluid, and two more phone numbers, his heart leaden and set.

He left via the rooftop when he realised that passing through the Avengers tower and having both the Avengers and night guards see a random kid casually walk through the tower would result in his arrest. It wasn't the first time he'd left in that manner, but it had been a while, and it made his eyes burn. He didn’t realise how much he missed something as simple as that.

“Aunt May?” He wearily called into the dark apartment.

Peter looked at the ticking clock that was put up in the kitchen and noticed the minute clock tick from 12:01 to 12:02, realising that she wouldn’t be home until early in the morning due to her nursing job. Or maybe she's really dead. He felt his breath hitch and pushed the thought to the back of his mind.

He padded towards his room, ignoring everything else as he tossed his bag, web fluid and phone close and onto his desk before slumping down on his bed while simultaneously kicking his shoes off. He hadn’t even battled much today, and he was already so fatigued.

He then turned to his phone, eyeing it dubiously.

He got the phone numbers of Mr. Wilson and Steve, which was more than what he received when the civil war first occurred. The timeline had already undergone several alterations, and Steve and he didn’t even do much to intervene.

Before Peter left, he asked Steve what would happen now that the Civil War didn’t fully happen. He told him not to worry about it, and that he would deal with the fallout and the effects this will have in the future. And it wasn’t that Peter didn’t trust him, but trust was pretty much touch and go after the Avengers’ Civil War.

He felt his eyes become heavy with tiredness, and he suddenly found himself scared to fall asleep. He didn’t know what would happen if he woke up. Will he be back in the present if he woke up? Will Steve still be here? Peter didn’t want to admit it, but he was scared.

Slowly picking up his phone and eyeing Steve’s phone number, hesitantly, he sent a message.

← (Steve Rogers (Captain America!!!))

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Sun, Apr 10
12:11 a.m.

Will you still be there tomorrow morning?
12:11 a.m.

I’m not sure.
12:14 a.m.

I’m sorry
I shouldn’t ask
But will you tell me if you’re still here?
12:14 a.m.

I will.
I promise.
12:14 a.m.

Thank you
12:14 a.m.

It’s a school night.
Get some sleep, Peter.
12:14 a.m.

Peter stared at the last message, and albeit hesitantly, he managed to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

Steve sluggishly tore his eyes open, his mouth dry, and blearily peered around a bedroom he hadn’t seen in seven years. He straightened and his eyes fully opened, wondering whether he was actually in his old room, before gazing out his window in wonder, the sky a beautiful blue, unobscured by grey clouds or grimy alleyways he became used to seeing when he was on the run and after the blip when he settled in a cheap apartment, and he swallowed back a cry of awe.

He really was in the past.

A laugh trickled from his throat, and he shook his head, relief pouring from him.

He really, truly was in the past.

He trembled in pure relief and covered his face with his hands, becoming giddy. He couldn’t believe he was in the past; it was nearly difficult to accept, and yet, here he was.

He lay in bed, soaking in the knowledge that he was in the past, before straightening up and pondering what to do next. While he was relieved, in awe, puzzled, and unsure of what to do with this knowledge, he had to organise his thoughts and plan for what happened next.

Yes, he was in the past, exactly two years before Thanos arrived and when everything went wrong for the Avengers and the world, but he didn’t know where to begin. He could always attempt to convince the team that he was from the future, but after yesterday’s event, he wasn’t sure if they trusted him anymore, and he wouldn’t blame them if they didn’t.

In the future, he never told anybody about what happened in Siberia except Natasha, and after he told her, she didn’t trust him with any secrets, claiming that he was the reason her family separated. He didn’t blame her; he didn’t trust himself with her secrets either.

In the aftermath of the blip, they were all too swallowed up in their grief after everyone they loved had died.

Steve more so than the others.

With the guilt of knowing how he failed everyone, causing the team to split, and having his best friend die in front of him, Steve desired nothing more than to go back in time and live simply. Because that was easier than dealing with the present.

He almost did, and when he changed his mind, that resulted in being trapped in the void.

But he couldn't desire simplicity now, not after he was extended an olive branch and was pushed into the past, not when it's his responsibility to mend the past and prevent what would happen in the future. Right now, he couldn’t sit and wallow in his guilt.

The first thing he did after his realisation that he was in the past was send Peter a message that simply said, “I’m still here.”

He felt uneasy thinking about whether the Peter from the future would respond or if the past Peter would respond. Even though Peter was only a kid, the notion of being alone in the past terrified him—that there was no one else to share his experience with, and he was going crazy. It would also be somewhat awkward to explain to his parents why he was texting a minor.

He rationed with himself that Peter was from the future since the messages from yesterday were still there and that Peter, this kid, was just as afraid as he was to find out whether they were from the future or not, but it was still difficult to persuade himself.

But all he could do at the moment was wait.

He then rose up and looked out the window as if it were the last time he’d see it. It was beautiful, and he wasn’t sure why he had never seen the beauty for what it was until now. He wasn’t sure why he threw everything away when all it took was talking to change the outcome of the Avengers’ future.

Suddenly, he felt a surge of anger towards himself.

It only took talking.

Steve felt like an idiot.

He felt pathetic for not only jeopardising his teammates’ and friends’ futures by turning them into criminals until the last second, when everything went wrong, but also jeopardising Sharon’s future.

Even if he was wracked with guilt and vulnerable because of the blip and losing Bucky again, he should never have allowed himself to forget about her. He’d last heard from her in Madripoor three years after the blip, and when he went to contact her, she didn’t want to see him.

And he didn’t blame her.

Because again, he betrayed someone.

Steve leaned forward, allowing his forehead to brush against the window as he took in the sights of the city, watching as the sun rose and bathed the city in its wonderful light. He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply.

This time, he won’t betray Sharon, won’t allow the team to split because of his mistake, and won’t let Thanos take everything away from him again. This time, he’ll have his teammates’ backs, and this time, he won’t betray the people he cares about again.

“FRIDAY?” he called, and when she didn’t respond, he grimaced. Yeah, he was expecting that. “I know I hurt your boss; I won’t ask him for forgiveness; I don’t deserve it for this, but…”

He really hated himself for what he was about to say next.

“We need a meeting to tie up any loose ends today for the Accords, what will happen to Bucky, and what his majesty T’Challa will be doing.” He said, adding. “We’ll meet in the evening.”

She didn’t respond, but he trusted that she relayed the message to Stark.

Once that was done, he summoned the resolve to leave the room by taking another deep breath. He didn’t dress out of his costume the previous day, and with him meeting King T’Challa again today, he didn’t feel the need to dress out of it yet until his meeting with Peter later. Whenever that was happening.

He moved around the corridors with jerky motions, as if he didn’t belong in the tower. He’d been on the run for two years, and he was mainly alone for the duration of the blip helping others who lost everything.

Natasha was running an orphanage during the blip; Clint had gone off the radar after his entire family vanished, inspiring Steve to aid others like him; Stark was trying to give Morgan a normal life; Thor was depressed and needed someone there for him; and Bruce was the only one who was coping well after combining with Hulk.

But despite knowing what happened to them, despite everyone forgetting the Civil War after Thanos and Stark and Natasha’s death, that didn’t erase the sense that he didn’t belong here.

He missed the simplicity of everything, of not knowing.

But mostly, he missed his apartment in Brooklyn.

Steve blinked then.

He forgot.

His apartment was never sold since he was never on the run in this timeline, since what caused him to be on the run was Stark finding out about his betrayal in the worst possible way.

Steve felt numb at the fact that his apartment wasn’t sold.

Did he even deserve his apartment? There wasn’t much in his apartment; it was simply a place for him to sleep. But it was home, wasn’t it?

He momentarily considered selling it before hearing soft footsteps from behind him and tilting his head back to see Clint behind him.

“Hey, man.” Clint greeted.

Steve fully turned to greet him, seeing that Clint was still in his uniform as well. He nodded. “Good morning.”

“So… meeting?” He asked.

“In the evening.” Steve confirmed.

“Cool…”

Silence fell between them, and Steve squirmed as he noticed Clint’s reluctant expression. He knew what Clint was thinking, and he was certain that everyone else was thinking the same thing. When he opened his lips to inquire, Steve shook his head.

Clint cleared his throat, thankfully understanding his not wanting to talk about it. “Still sick?”

“No, I’m… I’m okay.” Steve said with a shake of his head.

He didn’t say anything about the bruises he got from Stark. He didn’t think there was a reason to say anything about them when he rightfully deserved them and had already healed overnight.

“Are you sure? ‘Cause that was a bad freak out. I’d never seen you so…” he tried to find the words. “Put out.”

“I’m fine.” Steve assured.

Clint looked at him as if he didn’t believe him, which stung a little. But he wasn’t wrong to not trust him. “I’m just saying-“

“Is there anything else you need from me?” He inquired, unwilling to discuss the freak-out. Talking about it meant talking about the future, and he wasn’t ready to do that when the trust between him and his teammates was already fragile.

He blinked, but shook his head. “No, I don’t. We’re just having breakfast, but I thought I’d invite you too since you’re up.” Clint then laughed lightly. “You’re usually up by five, so it was kinda surprising you slept in.”

Steve arched a brow. “It’s only seven.”

“Yeah, well, you probably needed the sleep since your whole… thing.”

Steve paused and slightly frowned. “I said I’m fine.”

“I know-”

“I’m fine, I don’t need breakfast. Thank you.” Steve muttered, and he twisted on his heel to escape more conversation from Clint. He didn’t want to answer any more questions, and he didn’t want to be mothered by everyone. He didn’t deserve it.

“Steve-“

Steve rounded the corner before hearing anything else, growing nauseated. Even though he knew what was at risk, he felt like he’d ruin the team again, like he’d betray everyone again. He was the wrong guy to be pushed back in time.

Steve crouched, cradling his head and inhaling before exhaling, in a quiet spot where he knew there were no cameras that FRIDAY could monitor his activity from. He felt like crawling into a hole and staying there forever as he hunched in the corner.

He wasn’t the right guy for this, and the universe knew that when it chucked him into the void when he was no longer needed in the future.

Even if he resolved to change the future before talking with Clint, knowing what he’d done and how his actions snowballed into the mess that it became, he knew he wasn’t the right person. Peter was somehow more suited for this than he was.

Steve dropped and gripped his head, the tip of his nose burning as tears threatened to spill. But he can’t- couldn’t be weak right now, not with a threat looming over the entirety of the universe, so he swallows his emotions—guilt, fury, sadness—back.

Like his mama said, he has to stand up.

”Because, and you listen close, Steven… You always stand up.”

Despite the remorse that raged within him, he rose up with great difficulty and marched back to where Clint claimed everyone else was. He can’t hide from guilt right now. He needs to be the soldier the universe needs right now.

And yet, even when he knew what his duty was, he felt his chest squeeze in guilt.

The evening came too fast after having briefly spent the morning with the others. They said nothing to Steve about his betrayal or sickness, simply sitting in silence and washing the dishes after they were done eating. King T’Challa, Colonel Rhodes, Stark, Vision, and Wanda weren’t there, but Steve didn’t pay that any mind, leaving extra for them in case they wandered into the kitchen.

He left soon after he finished eating because, as much as he appreciated their silence, he felt a pang of grief and remorse each time he noticed their side glances. Natasha’s was especially painful, having immediately set his plate down and left when he noticed her staring.

By the evening, they set up in the common area for the meeting. Zemo had been confined in one of the guest rooms and watched over by FRIDAY, while Bucky was still asleep in one of the extra rooms.

Stark stood the furthest away from everyone, and there was a certain berth everyone gave him and Stark. He forced away any feelings that came with knowing that and continued with the meeting, his hands clenched at his sides.

“I’ll contact the government and ask for them to mend the Accords.” Stark said as he crossed his arms and looked about. “Seeing as how you’re all the ones who wanted them mended, what do you want me to ask them?”

“I want our privacy respected, I don’t want to be tracked for whatever I do or where I go, and I don’t want to be jailed for doing something like preventing a robbery because they consider it “vigilantism”.” Clint stated.

“I don’t want to operate in one country only and be given permission to work out of another country.” Natasha said. “It’s a liability if I’m chasing a villain and I need to wait for the nod of approval if they’re endangering the world again.”

“Mutants shouldn’t be monitored.” Leaning on the couch, Sam added. “Regulating their powers is like taking away their free will.”

Steve agreed with Sam, mostly because, after meeting Peter, having the boy imprisoned for a period of years after climbing a wall, as well as having to be monitored for everything he did, left a sour taste in his mouth. He was only a kid, and the government shouldn’t force him to suppress his abilities.

“The ban on self-aware androids shouldn’t exist.” Wanda said, crossing her arms.

Vision turned to her. “Wanda-”

“Vision shouldn’t be killed because of Ultron.” She said with finality.

Stark, after hearing everyone’s statements, tiredly rubbed his forehead. “‘K, so I’ll admit that the Accords don’t sound good when it’s laid out like this.”

“They weren’t a good idea at all.” Sam said.

Stark then turned to Steve. “Rogers?”

Steve blinked in surprise when he was called, then gaped slightly before choking out. “No,” he cleared his throat. “I’ve got nothing to add.”

There would be little purpose in adding any more modifications if the Accords were just going to be repealed later, not to mention the lack of consequences the Accords had on their final battle with Thanos given the number of vigilantes, sorcerers, aliens, and mutants that came to aid.

The Accords also included no mention of sorcery, aliens, or mutants, which practically rendered it useless to anyone but the Avengers.

Stark then glared, and the atmosphere immediately became both awkward and tense. “You were the one fighting me on the Accords, and you’ve got ‘nothing to add’.”

“Everyone brought up points I would’ve brought up, anyway.” Steve said.

Stark continued to stare, and Steve shifted, feeling his chest tighten and fighting against the impulse to double down and beg for forgiveness on both hands and knees. He’d done that the first time around, and it had just resulted in a door slamming in his face. He can’t be the one to seek forgiveness because, as Natasha said, he just needs to wait for Stark to come to him.

Forgiveness never came, though; because he was on the run, Stark began a family, and they were busy trying to bring everyone back. Then Stark died.

Steve was never more grateful for Clint’s interruption. “What’s going to happen now?”

“I will be taking Barnes and Zemo back to Wakanda.” King T’Challa responded, ignoring the stare down Stark and Steve had. “Zemo will be under Wakanda’s custody, and we will also help clear Barnes of his brainwash.”

Steve felt warm at the thought of King T’Challa helping Bucky again, giving an appreciative smile at that. “Thank you for helping him.”

“It is only appropriate to correct my mistake.” He said.

“Still, I’m in your debt for helping my friend.”

King T’Challa had now offered his assistance twice, and Steve still had nothing to offer for it, neither the first time around nor this time. Steve admired King T’Challa since he not only had to take over a kingdom when his pops died, but he was also offering to take care of Bucky’s brainwashing. Least of all, he offered a place of refuge for the first few months when they were on the run, and let Bucky stay with them until everything blew over to let him adjust to the future, even if King T’Challa doesn’t remember that particular detail.

“Anything else?” Sam asked. “‘Cause I gotta be heading back to the military soon.”

Steve pondered briefly if he should say he had a meeting with the kid but remained silent. He didn’t want to draw attention to him or Peter for the moment.

“Besides me making a few calls to the government, no.” Colonel Rhodes trailed behind Stark as he spoke, straightened and exited the room. “I’ll see you guys later.”

No one cared to stop him, and shortly after, everyone, save Natasha and Clint, said their reasons for leaving and departed. Steve turned to the remaining two in quiet inquiry.

“How’re you doing?” Natasha asked.

“I don’t feel sick.” Steve answered.

“With Stark.”

Steve paused and looked between Clint and Natasha, and after a moment, shrugged. “I can’t do anything about that now. I made my bed and I’ll lie in it.”

He's had seven years to come to terms with his betrayal of Stark, and in that time, he's learnt that Stark isn't one to be pitied or to stay down when he falls. He had and still has a lot of respect for him in that regard.

“Steve-”

He sighed through his nose and fixed his gaze on them, his throat tightening. “You understand guilt, so you know this is between me and Stark.” He felt awful for using this card against her, but he didn’t want to talk about how he continuously betrayed and used everyone since he knew he’d spiral if he ever got on that topic.

“Look, man, you don’t need to talk about it.” Clint said. “But at least tell us this: will you be okay?”

“Ask Stark that.” Steve responded. He didn’t need worry; he didn’t want it.

Clint sighed. “Steve, we’re worri-”

“It’s not me you should worry about.” Steve then went to leave. “I need to meet with someone, just…”

He sighed and stared at the ground, grimacing. “Worry about Stark for now. I betrayed him and he… he doesn’t need me to be around right now.”

“Steve, we can worry about you.” Natasha remarked.

He went to open his mouth before thinking better of it and leaving. The universe needs a soldier; it needs Captain America, and having the headstrong Steve Rogers would only make matters worse. It already had with the Civil War.

He shoved Steve Rogers to the back of his mind and left Natasha and Clint behind to meet with the kid.

Chapter Text

Rather than waking up in front of a dead Stephen Strange, with the universe splitting and everyone around him melting from reality in golden-lined ink, Peter woke to the sound of a lady humming and bacon popping, soon accompanied by the pungent stench of burnt eggs.

He looked around his old room, feeling surprised to see it again despite having to move out after his identity was revealed. He lay motionless, soaking in the sight of his old bedroom and the sound of the woman who sounded identical to Aunt May, until his brain caught up with him and his eyes widened in realisation.

May…

He straightened up and strained his ears to hear her sing a melody that Peter had always considered annoying, not because of her voice—no, he enjoyed hearing her voice more than anything else now—but because it was the song she sang every morning when it was her turn to cook.

He felt tears build up in his eyes, and he grinned madly, finally comprehending that he was in the past and allowing himself a breathy giggle in relief, astonishment, disbelief, and hysteria.

Aunt May was still alive.

He quickly leaned over to his desk and picked up his phone with a sense of urgency, letting himself hope that he would see a message from Cap- Steve. After immediately unlocking it, he let tears escape as he read the simple words: “I’m still here.”

He then cackled, laughing with childish glee.

He was in the past.

Time travel was theoretically impossible, at least not without impacting the present, yet here he was, in the past.

This defied so many laws in the universe that he was certain Mr. Stark would feel disappointed and thrilled and delighted and would go on to break more laws of the universe.

But it wasn’t technology that had transported him here, and he was well aware that it had something to do with the universe splitting. Was it magic that brought him into the past? Maybe it was Dr. Strange? But if Stephen was the one who brought him to the past, how? Why? Why not Stephen himself?

He then felt a pang of sorrow when he thought about Stephen.

Was Stephen dead? Is that why he isn’t here with him? Did Peter kill him?

When Peter woke up and saw that everything was still in place, that May was alive, Tony, and that Thanos hadn’t obliterated everyone in the entire universe yet, he thought it was the universe giving him one last dream to think everything over and make him regret the choices that led to killing the universe.

But now that he was laying here, finally accepting he was in the past, he finally felt the weight of everything that had happened.

He’d been in survival mode for so long, trying to get by and deal with dying and not doing enough to save the universe, the grief of losing Tony, then having his identity revealed, and hardly having time to grieve Aunt May, that it had begun to weigh heavily on his shoulders.

His awed and relieved cry turned regretful and grief-stricken.

He killed everyone.

He hiccuped and fiercely wiped his eyes, but the persistent stream of tears didn’t cease. He was furious at himself for making a mistake like that, a mistake he could never undo since he was oblivious to the devastation he was causing around him.

He killed everyone.

That wasn’t a mistake anyone can take back.

Why wasn’t Stephen here? Why was Steve here instead? Peter shouldn’t be the one dealing with the future. He wasn’t the right person. So why was he here? What about Ned and MJ, Peter one and two, and even the other universe villains? What happened to them?

Did he kill them?

As soon as the thought came to him, he pushed it aside.

He didn’t want to know if he killed them or not.

Peter returned his attention back to his phone and texted Steve back, realising he’d been looking at the ceiling. “Me too.” He then laid his phone back on his chest and resumed staring at the ceiling, stewing in his thoughts.

He destroyed the universe, and he knows he did because he didn’t hallucinate Stephen’s dead body on the ground, the horror-struck expressions of the other universe’s visitors, and the remorseful faces of MJ and Ned.

He knows he didn’t.

Not when Steve being in the past with him all but confirmed that future.

After a while of simply staring at the ceiling with his chest and throat tightening, along with his tears having stopped, he eventually came out of his trance when he heard the humming trail off and the slight click of the stovetop being turned off.

“Peter.” When she called out, his heart skipped a beat. He listened attentively as footsteps neared his door and abruptly realised with horror that he’d been crying. As much as he wanted to run into May’s arms, he didn’t want her to see him cry. Peter stumbled to a stand and turned around just as the door opened, wiping his face with his blanket. “Peter- oh, you’re awake; breakfast’s ready.”

Peter hummed, still wiping his face. “Okay, yeah, that’s, uh… thank you.”

He could feel May’s eyes on him, but he didn’t turn around to look at her. He didn’t have the courage to.

“Okay…?” May began walking into the hallway again. “When you’re done… Whatever you’re doing, come eat.”

“Yeah, thank you.” He said.

He slumped as he heard her walk away, a fresh wave of tears welling up in his eyes. Thor, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to being around her again.

He’s not sure how he even managed to be around three dead people yesterday.

Breakfast with May was awkward, at least for May, but Peter didn’t care; he was content to keep glancing at May to see whether she was still there despite the strange looks she kept giving him.

It was strange seeing someone he believed had died just two days before, and even then, it was difficult to accept she was actually alive, and that he had a chance to save her now.

He choked up when he heard her ask if something was wrong, but immediately covered it up by pretending he choked on his food. After some more stilted conversation and silence that stretched for a second too long, after he finished eating, Peter practically threw himself into his room after hugging May and spiralled again.

He really hated panic attacks.

As soon as May left for work and told him that he was going to school tomorrow, afterwards, he promptly curled up in his bed and cried until his eyes became swollen.

He really wasn’t prepared to see May again.

The day continued just like that, wondering what he would do in the past, what would happen, spiralling into yet another panic attack and crying when he thought about Tony and May.

Everything was so different in the past that it felt as if he was in an entirely new universe.

They weren’t the same May and Tony, MJ wasn’t his girlfriend, she didn’t even know him, Ned wasn’t exposed to much of the nitty gritty details of vigilantism, because they didn’t know him.

The technology wasn’t as advanced, there were no flyers about the blip, the world hasn’t gone through the same troubles as they had and aren’t as wise to it.

He hated it.

He wanted his May, his Tony, his MJ, his Ned.

However, the knowledge that he wasn't alone made him forever thankful, and the idea of having someone else there made him feel relieved.

When May returned home around twelve, she and Peter, much to May’s worry and Peter’s obliviousness, had a stilted conversation that resulted in her asking again if something was wrong before she ultimately went to bed for her early shift, and leaving Peter to change into his old Spider-Man suit.

Peter was beginning to regret giving away the suit, and he knew he should’ve held onto it until he had time to make a new costume, but he would’ve felt more bad if he kept it and actually used it.

He opened his window and leapt out, his movements slower compared to the first time he had used Mr. Stark’s suit. He didn’t do as many flips or tricks, simply concentrating on where to find Steve before landing on a ledge and frowning.

He forgot to ask Steve where they were meeting.

He sighed as he pulled out his phone.

← (Steve Rogers (Captain America!!!))

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Tues, Apr 12
1:31 a.m.

Where are we meeting?
1:31 a.m.

I thought we were supposed to meet earlier?
1:31 a.m.

We were?!?!??!
Holy crap
Did I just ghost you!??!?!
I’m so sorry!!!!!
1:31 a.m.

No, it’s fine, kid.
How about we meet at the Brooklyn Bridge?
1:31 a.m.

Yeah! Sounds good!
Again
I’m ssoooo sorry about ghosting you!!!
1:31 a.m.

It’s fine, kid.
1:31 a.m.

It was hard to tell through text if he was genuinely fine with Peter ghosting Captain America, and as he made his way through the city, he made clumsy movements in a bundle of nerves.

Holy shit.

He ghosted Captain America.

Ned and MJ would’ve never let him live it down if they knew.

But that wouldn't happen because MJ and Ned don't know he’s Spider-Man.

He shook the thought away.

As Peter swung to the bridge, he spotted a man wearing a hat and resting on the railing, watching the wading water with an indecipherable expression. He landed nearby and watched as the man turned to smile grimly at him.

“Queens.” He greeted him.

He then watched him look up, his blue eyes astonishingly brighter than any other aspect of his face. They were pretty, and he wasn’t sure why Steve was hiding them behind half-lidded eyes. He blinked when he noticed he was staring and nodded in acknowledgement.

“Hi, Brooklyn.” Peter cringed and made an apologetic face, even if it was hidden behind his mask. “I’m so sorry; I just assumed, and I don’t want to take you away from anything you’re doing. I know you aren’t a late sleeper, and-”

Steve chortled. “I said it was fine, kid. Quit worrying.”

“Okay…”

Peter awkwardly stood where he was standing, and when Steve quirked a brow in a silent question, Peter shrugged, and not a second later, Steve waved as an invitation to join him. Peter, albeit hesitantly, came to his side and gripped the railing with both of his hands, the lights of the city brightening the sky.

He noted a ferry passing underneath and smiled bitterly, reminiscing about the last time he went on a particular field trip on a certain ferry.

He really should quit going on MIT-funded field trips.

“What happened to your suit?” Steve asked after a second, his chin resting on his palm.

Peter was wearing his old suit that Tony had so gracefully nicknamed “underwear.” It wasn’t exactly the best uniform. There wasn’t much defence, and there was no Karen, but it brought back a lot of memories of when he didn’t have a responsibility as burdensome as his.

“I gave it back to Tony.” Peter replied, leaning back on his heels and rocking from the rails.

Steve returned his attention to him, astonished. “You gave it back?”

“I…” Peter was at a loss for words. He paused for a bit before deciding on the truth. “I’m not worthy of it. In the future, I… messed up a lot.”

Steve remained silent, and Peter wasn’t sure if he was grateful for no interruption or not. Grateful because he knew he wouldn’t be able to say what happened in the future if he was interrupted, but not exactly grateful because the future was painful and just thinking about talking about it hurt.

“2024,” Peter began, straightening himself and hanging his head. "The universe collapsed.”

They were simple words, but everything dawned on him at once, and he spilled every emotion he kept in for the last four days.

"I wanted Stephen, the, um, sorcerer, to make everyone forget about Spider-Man because my identity was revealed and it ruined my friends' chances for college, but I accidentally messed up his spell and caused the universe to destabilise." He licked his lips and shook his head sadly.

“It… everyone is…” His breath became shaky, and he trailed off, ducking his head and ignoring the sting of his eyes where tears threatened to spill.

The implications were enough to earn a hiss of sympathy from Steve, which caused Peter to duck his head further.

“You’re too young to go through that.” He says, though it doesn’t do much to lighten the weight on the kids’ shoulders.

“Nobody’s young enough to kill the universe.”

Silence reigned.

“I’m sorry.”

Peter looked back at Steve, stunned. “Why?” He asked because he truly didn’t understand why he was sorry.

Peter was the one who killed everyone.

Peter destroyed the universe.

It was his fault.

Instead of answering, Steve says: “2012.”

He stares at the water, as if there were something hidden in it, waiting for the person jogging to run past them before continuing. “When I was returning the stones, I was planning on stopping by 1945 and staying there, but someone changed my mind. But instead of heading back to 2023, the watch—what Banner and Stark created to help us with the time heist; I’ll tell you more about it later—tossed me into the void. I don’t know how long I was there. I think I would’ve stayed there eternally if I wasn’t offered a second chance.”

“I’m sorry…” Muttered Peter.

Steve shook his head again. “Not your fault, kid.”

“I let your sacrifice go to waste by helping destroy the universe.” He hunched further, hiccuping. “I let Black Widow, Tony, and everyone’s sacrifice go in vain.”

“Kid…”

“I’m sorry…”

“I know you feel that you’re at fault, but… if we’re really here in the past and we aren’t going to wake up tomorrow back in the present, then…” He looked at Peter, his eyes blazing with determination. “We can prevent what will happen.”

“Why?” Peter sobbed. “I killed everyone.”

“Listen to me." Steve rested his hands on Peter’s shoulders, not realising they were shaking until Steve grounded him. “Kid, I need you to listen. I don’t know what happened to you, but I need you to know that I- we as adults, should’ve been looking out for you. We shouldn’t have let you go through that, and I’m sorry, but we can’t back down now. Not when we have a chance.”

Peter’s breath hitched.

“We can fix everything, okay?”

He jerkily nodded and let out another sob, feeling arms engulf his body, and he violently trembled. “Everything?” He murmured, as if it were his only lifeline.

”Everything.”

That was all the confirmation Peter needed.

Chapter Text

When Thanos awoke, he was met with a blissful silence and an unobstructed vista of the infinite universe above him, stars glittering in the expanse. No one else was there in the debris of the ruined structure, save for himself and the murmurs of his children from outside the building.

He realised he was in one of the worlds he had spared, and as he carefully looked around, he noticed there were bodies littered throughout the room.

His chest was in agony, as if something foreign was embedded in him, and he rose despite his bones protesting, his head pounding as he brushed the dust and blood off himself. He could feel the power of the stones course through him, oxidising his oxygen with gamma radiation far faster than before, slowly losing his own breath, but despite the burning in his body, his bones creaking with each movement, and his vision splotching out in certain parts, he smiled.

It was a challenging journey into the past, and he wasn’t sure if he would survive after having his soul torn apart and violently injected into his former self, murdering his younger self’s soul in the process, but he was certain that his former self would understand what he was attempting to accomplish.

He tapped his elbow in a grateful manner, thankful for the sacrifice. But his smile soon vanished when he saw a young girl’s figure laid out in front of him. He stared for a moment, wondering what life this little girl must’ve led, before bending down and tucking her hair behind her ear, softly brushing her eyes shut.

“Now you look as if you’re sleeping, little one.” Thanos murmured, rising back up. “I thank you for your sacrifice.”

Before learning about the infinity stones, he always found his way of accomplishing his mission to be barbaric, reminding him of when he was a victim of such genocide himself, and he doesn’t recall the majority of his victims from how many planets he had saved nevermind how much he wants to.

Nevertheless, he will always feel sorry for the deaths of the children, especially after Gamora.

He closed his eyes in relief when he remembered that Gamora was now alive, most likely with her lover and that make-belief family that deluded her.

He can have her back now.

This mission he awoke to was like the many other missions he’d been on for centuries, a repetition that no one but himself would understand. It was repetition of conquering planets, exterminating the other half, taking those he deems useful, and searching for clues as to where the infinity stones were.

He was and still is a saviour despite what many may protest, and he thought he was alone in this endeavour until he spoke with the stones.

“My mission is complete; I have no need to continue.” Thanos had told the infinity stones, observing how they listened intently to his words. Beyond his children, not many would listen to the man they claimed was the ‘mad titan,’ and he was more than grateful for there being no interruption.

Thor, having learned what the child’s name was, had listened and gone for the head. Thanos allowed his death to happen, having watched the sunset after accomplishing his mission and destroying the stones. There was no need to trophy the stones after he completed what he set out to do.

Peace, as it turned out, was glorious.

It was brief, though, since when he died, he awoke in what appeared to be a void like space. He had laughed at the idea that he would never find serenity, even in death. But he supposed that was how his story ended.

But instead of floating in space for infinity, Thanos was taken aback by the sight of the six stones in front of him. He assumed they would accuse him, point their fingers at him, and refer to him as “mad,” claiming that he was insane and there was no redemption for him, torturing him for eternity.

It made him scoff at such a lack of foresight; he was only trying to save everyone from destroying themselves, not because he was mad.

But that is not what the stones did. They listened to him, to his reasons, and offered him a second chance.

They were full of malice; it turned out.

This universe is dreadful, they said.

They want it to be reset, they said.

“I only wish for balance.” Thanos answered.

Then they told him the truth.

The loss of the other half was so severe that even with their departure, the other half did not flourish as he had hoped. After he lost once again five years later, during what the heroes dubbed the “time heist,” they suffered and suffered some more.

It was pitiful.

The planet that the terrarians refer to as “earth” lost its brave hero, Tony Stark, a terrarian who sacrificed his life in defence of their philosophy that there shouldn’t have been balance brought to the universe. The day his past self returned to do what he set out to do through watching Nebula’s memories. A young man lost his mentor, a little girl lost her father, and a brave woman lost her husband.

In order for there to be true balance, the stones wanted all life to be reset, just as younger Thanos had intended when he’d gone nine years into the future to complete what he’d finished.

He accepted the offer and felt as if he was shaking hands with the devil. Some moments passed and there was a sudden jolt through his very being. He felt as though his soul was being torn apart and dissected in preparation for his journey into the past. His insides were burning with an intensity he had never experienced before.

His chest hurt more, yet he didn’t fight it because it was a gift for his troubles.

Take me with you, the power stone asked.

Who was he to deny the one fulfilling his wishes?

Yet, he still felt fear for his own life.

A thought crossed his mind as he was being torn: would his soul survive the journey, or would this tear his very being apart?

Then he woke up.

When he noticed his obedient kids standing close to the doorway, staring curiously, Thanos exited the room. With a chuckle at their puzzled faces, he touched Ebony’s head and saw him reverently smiling back at him.

“Hello, my child.” Greeting them, he withdrew and looked at the gathered and stacked bodies of this planet’s victims. A sacrifice barbaric, but needed for peace.

“We’re finished, father.” Ebony said.

“Well done.” He praised him, watching as he brightened up at his words.

“Where to next?” Proxima asked.

He turned back to where his ship was and walked towards it, saying. “Patience, my dear, for we have a new mission.”

He contemplated briefly whether he should offer his children a swift death now, but he soon realised that they would be considerably more useful living right now than if they died right away. Because of their devotion and his affection for them, he noted that they are the last to survive before the universe is reset. His final gift for his children’s love towards him.

“What’s our new mission?” She questioned him as she followed him in a brisk walk.

“We are pursuing the infinity stones.” Instead, he answered. There would be no use telling the truth.

Ebony’s eyes widened. “You know where they are?”

“Yes, but before we go after them,” he smiled softly, almost wistfully. “We are picking up your sister.”

“Nebula?” Proxima asked, barely restraining her grimace.

“Gamora.”

Both Proxima and Ebony’s eyes widened in alarm.

“The traitor?” Ebony exclaimed.

“She may be a traitor, but she is still your sister and my daughter.” After stating this, Thanos turned around to observe the remainder of his army boarding their own spacecraft. “She is useful.”

Proxima went to open her mouth, most likely in protest, Thanos assumed, but Ebony quickly interjected her.

“Where are the stones then, father?” Ebony asked, saying after. “We will pick them up for you while you go and get Gamora.”

“That will be very helpful if you can accomplish that.” With the two following close behind, he entered the spaceship. “But I don’t currently know where they are precisely located. Until I’m certain that they’re where they should be, we will have to wait to pick them up.”

Proxima furrowed her brow in perplexity. “You don’t know where they are right now, but you know where they’ll be in the future?” She enquired.

“Yes.” He clarified.

“Father-”

She cut herself off when he gave them both a look that indicated they should return to their posts, silently informing them that he is to not be questioned anymore. His chest thumped in pain, the gamma radiation flowing through him, but he remained strong, unwilling to share the details of the stone’s wishes.

“Yes, father.” With a fast step, they both headed back to their places.

Once they were out of sight, he felt the faint hum of the power stone located near his chest, softly smiling, touching the area where it had nestled itself. Even if the gamma radiation was poisoning him, and he knew he would die within two years, he knew that the stones would never betray him.

It was their gift to him before they pushed him back in time, and he’d be a fool to reject such a thing.

“Thank you; I’ll see to it that all of your wishes come true.” He muttered, feeling it buzz in response to his words, and then it became silent.

He activated the communication device and gave the order for his entire army to go to the next planet on the list, using a stronger voice this time instead of his soft murmur. “Kill all the denizens on the planet.”

He was well aware that what he was ordering would shock everyone, but he couldn’t back down now, especially now that he had a new mission and had to fulfil the will of the stones.

He will make sure to complete this mission.

Chapter Text

Steve didn’t sleep that night, thoughts of his and Peter’s conversation swirling through his mind.

After he reassured Peter that they could fix everything, they continued talking about what happened during the blip and what happened afterwards.

If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d think the universe was out to make the kid’s life as miserable as possible.

“Mysterio, he was a, uh… bad guy. He was the one who betrayed me. I thought I could trust him with Tony’s legacy, but I couldn’t. He told me he was from another universe, and that’s another thing; apparently the multiverse exists!” Peter awkwardly chuckles but drops his smile. “He framed me for his own murder, and my identity was revealed. Then… then the multiverse thing happened, and...”

Steve laid a hand on his shoulder reassuringly, feeling him flinch from the action but not pull away.

He took a long breath in and said carefully, almost hauntingly. “The people from the other universe, one of the villains, killed Aunt May.”

He sniffled and hung his head. “I wanted to kill him. I tried to kill him. He wasn’t even in the right state of mind, and I tried killing him.”

It sounded uncannily similar to what he and Stark had experienced in Siberia, and Steve began feeling queasy, tightening his grasp on Peter’s shoulder. He was at a loss for words and let the boy cry, knowing he deserved it after everything he’d been through.

Steve couldn’t bring himself to ask the kid for further information before they parted ways, but he knew the kid was tough, even after that final battle with Thanos and coming back to fight after dying.

He remembered Stark muttering about losing the kid and saying that Morgan was his second chance before the time heist. While he was curious about who the kid was, he was more concerned about Stark’s wellbeing.

Now that he’d finally learned who ‘the kid’ was after meeting Peter, he was somewhat saddened by the fact he hadn’t met him earlier. He was a good kid, and he could see why Stark had kept him around for as long as he did.

Steve gazed around the room, having remained at a nearby hotel rather than the tower since he felt it was too confining with half the team still around, especially after revealing what he’d done to Tony. He had a feeling the others didn’t mind him being gone for the night, either.

He informed Clint that he would be staying at the hotel, and when Clint informed him that he would be flying home with Bucky, King T’Challa, and Zemo, Steve asked him to let him know of their departure.

All he had to do now was pass the time.

So he merely plotted how he would obtain the infinity stones.

Some stones were more difficult to get than others, given that the majority were in space and some were hidden by political, or in Vision’s case, living, obstacles. The soul stone was the trickiest as well, given that it required a sacrifice, and Steve wasn’t willing to sacrifice anyone he loved to obtain it.

He also wasn’t sure where most of them were located at the moment, and he understood that removing the mind stone from Vision would take some time and was a perilous process, most likely killing him in the process, if Bruce was correct. And he had no doubts about what the scientist claimed.

The most he could do was track them down with the help of Fury, but asking and having to tell Fury about the future after the Mysterio fiasco wasn’t exactly at the top of his priority list.

He tried to defend Fury, assuring Peter that Fury wasn’t generally so inept, but it was his carelessness that had ruined Peter’s life, and he let the defence drop immediately after coming to the realisation.

He momentarily pondered informing Fury behind Peter’s back, but he wouldn’t do that to the kid, and there wasn’t much Fury could do to aid him other than call Captain Marvel. But without Fury’s assistance, they had no means of reaching Captain Marvel—not that he was particularly eager to do so given her snooty demeanour—and without Captain Marvel, it was difficult to get a gauge of what was going on in outer space and, in turn, Thanos’ movements.

For the time being, the best he could do was keep an eye on the time stone and mind stone while slipping hints of Thanos’s future attack on the universe to the other Avengers and Fury. Subtlety wasn’t exactly his strong point, but it’s not like they’ll accuse him of being from the future given that there wasn’t much theory for time travel until Stark, if it ever comes to that point.

Feeling somewhat content with his arrangements, he absently notes to share his plans with Peter later and gets ready, dressing in a basic jacket and cap, with the intention of returning to the tower to see the four off.

Steve left the hotel, feeling less satisfied and more nervous about the future than when he first arrived.

“Good morning.” He greeted Clint with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“You look like shit, man.” Was the first thing Clint said.

“Feel like it.” He responded.

Clint chuckled and patted him on the back. “I’m returning home; are you going to see us off?”

“Yeah, are you going back to your family?” He inquired.

“Yeah, gotta.”

“Good,” Steve replied as they headed to the roof together. “You shouldn’t have left them in the first place.”

“I couldn’t leave you behind to deal with the Accords alone.” He declared, much to Steve’s confusion. When he saw his puzzled expression, he grinned. “I’m going to follow you, even if I betray the country to do so in the process.”

When Clint opened the roof hatch and Steve saw the trio—King T’Challa, Zemo, and Bucky—standing near the plane, he frowned, wondering how long they were standing there, and narrowed his eyes when the sun hit his face.

He shook his head, disappointed by Clint, as they parted ways. “Still, you shouldn’t have done that. My cause has nothing to do with you leaving your family. It shouldn’t have even come to that.”

Clint shrugged and walked away from him, nonchalant. “If you’re denying my loyalty, then fine; I only came to help because I didn’t agree with the Sokovia Accords.”

“Clint-“

“I’ll be in the jet; see you later when there’s another world-destroying threat, or we have some press conference or some meeting.”

Steve groaned, his scowl deepening, but he turned to face the others, who were gazing at him with interest.

“It’s good to see you, King T’Challa.” He greeted him, smiling as King T’Challa reciprocated with a casual smile of his own.

“Please, it is just T’Challa.”

“T’Challa, then.” Steve answered. “How did you enjoy your stay in New York?”

“It was… eventful.”

Steve laughed and gave Zemo a sidelong glance before returning his focus to T’Challa. “I bet.” His look suddenly softened into one of regret. “I’m sorry you had to see… that. I’m also sorry I couldn’t properly greet you before.”

T’Challa nodded slowly, making an ‘ah’ look. “Internal arguments were bound to happen with a group such as yours.”

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t have brought any of you into it.”

“There is no need to worry; I will not tell others if that is what you’re worried about.” He said. “I understand how difficult it is to keep your reputation.”

Steve cringed as he noticed Bucky’s grimace from the corner of his eyes. “I’m not exactly worried about my reputation,” he murmured before speaking aloud. “Are you heading straight to Wakanda now?”

“Yes, as much as I enjoyed my time outside the Wakandan borders, home is home.”

“No better place than home.”

“Indeed.”

After a brief pause. “Can Steve come too?” Bucky asked quietly, gathering the attention of the two, which drew Steve’s attention to T’Challa curiously.

Steve had been there the last time he entered the cryogenic chamber, but he wasn’t sure how much of the future he altered by just him and Peter puking their guts out the first day they were in the past.

“Wakanda has a strict rule regarding a ban on foreigners.” T’Challa expressed regret.

Steve frowned. An unfortunate consequence of changing the future of the Avengers, but one he understood. “Ah… that’s unfortunate.” He replied lamely, looking back at Bucky with a regretful expression.

He then smiled in an attempt to cheer him up. “It’s not that big of an issue. I’ll be seeing you in…” He looked at T’Challa questioningly.

’Seven months,’ Steve thought to himself. That was how long it took last time for Bucky’s brainwashing to be cleared.

Almost on queue, T’Challa says. “Seven months.”

Well, at least he didn’t change the timeline that much. He was grateful for that.

Bucky solemnly nodded, and Steve grinned, patting his shoulder before looking at Zemo again, who wore an arrogant grin when he noticed Steve’s stare that was tinged with resentment.

“Sokovia was a failed state long before you blew it to hell. No. I’m here because I made a promise.”

While Steve didn’t agree with Zemo’s methods of revenge, he hated that the Avengers caused his suffering, and even though he knew Ultron was solely responsible for his family’s deaths, he couldn’t help but feel bad for not reining in the conflict and moving the battle to a more secluded region.

“Take a picture while you’re at it. It’ll last longer.” Zemo remarked.

Steve sighed and turned back to Bucky. “You seem to get along with him.”

“No.” Bucky says while simultaneously Zemo declares. “We’re best-friends.”

While Steve was somewhat unnerved by the look his friend was giving Zemo, as if he would tear him apart with the clothes on his back, he merely chortled in mirth. When he heard his chuckle, he glared at Steve, who only shrugged in amusement. He wasn’t going to do anything; this was the most personality he’d seen of Bucky that wasn’t directed towards him even before they were pardoned.

Even if Zemo was the one annoying him, Steve didn’t mind so much as long as someone was making him react with anything other than a blank look or scowl.

“By the way…” Zemo began, the three turning to him in curiosity at the abrupt change in conversation. “Have you heard what became of Sokovia?”

He continued when they didn’t respond. “Cannibalised by its neighbours before the land was cleared of rubble, erased from the map. I don’t suppose any of you bothered visiting the memorial?”

It was clear none of them were expecting anyone to say anything to that, whether at the sudden shock of the words or they had nothing to add, and Zemo softly scoffed, about to say something, before they quickly became baffled when Steve said louder than he intended. “I did.”

He cleared his throat during the awkward pause that followed, faltering on the spot and clearing his throat again when he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“It was a nice memorial,” he clarified after a moment, ignoring Zemo and Bucky, who were staring at him with indecipherable expressions. “But I uh… couldn’t stay for long.”

“Huh…” Zemo said.

“I went for Wanda, she… uh, wanted to honour Sokovia.”

Zemo curiously curled a brow. “Even with its flaws?”

“Despite it being a failing state.” He confirmed.

“While that is nice to know, we must be leaving now.” T’Challa said from the side.

“I didn’t mean to keep you.” Steve apologised as he stood some distance from the jet’s bridge, eyeing the three and ignoring Zemo and Bucky’s stares as they entered the jet.

While he could understand the reason for Zemo’s stare, now that he had a slightly respectful gaze for him instead of the phoney grin he was giving him previously, he couldn’t figure out why Bucky was staring at him.

He gave Bucky a questioning look and watched as he nodded in farewell, Steve blinking in surprise and giving him a gentler grin. “I’ll see you soon, Buck.”

Steve, despite the fact that Bucky couldn’t even smile, huffed in amusement as Bucky’s lips straightened into what he believed was a smile, but looked more like a grimace. He then inquired of T’Challa. “I’ll be seeing you when Bucky’s alright?”

He didn’t want to intrude, mostly since T’Challa had done far too much for him, even if he didn’t remember, but he wanted to know. No matter how much T’Challa or anyone had done for him, Bucky was worth every hurdle it took to find him.

“Yes.” T’Challa said, nodding as well.

“Where’s my goodbye?” Zemo inquired, which was promptly ignored.

It was then that Clint chose to stick his head out from the cockpit, slightly frowning as he yelled. “Come on, we gotta go now!”

“I’ll be seeing you guys.” Steve said.

He stood there watching as they entered the plane, getting into their seats when the bridge began to rise to cover the hatch. He smiled at Bucky one last time before they put him back in the cryogenic freezer for seven months, to which Bucky responded with a faint grin.

“Good luck.” He mouthed.

Bucky nodded, and the bridge closed.

Steve stood a safe distance away from the jet as it began hovering. He remained in the same spot, hands in his pockets, watching the craft fly further and further away from the tower until it was nothing more than a black speck in the distance.

Steve felt rather alone standing here, subconsciously, without anyone else, but the cameras he knew were watching his every move. FRIDAY was punctual like that. He knew he shouldn’t be here for long now that his reason for being here had left, yet thinking about Stark made him wince and want to hunt him down just to apologise.

But instead of listening to his urge to make up with him, he reminded himself that it was his fault and that he couldn’t beg to fix his friendship with him again. For the time being, all he can do is hope that the Avengers don’t split before Thanos arrives.

Steve sighed, and for the nth time since arriving in the past, he felt he wasn’t the right person for this job.

Chapter Text

“Are you okay, Peter?” Aunt May asked him, and he tiredly turned to her, biting back a grimace.

He really shouldn’t have gone patrolling after his meeting with Steve.

“Yeah.” He lazily answered.

“Are you sure? You’ve been different since the internship.” Her gaze then sharpened. “Did Stark do something?”

With a sigh through his nose and a shrug, Peter stopped himself before he said something false or brutally honest.

What didn’t Tony do?

Peter knew it was stupid, but even after Tony lied to him about the Accords, something he didn't agree with after learning what they were, and blackmailed him into helping—he didn't get an apology—he never regretted meeting him. He wasn’t a bad man despite everything.

Tony gave and gave to him without ever expecting anything in return. Every time Peter did something stupid, he would worry about him, even if his worry would hinder him. He’d support him by attending his competitions and tournaments, even if it meant skipping an important conference or going on a date with Ms. Potts.

He wasn’t perfect, and Peter learned that fact the hard way.

Tony, while a father figure, wasn’t a mentor to him.

Peter would always clean up his mistakes; his actions hindered him, and he never learned anything from him regarding self-defence or even inventing. His last will burdened him, and although it was his fault for being naïve and entrusting it to Mysterio, he shouldn't have received such a gift until he was older.

Well.

He was older now.

He still didn’t want EDITH.

Aunt May’s face pinched in worry. “…Peter? What did he do?”

He thickly swallowed and shook his head. “Nothing, May, he just… he’s not bad. He didn’t do anything.”

“Then what is it?”

Peter opened his mouth and closed it, feeling himself tear up and softly shaking his head. No more lies. “I have something to tell you.”

“What?”

“I’m Spider-Man.”

There was a heavy silence that followed.

She narrowed her eyes. “Who?”

Spider-Man isn't popular yet. Fuck.

His ears weren’t ringing from Aunt May yelling at him when he finally made it to class, his eyes weren’t red from tearfully explaining to her why he became Spider-Man, and his heart wasn’t racing because Aunt May was actively trying to stop him from being a vigilante.

May didn’t yell at him, ground him, give him a curfew, or sit him down and chastise him for another three hours. She wasn’t upset at Peter for lying. She simply let him go to school after he explained why and sat in solitude when he left.

He wasn’t sure if this was an improvement or a downgrade from the last time. He preferred her anger over her silence.

He felt as if he were wading through water, his vision conflated, and his head was away from him as he shifted to his desk with his feet dragging behind him. He heard Flash’s taunt and his tone along with it, but merely gave him a stiff, straight-lipped look and sat at his desk.

The idea was a bit… ridiculous.

But maybe he should try to befriend Flash?

He pushed the thought away.

There weren’t many people present in the room, with only him, Flash, and a couple of other students. But as long as Ned and MJ weren’t around, he was okay with it. He was fine being alone. MJ being unable to recognize him would only hurt, and Ned, not knowing he was Spider-Man, stung more than he’d like to admit.

Peter felt his forehead hit the desk and his arms wrapped around his head as if he was guarding himself from something. He felt weak. He felt exposed. He felt naked.

He missed his guy in the chair.

He missed his girlfriend.

He wanted Stephen back.

He wanted Tony back.

He wanted Aunt May.

He didn’t want this responsibility anymore.

“Parker.”

Peter sprung to attention, straightening his back and sweeping his gaze across the room with a weary expression. As the students started to leave and sometimes glance at him without saying anything, he looked up to discover Mr. Harrington standing in front of him, looking at him with soft concern.

Did he fall asleep? When? How?

“Are you alright?” He asked. “You slept the entire class.”

Startled, he blinked. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just had a rough sleep.” Or any.

Peter began packing his books immediately, feeling ashamed and embarrassed that he had fallen asleep in front of so many people in class. He felt a little vulnerable, in a way. He knew he shouldn’t feel that way when he knew these people and knew they hadn’t done anything too bad to him after finding out he was Spider-Man, but that distrust was still there.

He was especially wary of being vulnerable in front of them when he found out people took pictures of him and posted them on social media behind his back when he was doing normal day-to-day things.

They leaked every information in his life online. They brought up Tony too many times. They spread lies, slander, harsh truths, his money situation, everything that was even the slightest bit interesting.

He was a murderer to them.

He felt like they murdered him, too.

“Parker? Are you sure?” Harrington asked again. “If you need help or someone to talk to, reach out to someone you can trust.”

It slipped out without his meaning to. Really, he didn’t mean for it to. But it just did.

“There’s no one, not really, anymore.”

His eyes widened in horror as he looked at Mr. Harrington, who appeared more concerned than ever. His mind raced with excuses, thinking of what to say because this wasn’t his Mr. Harrington, who had gone through the same challenges.

This wasn’t Mr. Harrington, who’d been through the blip, went on traumatic field trips with the Decathlon team, who offered his assistance and provided an escape if Peter was being swarmed too much when it was discovered he was Spider-Man.

This wasn’t Mr. Harrington.

Peter laughed, distraught and hysterical.

“It’s nothing. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t have any sleep. Just uh… ignore me. Please? Please?” He pleaded, and without hearing a response, shoved the rest of his books in his bag and scurried out of the room.

He wasn’t Mr. Harrington.

“Dude-”

Peter’s heart sank.

Without comprehending it, he found himself on the other side of the school.

Peter sought a quiet location outside, his hands clenched and his breath stuttering. Just as he was alone, he gasped as if out of breath, suppressing his whimpers as he grasped his shoulders in a tight hug.

“I don’t know them. I don’t know them.” He murmured, tightly squeezing his eyes shut as his breathing quickened. “I don’t know them. I don’t know them.”

Stephen’s words scurry to the forefront of his mind, ’You’re having a panic attack. Just follow my breathing, kid.’

“They don’t know me. I don’t know them.”

Stephen took a deep breath in.

Peter took a deep, stilted breath in.

Stephen exhaled.

Peter felt his thrumming heart settle as he exhaled, his muttering becoming intelligible. “I want them back. Give them back.”

’You’re doing well, kid. Just keep breathing.’

“I want my friends.”

’Slow your thoughts down, where are you right now?’

“The Statue of liberty.”

’What’s happening?’

“I killed you, Stephen. I killed you and everyone.”

’You’re here, kid. You’re safe. Name five things you can feel.’

“M-Mm… My cl—othes.”

’That’s one.’

“The b-bark… of the… t-tree.”

’Two.’

“J-Jeans… My jeans.”

’Three.’

“My- My back… pack.”

’Four.’

“My s-sweater.”

’Five. What’s your name and where do you go to school?’

“Peter P-Parker. Midtown high…”

’Superhero name?’

“Spider-Man.”

’Good. Favourite hero?’

“Iron Man.”

’Less than good, but we’ll work on making me your favourite hero.’

Peter let out a wet chuckle.

’Let’s try again. Breathe in.’

Peter took a deep breath in.

’Breathe out.’

He exhaled.

’Better?’

“I don’t know…”

’Can you think clearly, then?’

His mind was quiet.

Peter hit his head on the tree with a soft thunk, reopening his eyes. The bright day outside had temporarily blinded his eyesight, but he could feel the unmistakable sensation of tears flowing down his cheeks. He squinted and blinked the light out, his nose stinging and his throat tight.

“What do I do, Stephen?” Muttered Peter.

His chest squeezed when he didn’t hear a reply.

A buzz came from his pocket then, and he took out his phone, too numb to comprehend that Steve was calling him. He looked at it for a moment, his finger hovering above the answer button. It would take one swipe, and he would be left with just his thoughts. That was all it would take. Steve would be okay with him not answering as well; at least he hoped so.

But he didn’t want to be alone.

“Brooklyn?” He croaked.

“…Queens? You alright? You sound rough.”

“Bad day.” He vaguely answered, sniffling and rubbing the tears away. “Did something happen? Do you need help?”

Steve paused momentarily before speaking up again. ”No, kid. I wanted to discuss what we’re going to do with the stones.”

“We aren’t leaving them alone?” Peter asked.

”As much as I want to leave them where they are, if we aren’t getting any outside help from Fury,” Peter pinched his face at the mention of Fury, ”we’ll need to get the stones before Thanos. You’ve seen Thanos’s power firsthand, we can’t fight that face to face.”

“But the mind stone is Vision’s lifeline, and Stephen won’t give up the time stone just for this, a-and he won’t even believe us if we told him, and I don’t even know where the other stones are-”

“You’re Stark’s intern, right?” He asked abruptly, cutting him off from his spiralling thoughts.

“Huh? Y-Yeah? I mean, not now, but I was.”

”Remember the time heist I told you about?”

Peter hummed, almost amazed that Tony had invented actual time travel. Keyword: almost. He wasn’t surprised that he, of all people, can invent time travel. Tony wasn’t a genius of their time for nothing. He never needed magic or the infinity stones to accomplish the things that he did.

Peter’s eyes widened. “Wait, you think that I-?”

”No, I don’t doubt that you’re a genius, but even Bruce couldn’t invent time travel without Stark’s assistance.”

He sighed in relief. “Yeah, I don’t think I can create time travel, either.”

”In case things go awry and Thanos destroys the stones again—”

“Again?!”

”—we’ll need a backup plan.”

Peter remained silent at the implications.

“We need to tell Tony.” He uttered quietly. There was silence on the other end, and he frowned. “How do you feel about it?”

”We don’t have a choice.”

“But he won’t believe us.”

”Not yet. But he’ll believe you.”

“I don’t- we aren’t close. He doesn’t remember me anymore.” Peter pulled his hair back, feeling a fresh wave of tears come back. “We don’t have movie nights anymore. I can’t go to his lab. We aren’t getting takeout every Friday. He’s not getting after me for being reckless, I don’t- he doesn’t know me.”

“He doesn’t know you yet.”

‘Yet.’

Peter allowed himself to hope.

Almost damningly, he says with the vulnerability of a kid afraid of the dark, “I’m scared.”

”I’m scared, too.”

“What if he doesn’t like me?”

”You’re an easy person to like.”

“He isn’t Tony.”

Silence.

”He’s Tony, just… got a different start to the one we know- knew.”

“No one’s been through what we’ve been through. They’re strangers.”

”Isn’t that a good thing? They shouldn’t have to suffer like we did.”

“Can we fix everything?”

”Everything.”

He let himself hope.

Aunt May wasn't home when he returned, but he didn't waste time, opening the closet and pulling out the disused, dusty sewing machine, brushing the dust away with his hand as he brought it to his room and laid it down on his desk.

He wasn't talented when it came to sewing; nicking his finger an uncomfortable amount of time with the needle, but he needed to do this.

He repurposed the cloth from his previous suit to create the new material and began dotting lines on it to stitch in a new pattern.

He wanted it to resemble his brothers.

Peter knew his suit wouldn’t be done anytime soon, and if he was guessing right, May wouldn’t let him go out as Spider-Man for a while. He didn’t mind staying home.

He wanted to believe that Aunt May was still his aunt, just with a different start.

”Isn’t that a good thing? They shouldn’t have to suffer like we did.”

So, he held onto that hope as he sewed.

Chapter Text

As Sam opened the door to the rooftop, he spotted Stark standing alone near the jet, nothing but cars honking in the distance, shouts and laughs that echoed from the streets below, and a black sky above, the stars hidden behind heavy clouds.

Sam had got the kid’s number earlier when he ran into him on his way to meet with Stark, and he wasn’t a bad kid aside from being awkward. But he wasn’t concerned about the kid’s social skills, and he turned away from the view to stare at Stark with crossed arms and a stern yet curious gaze.

Getting straight to the point, Sam asked. “Why’d you bring the kid?”

“I got desperate.” He replied lamely, almost instantaneously, as if he had prepared for this answer beforehand.

“That’s not an answer; you’d be sued and have a bad public reputation for endangering a kid.” At Stark’s quirked brow, he rolled his eyes and sighed through his nose, both exasperated and disbelieving. “Not that you care about your reputation, but if his parents found out you were endangering him, it wouldn’t have gone well in court.”

Sam shook his head and looked back at the city down below, finding the streets too bright. He had never been a fan of cities like this; they were always too bustling, unlike the quiet suburbs and countryside. “If the Accords had been implemented, you would’ve been in just as much shit as we were if you were ever found out.”

Stark sighed gruffly, frown deepening. “I know.”

“So why’d you bring the kid?” He questioned again.

“I didn’t think he was that young. By the time I went to recruit him, your team was already in Berlin. I didn’t have time to find anyone else, and I didn’t have time to do a background check.” He defended. “I thought he was nineteen or seventeen, at least around his older teens.”

“You didn’t know he was a kid,” Stated Sam, letting out a quiet ‘huh.’

“I wouldn’t have brought him if I knew beforehand.”

“What will you do now?” He inquired.

“Not get involved with the kid.”

Sam furrowed his brows. “Really?” He asked incredulously, then moved in front of him, giving him a disbelieving look. “You get this kid all hyped up, tell him to help you, Tony Stark, genius billionaire, Iron Man, and then ghost him? Not cool, man.”

Stark glared at him challengingly. “I don’t want to endanger him.”

“You’ll probably help him more than if you leave him to his own devices.” Sam interjected, glaring challengingly right back. “He’s a kid—a naïve one at that, if what I’ve seen so far is true.”

“I can’t care for kids.” He weakly stated.

“Don’t knock it till you try it.”

Stark stared at Sam for a few seconds more, his lips drawn in a straight line as if considering what he said, before sighing through his nose and turning away.

After a moment, Stark answered with a curt, “Fine.”

Sam nodded. “Good.”

They stayed in shared silence for another minute until Sam finally broached the topic that had been on his mind since getting off the jet, internally cringing when he asked his question and not meaning to come across as insensitive as he did.

“What will you do about Steve?” He asked.

Stark glared at Sam.

“He betrayed you; that’s none of our business, but he’s right; splitting the team because of this is bound to have consequences.” Sam said, and when Stark didn’t respond, he continued. “He’s selfish, and we honestly should’ve expected that. But you gotta remember that he’s from the past; it makes sense that he would make a decision like this for a familiar face.”

When Stark didn't respond, he found himself puzzled about what he should say, thinking over his words and about to take them back, when Stark unexpectedly spoke out.

“Steve didn’t trust me enough to not hurt him. I didn’t even touch a hair on his sidekick after finding out.” Stark spat, glare harsh but dampened as he turned to glare at the ground, and Sam half expected the ground to turn back into wet concrete. Then he laughed sardonically. “Why didn’t he-? He- I’m not that bad, am I?”

“Stark-”

“And then he goes back to being a robot after everything, he’s acting exactly like he did when we had to team up that first time.” He shook his head and forced a chuckle. “Should’ve known better than to trust him.”

That was… slightly concerning to Sam.

He’ll have a chat about that with Steve when he gets the chance. He shouldn’t be coping with emotions by shutting them down.

“Look, this is entirely between you and Steve. His betraying you shouldn’t have been aired to the team the way that it did, and Steve should’ve told you about this beforehand and let you cope with it in your own time. There were so many ways that this situation could’ve been dealt with, and it ultimately comes down to Steve and you not communicating.”

Stark looked at him, a slightly hurt expression crossing his face before being replaced with anger. “So, this is my fault?”

“It’s no one’s but Steve’s. He should’ve told you. End of story.” Sam quickly said, tempering his emotions before he went into a rage. “But this shouldn’t have been aired as publicly as it was.”

Stark stared at him with anger brewing in his eyes before he closed them and hung his head back. “Yeah, that’s a mistake on my part.” He dragged his hand down his face in exhaustion. “Fuck. What the fuck do I do now?”

“For now? Just deal with your thoughts and emotions.”

“Yeah…” Stark’s frown deepens. “The kid, I gotta apologise to him now, too.”

“Emotions and thoughts first; I’m sure the kid’ll understand you not calling him.”

“Yeah,” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’ll do that. Uh, thanks, Wilson.”

“Sam.” He said, holding his hand out.

Stark took Sam’s hand without hesitation, shaking it with the practised ease of a CEO raised in money, power, and fame. “Tony.”

The next day, Tony wrinkled his brow in contemplation as he stared at the kid’s phone number, his finger hovering above the call button. It would be easy to click the call button; a simple push was all it would take.

And he truly did consider calling the kid, checking up, and seeing how he was doing with his vigilantism, realising how this would look and reflect back on the kid he forced into helping him, but despite knowing that, despite knowing the kid might be hurt by his ghosting or blind to the fact he blackmailed him into helping, and knowing he had to apologise for forcing him into helping the way that he did, he closed the phone app and switched his focus to Pepper, who had just entered the room.

Not now.

He didn’t want to call the kid right now.

Later.

After, he dealt with the Accords.

“Hey, hi,” Tony twisted in his chair, picking a blueberry snack from his cupboard, and placed his phone between his shoulder and ear as he opened the pack of dried blueberries. “Tony Stark, I was wondering if I could get a meeting with the council members.”

“Tony Stark!” the secretary exclaimed before her professionalism returned to her tone as he heard typing in the background. “Yes, of course, how can I- and what is the purpose of this meeting?”

“Tell them I’d like to amend the Accords.”

“Of course, I will get right back to you as soon as I can.” The secretary said.

“Thanks.”

He hung up and took a shuddering breath before dumping the phone on his desk and falling back in his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose exhaustedly.

He should just pack up what little he has and move to a little cottage with Pepper.

His life would be far simpler if he did that.

“Mr. Stark, it’s a pleasure to hear from you again,” Ross remarked, and while Tony couldn’t see his expression due to him calling, he could tell there was a smug undertone in his voice. He didn’t point it out, though.

Tony grimaced but kept his tone amiable. “Yup.”

Ross either didn’t notice his curt attitude or didn’t pay mind to it. ”Did you get in contact with the Avengers?” He asked, almost eager.

“Yup.”

”And how did it go?”

“They’ll only sign the Accords if they’re amended.” Although that wouldn’t have been the case if Zemo’s plan had worked. He didn’t say that, though, as much as he wanted to. He didn’t want to ruin the Avengers any further then they already were.

”So I’ve heard, and do you have a list of what they want amended?” He inquired.

“Yeah, but I’ll meet with you and the other council members; I have…” He looked at the stack of paperwork Pepper left for him, grimacing. “Work. Besides, it’s easier with the other council members there.”

“Are you sure-”

“Yeah.” Tony cut him off before he could say anything else. “I’m free Sunday.”

“I don’t-”

“See you then.”

He hung up before Ross could respond with his own thoughts, his frown intensifying. As much as he appreciates the Accords being brought to his attention, he would rather that it be another politician than the one that was hunting Bruce. He couldn’t trust Ross to try to manipulate the situation to his advantage.

Shit.

Were the Accords just a ploy to get to Bruce?

Fuck.

Tony internally groaned and hung his head.

There were so many problems he had to deal with.

”Emotions and thoughts first.”

Tony Stark inhaled softly through his nose and straightened himself.

One problem at a time: the Accords, the kid, his emotions about the betrayal, and ultimately Steve himself.

Chapter Text

The morning after revealing to May that he was Spider-Man, May sat across from him on the kitchen table, and he stared at her solemnly.

He knew how this conversation would go, how it would conclude, and what the correct words to say were.

Not only because he had already had this conversation previously, but because he understood who May was as a person.

She was like him. She wanted to help others any way she could. Because she was just like that.

Because he was just like that.

For as much as he praised Tony, for as much as they got along well, bonded over inventing, movies, and music, going out to eat takeout, him staying the night because May had a late shift and he needed someone to patch his wounds; he wasn’t May. He didn’t understand why he did the things he did like she did.

He and May knew who each other were, and knew they were both too stubborn to sit down and do nothing when there were people who needed help.

“I can’t stop you.” May replied delicately after a time.

She glanced at Peter, searching his eyes for something that he couldn’t figure out. He returned her searching gaze with the same dour expression, knowing that even if he attempted to act like the same naïve kid he was before the blip, he’d fail. He wasn’t that kid anymore, and maybe she knew that.

“I can’t stop you.” She repeated, more breathless than the last.

“No.” He replied simply.

“Why?”

“Because…” When you can do the things that I can, but you don’t, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you. He said those words to Mr. Stark, and he recalled saying them to May when they had this same argument. But she didn’t deserve to hear those words because she was already aware of the gravity of those words.

He sat on what to say, contemplating what would be the right thing to say.

Finally, after a minute, he repeated those last, damning words he heard from her with a cracked voice, practically choking on them. “With great power comes great responsibility.”

He gazed up at her, his eyes welling up with tears, as she stared on in shock. “Aunt May, please, don’t take Spider-Man away from me.” He begged, no other words escaping except them.

Peter wanted to tell her what being Spider-Man meant, what being Spider-Man held to him as a person, that being Spider-Man was everything, no matter what the price of being Spider-Man meant.

Uncle Ben, Tony Stark, Aunt May, and finally, Ned, MJ, and Stephen.

Spider-Man was all he truly had left that didn’t die in his arms.

He couldn’t live with himself if he had to hang the mask up.

The corner of May’s mouth quirked into a bitter smile. “I can’t stop you.” She echoed.

“You can’t.” He replied firmly.

She sighed through her nose and leaned back. She stayed silent for a moment, then said sternly. “You aren’t staying out until 5 on the weekdays. You’re coming back home if I call, and if you’re injured in any way, you come straight to me.”

“Sunday’s are my days off.” Peter added.

That threw her off. “What?”

“I take the Sunday’s off, just to spend them with you.” He clarified.

“Oh…” She looked at him in surprise, her eyes slightly wide, but she quickly recovered and returned her serious gaze. “And I’m having a talk with Stark as well.”

“That’s fair.” Then he looked at her sheepishly. “Can I still have my internship with him?”

“I know you went to Germany to fight in the Civil War. I don’t know what either of you were thinking, but the Accords aren’t good. They…” May looked at him in thinly veiled distress. “Peter, if you’re going to be a vigilante, you should know the Accords aren’t the typical law on vigilantism. They’ll take away everything. From your free will to even your abilities. Stark made you fight for his side. Do you even have the slimmest idea what that means?”

“I do, May. I really do, and…” His small smile became knowing. “The Accords will be fine. Trust me when I say the Accords won’t matter.”

“Can I…?” You lied to me about this. Went unsaid.

He looked at her seriously. “Yes, Aunt May. I will never lie to you about anything ever again.” He’ll tell her about the future, he’ll promise himself that. Because she deserves everything for the shit he put her through.

She looked at him imploringly, slowly nodding. “Okay…”

Then, with the most serious expression he’d ever seen on her, says. “Better get to saving then, Spider-Boy.”

”It’s Spider-Man.”

He missed this.

Three days later, Peter finished making his suit.

May took one glance at it, helped complete the final few seams, and smiled approvingly. “Are you sure you don’t want the suit Stark made you? I’d feel better if you had the safety features.”

“I’m not ready for that May, plus…” He smiled knowingly, remembering Stark’s words. “I don’t need the suit to be strong.”

May’s expression softened. “Larb you.”

“Larb you, too.”

Peter swung across the streets in his suit, pausing along the way to wave to people who pointed at him. He was more recognisable and distinct in this suit than his “underwear” one, especially after travelling to Germany with Tony. However, it wasn’t Germany that helped him earn his fame, but the ferry incident.

Going to school was still difficult, even after talking with Steve about everything, having panic attacks back to back, and fleeing anytime Ned or MJ were nearby. He knew it wasn’t right to flee from them, and he knew it was hurting Ned’s feelings, but he wasn’t ready to confront him.

He told Ned as much through a text, and he knows he needs to explain it to him eventually, but for the time being, he’d rather focus on attempting to mend the future. He wasn’t ready to tell him that he killed him.

Stopping on a nearby bench, he sat down and began readjusting his web-shooters.

A minute had passed, and he hadn’t realised when another man came to sit near him.

“New suit, Spidey?” A voice called from his side, and he turned to see Davis. Peter looked at him in surprise, and when he didn’t say anything for a moment too long, he arched his brow. “You good?”

Peter choked on his words. “Yup. totally.” If seeing the thief he saved and who helped him find information on the Vulture was defined as ‘good.’

He nodded as though he didn’t believe him. “Cool, man. I just wanted to see what’s up with you since you’re here and to thank you for stopping my car. Totally would’ve killed me if you hadn’t stopped me from speeding into that bus.”

“Oh…” Peter looked to the side, trying to recall what he was talking about.

Tony’s words came to mind then, as did the holographic video of him catching a car. ’Look at you go. Wow, nice catch! 3000 pounds, 40 miles an hour.’

“Right, yeah, that’s no problem, man. I was just… doing what I could to help. You know, like a… friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man?”

Peter had a lot to thank Davis for as well. If it weren’t for him speeding, he would’ve never met Tony. But it wasn’t as if Davis would understand if he said, “Hey, I’m from the future, and even though I barely know you beyond our two meetings, you’ve helped me out a lot too by speeding since I would’ve never met my father figure who died in front of me after making an epic heroic sacrifice. Thanks, by the way.” He’d only come across as insane.

“Friendly neighbour Spider-Man, huh?” Davis chuckled lightly and shook his head, nonplussed about what had gone through Peter’s mind. “You should stick to that phrase.”

“Thank you, To-” He cut himself off. “Someone said it to me once.”

“They’re pretty creative.”

“Wouldn’t they know it.” Muttered Peter.

“Guess since I’m already here, I want you to know that if you need any help with anything, hit me up. I can get you connected.”

“Yeah, thank you, Davis.”

“Aaron.”

With that, Aaron left, and Peter watched as his back receded into the busy street. He never expected to see him around again, not after he helped with Vulture. But maybe he was always supposed to meet him some way or another.

Fate was pretty funny in some ways.

Peter swung onto a railing, the sun beginning to set. He had saved an old lady from being run over by a car, and she bought him a sandwich from Delmar, which he profusely thanked her for. As he sat on the balcony, he pulled out his phone and opened Tony’s contact, finger hovering above the call button.

He was afraid to call him, and while he understood there was no reason to do so, mostly since Tony had said that he didn’t need to provide mission reports, it was what he was used to both before and after his death.

After Tony died, he would call his phone and continue to give him mission reports, telling him that the world missed him and he did too. That everyone kept asking if he was going to replace him and saying he knew he could never replace Tony.

No one could ever replace Tony.

After staring at the number for a moment too long, he finally mustered the courage to call the number.

It went to voicemail.

That hurt more than anything, because Tony, after the ferry incident, never refused his calls or ignored them.

He took a deep breath and began speaking.

“Hey, T- Mr. Stark,” Peter said, trying to keep the grief out of his voice. His sandwich lay abandoned next to him, and he trembled, forcing himself to say the next words. “I’ve got a uh… report. I stopped a homicide and carjacking. That was… not fun, but I’m glad it didn’t happen.”

He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the railing. “I helped an old lady, too. She bought me a sandwich from Delmar. So… that was nice… I-”

He stopped himself before the words, ‘I miss you, I’ve missed you everyday ever since you died. Can I come over for dinner tonight? Just so I can see you alive?’ Can slip.

His chest tightened in grief, but he still pressed on. “But… that’s all. Nothing too exciting—”

“—It’s not really all that bad being the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man. Guess I’ve always been a solo act.” Peter said in the voicemail. Tony listened to it more intently than he first intended. He hadn’t meant to listen to the call, but curiosity got the best of him.

”Aunt May also wants to talk with you; I didn’t tell her the details, but she’s smart, so she probably already figured everything out. I really do appreciate you giving me the suit and giving me this chance. Thank you, T- Mr. Stark. I’ll give you my report next Friday.”

The voicemail ended, and again, there it was.

It was that ‘thank you’ that was spoken with too much familiarity that made Tony squirm uncomfortably.

He wasn't sure why; it wasn't like he wasn't used to hearing thank you, but it still made him wonder why that kid said it so easily and earnestly. It felt as if he was thanking him for another reason. Plus, he knew Rogers—not intimately, but as if he were seeing an acquaintance again. There was also the fact that he would nearly say Tony before switching to Mr. Stark.

And Tony didn’t like not knowing.

“FRIDAY.” Tony called.

”Yes, boss?”

“Make a catalogue and folder of every call and text Peter sends me.” Tony said. “Also, make a catalogue of every interaction Steve and Peter have together.”

”You’ve got it.”

Something was up with that kid, and he was going to find out what he was hiding.

Chapter Text

Steve placed a pot on the stovetop and watched as it sizzled and began to boil the water with a bland expression. He wasn’t sure why, but his fingers twitched with trepidation, and he fought the urge to rush out the door and engage in a fight with any criminal he encountered.

He shook his leg, shook his foot, and tapped his finger against his thigh, but he just couldn’t get rid of the urge.

He needed to move, leave this unfamiliar apartment, and wander somewhere. Anywhere.

Bucky, who was still brainwashed, compromised his old apartment in Washington, and because Steve was technically a war criminal after the Civil War, his apartment in Brooklyn, the one he was currently in, was sold without his knowledge. He didn’t have time to settle down either because of his constant movement from one location to another while on the run.

While on the run, he’d fight crime wherever he could because he didn’t want to stay in hiding. ’Always too wired for a fight,’ is what Bucky used to claim. He and the other rogues were always on the move, so it wouldn’t have been a big deal if he went out and helped others anyway, especially since his face had already been all over the news and social media.

Media and the government labelled him a rogue, a megalomaniac hungry for wealth and status, and a traitor to the American spirit and the country. As if he ever cared about the “American Dream.” His mama was a socialist, and she didn’t raise him to be an oblivious fool who fell for other people’s values.

He fought, and kept fighting for others when on the run, because that was the right thing.

It was redemption for betraying Stark.

Fortunately, he was pardoned after two years because of Thanos’s threat to the universe. But even after Thanos’ “defeat,” he couldn’t settle down. Both because of his guilt at betraying Stark, being unable to save the universe, and then having to recover from being on the run.

To cope with his anticipation for a fight, to keep moving because of being found by the authorities, he moved from state to state, offering therapy sessions wherever he could for people who lost their entire families because he became accustomed to the routine of being on the move.

So, it wasn’t surprising that he wanted to find the stones right away. While he understood he and Peter had to play the waiting game for Stark to come around, it didn’t help his worry when the entire universe was at risk.

It was then that Steve paused pacing around his kitchen, realising why he was so antsy.

He was scared.

He was scared.

And that was an emotion he wasn’t used to.

He didn’t like being scared.

Fear always came at the worst of times for Steve. The times when his mama was beaten ‘till one of her limbs was broken or she had a stream of blood from her nose, and she’d hold him as he cried, were when Steve felt fear. Fear for himself and fear for his mama’s safety.

He despised the powerless feeling that came with fear, being paralysed to the point he couldn’t move.

He despised feeling powerless, hopeless, and unable to think about the future because he was so focused on surviving the present.

And he despised not being able to get rid of his fear because it hadn’t happened yet.

The anticipation of what’s coming was more nerve-racking than anything else he’s faced.

Because no one knew what would happen in a fight; it just happened. But this was different; Thanos’ threat was different. He knew it would happen, but there was nothing he could do to stop it right now.

He was scared.

But he had to be tough because, if not, he didn’t know if he’d be able to get back up.

He was scared.

He needed to stand. If he didn’t? The entire universe was doomed to repeat history.

He was scared.

Stand up.

He was scared.

Stand up, Captain America.

“Don’t do anything stupid until I come back.”

Steve hissed in pain and lurched back suddenly, his hand twitching in writhing, hot pain as he looked at the stovetop, unaware that he had touched the side of the now-boiling pot. His chest was rising rapidly, and his breathing was laboured, but he was briefly back in the present.

He took tea from out of his cabinet and stared at it through blurry vision that was gradually refocusing. Everything looked out of place and numb, but he was in the present.

He can’t be scared right now; he needs to be strong.

He needs to be Captain America.

He went about his day with a muted demeanour, robotically moving without thought besides a few goals in mind. He didn't need to go grocery shopping often due to having food stocked, and even when he did, he felt numb.

As he was on his run, a few fans had approached him to take pictures, but he never felt anything when they asked or after they took the photo. They said some kind words, and while he would respond with a bashful expression, he didn’t feel much.

He felt bad about not feeling anything. He felt even worse when they noticed his dim smile, and he'd lie through his teeth, explaining that he was simply tired from running.

Steve desperately wanted to be Steve Rogers. The scrawny, stubborn kid from Brooklyn.

He wanted to be the scrawny kid who returned home to Bucky scolding him for picking fights, baking or cooking in the kitchen, or taking turns jabbing at each other. He missed waiting for Bucky to return home after searching for jobs so they’d have money on the table, and Steve proudly announcing that he’d gotten a well-paying job.

He'd never admit this to anyone, but he didn't like Captain America.

He missed the kid who wasn’t forcefully turned into an American icon.

It was difficult for him to sleep in his bed; most of the time, he collapsed on his couch after moving for a month straight without rest. His bed was like it belonged to a stranger, neatly cleaned and tidied but unused. He remembered briefly joking with Natasha about turning his bedroom into a guest room, but she wasn’t particularly amused.

He remembered she recommended therapy a week later and declined, because why? Bringing up old memories’ hurts, and it wasn’t as if anyone visited him, anyway. She wasn’t exactly a shining example of seeking help, either.

She never mentioned it again after he refused, and he knew it took a lot of effort for her to bring it up because Natasha and emotions rarely mix, but he couldn’t bring himself to follow through with her advice.

If there was one thing he was thankful for during this entire time-travelling adventure, it was that she wouldn’t remember that particular “joke.” Even if he wasn’t exactly close to a lot of the Avengers, even when they were on the run together, he didn’t like the looks she’d give him after his comment.

Though it probably didn’t matter now after it was revealed he betrayed Stark, she was worried anyway, and now Clint was worrying.

Steve rolled onto his stomach and hugged his pillow, blinking the exhaustion away as he looked out the window. The view was too cramped. His building was wedged between two other buildings, and most days he had to roll his blinds down to avoid being somehow recognised by passersby.

He was tired of the attention that came with being Captain America. It wasn’t like he ever asked for it. He wanted to help because he could.

His eyes fluttered shut, and he buried his face in the pillow.

He was bored.

He wanted Bucky.

“Hell, no. That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb to run away from a fight? I’m following him.”

Seven days had gone by since he found himself in the past, and aside from the first three days of conversation with Peter, they hadn’t talked much since. He wasn’t hurt; the kid was dealing with his own issues and was probably too afraid to start a conversation with him.

It wasn’t like they had much to talk about; they didn’t know each other very well. Aside from the fact that they’re trauma bonding over having foresight into the future.

Hopefully, he gets into contact with Stark soon and befriends him.

He knows how devastated Stark was after he lost him the way that he did. While Stark didn’t lose everybody because of the blip, he lost someone he thought of as a son. Steve understands why he was so devastated now, too.

Peter is the best of them all. He has the potential to be an amazing hero, and Steve would be an idiot not to see that.

While Steve, somewhere in his heart, despite feeling horrible about it, wanted to selfishly keep Peter to himself, he understood just how important Peter was to his growth. He was more calm, protective, then he was before he met Peter. Steve figured that out in the short amount of time they had left together during the time heist.

They both don’t deserve each other, but they need each other to learn.

Just like Steve needed Bucky to be his offence, and Steve needed to be Bucky’s defence.

Peter and Stark needed to be each other’s learning tools.

His phone rang, and he looked at it, buzzing on his table, blinking slowly. He shuffled slightly before reaching over and reading the number twice in muted surprise.

“Hello?” He inquired after picking up. His voice was more groggy and heavy than usual, having not spoken in the past four days.

“Get over here,” Stark demanded without his usual playful tone. It stung, but he couldn’t feel bad for it right now. “I scheduled a meeting to get the Accords amended, and we need all the Avengers and those at the fight present for the meeting.”

‘Speak of the devil, and he shall appear,’ Steve mused, but the thought vanished immediately.

“When?” Steve asked.

“Now.”

“What?”

Stark hung up without clarifying, and Steve looked at his phone, baffled.

He furrowed his brows in puzzlement.

Huh?

His phone pinged then and he looked at the message that came in:

FROM: [P.P.]
Did you get a call from Tony too? Are you going to the meeting too?

TEXT: [S.R.]
I am.

FROM: [P.P.]
Will I be arrested?

TEXT: [S.R.]
I won’t let that happen. If that does happen, I know a good hiding spot.

FROM: [P.P.]
I can’t leave aunt May behind

TEXT: [S.R.]
If she’s willing to run with us as well?

FROM: [P.P.]
I’ll ask

That earned a snort from Steve.

FROM: [P.P.]
She said as long as you’re providing the food

TEXT: [S.R.]
Free of charge.

FROM: [P.P.]
You don’t have to do this

TEXT: [S.R.]
Kid, don’t sell yourself short. You’re the best of all of us. Even I know this despite having known you for only a week. You’re worth the effort.

Steve didn't receive a response, so he slipped his phone back into his pocket and stood up. He was exhausted, and his bones creaked, but this needed to be done. No rest for the wicked, he supposed.

Chapter Text

“NO!” a woman cried, crawling on her stomach and leaving a muddy trail behind her. “NO! Leave me alone!”

Thanos followed her, watching her desperately attempt to crawl away. While he wanted to kill her right away because her lower body didn’t appear to be functioning—which he suspected was because of a fall that most likely broke a bone in her hip—he wanted her to live for just a moment longer.

Life was a tedious yet precious thing, and even though she was in agony right now, she should be able to enjoy it for a little longer.

She was the last of her kind, after all.

“Death isn’t as scary as you might imagine.”

Thanos walked closer to her as she screamed louder. He could hear the gravel shuffle beneath her as she dragged her useless body, and he didn’t bother looking around to see who was around her and him, instead focusing on her and her last moments.

“It can be a beautiful thing if you’ll let it.”

“Please! Please let me live! Please!” She sobbed pitifully.

“If it makes you feel better, I am truly sorry for this,” Thanos said, and he truly felt pitiful that it had come to this. He sincerely wished there was another way to help the universe. “I will make it quick. Do you have any last words?”

“Why…?” she whimpered pathetically, her lips quivering.

Thanos leaned in and seized her neck, wrapping his fingers around the thinner figure, which was like a stick.

“To bring balance.” He answered.

She struggled valiantly against his grip, her tinier hands scratching fruitlessly and her limbs flailing like a piece of cloth hung out to dry. She screamed for mercy, pleading for her life, and bargained even when it went through one ear and out the other.

Thanos felt empathy for her efforts; he pitied it had come to this. He disliked it when they cried and pleaded for their lives because it made it more difficult for him to carry out his plans.

But it needed to be done.

“I’m sorry for this,” Thanos began, tightening his grip. “But it is my mission to heal the universe.”

The silence that followed the snap of her neck was deafening.

But the hum in his chest was louder than anything else he heard, like the universe was singing to him, congratulating him on his accomplishment. He bathed in the compliments.

Though his outward emotions were expressionless as he gazed at her body.

“Soon,” he said, lifting his hand to lightly tap the stone lodged in his chest. A reassuring prickling sensation in his chest told him it was paying attention. “There will be balance.”

He was never one to lie, either.

Smoke billowed from buildings as Ebony walked through the sufficiently desecrated land, while the sky was painted a deep red caused by the fires. He stepped over bodies, ruined structures, and objects he couldn’t bother to discern the names of.

There were children, women, men, and the elderly being thrown into a fiery pit to rid of the more inconvenient bodies in the way, and he was satisfied about that.

No reason to put more responsibilities on his father, after all.

He knew how burdensome it was to take lives for his father, and try as he may, Ebony couldn’t prevent his father from killing others. He wouldn’t prevent him, either. As while Ebony agreed with his mission, this was his mission to complete. Ebony was only helping see it through.

His father had saved him from his dreadful life, after all.

The lord had visited his planet when he was younger, and his mission was to wipe out half the life there, as it always was. Fortunately, the other half he came to destroy was his side of the coin. When Ebony used his telekinesis to stab him in the arm, his father—his lord and all-knowing—saw something in him. Although Ebony hadn’t inflicted much damage on his arm, he could see in his father’s eyes that he saw potential. And he took him in.

His father, who had taken him in and killed his dreadful family, saved him. Or rather, he saved them. Ebony wouldn’t have done such a favour for those things, those monsters. But his father was truly a kind man.

He truly owed his life to him.

However, neither his current siblings nor his siblings from the past realise how genuinely kind their father is.

They will eventually realise that he is, in fact, their saviour.

He is everyone’s saviour.

Ebony saw Proxima Midnight standing over a body and walking toward her with a stern but inquisitive gait. Even though he was only patient with Proxima Midnight for the sake of his father, he wasn’t close to her—she was too wild to enjoy her company. Even so, he couldn’t help but wonder why she wasn’t getting rid of the corpses instead of just standing there staring at a worthless one.

“Proxima Midnight.” When he called, she immediately turned to face him with a nettled look.

“What?” She demanded sharply.

He huffed and went on with what he was going to say, ignoring her tone. “Get to work.” He gave the order, and she rolled her eyes. As she always did when she felt like defying him and their father.

“Don’t order me to do things.”

He gave her an unimpressed look. “Let’s see…”

She groans and lowers her head. “Don’t-“

“We don’t want our father to find out about your and Corvus Glaive’s relationship, do we?” He hummed inquisitively, but it was more of a disapproving than a rhetorical sound.

Everyone in the family knew of the Lord’s desire for a family; to have two of the siblings date was contemptible, though it worked in Ebony’s favour when she was acting distastefully. He saw as her expression warped into a pinched one, and he knew he won this argument. As he always did with her.

“I’ll get to work.” She manages to speak, biting the words as if they were poison.

He grins, and he watches as she scornfully stares at him with a grimace, merely waving to a pit with corpses being tossed in. “Good, go clean up that pit over there.”

She grunts, leaving him to turn back to what he was previously doing.

“Peter, what the hell are you doing?” A voice says from behind him, blinking out of thoughts and turning to face the raccoon, who was staring at him incredulously. He stared for a moment, unsure what to say, then shrugged.

“Not sure, man.” He answered as he returned his gaze to the window, watching the infinite space.

He always wondered if there was an end to space, though he does know there’s an end to the universe. It was strange that the universe had an end, but not space. Perhaps space did have an end. Perhaps space was the end, just as it was the beginning.

…way too deep.

This was why he left critical thinking with Gamora.

This was then that he noticed Rocket staring at him, and he turned to him with a growing frown. “What?”

“You’re ugly-looking.” Was all he said. He said it abruptly and without thinking about it, as if the thought had been on his mind for some time.

Peter frowned further, puzzled. “What?”

Rocket walked away.

Peter wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

Because how does one respond to that?

“Hey!” Peter called, turning completely around to pursue the racoon, who was simply walking away with no further words. “Hey, rabbit!”

He didn’t respond and turned the corner, ignoring him. Peter furrowed his brow in confusion but didn’t push it any further, observing the room and seeing Mantis and an increasingly frustrated Gamora conversing.

“Did you just hear what that asshole said?” He said to Gamora.

“No.” Gamora said in a curt tone.

“What’s up with you?” He asked, immediately forgetting to complain about Rocket.

“Mantis keeps rambling about nonsense. Make her stop.”

“It is not nonsense.” Mantis argued, looking just as frustrated as her. “One of you has been off lately, and it is very annoying to deal with your fluctuating emotions.”

Gamora groaned and leaned forward, rubbing circles into her temples as she eyed Mantis with one of her ‘I’m going to bite your face off’ looks. Before she could pull out a knife on her, Peter immediately intervened. “Okay, explain, Mantis.”

“I don’t know. They are hiding their emotions very well and it is frustrating.” She became rapidly animated, clenching her fists and pinching her lips together. “They are angry right now, and it is annoying when they become sad during dinnertime.”

“You sure that isn’t just Gamora?” Peter asked.

“Her anger is very subtle.”

”Thanks.” Gamora sarcastically says.

Mantis huffs. “You’re welcome.” She spits.

“They’ve just been off, then?” Peter questioned, scratching his stubble. “Uh… who do you figure’s been off?”

Nobody came to mind for him lately; everything was going well, actually. Groot was gradually reverting back to his original form. Rocket’s recent unhinged behaviour could be attributed to his responsibility of caring for a younger Groot. Drax’s been fine as well. But he wasn’t sure about Gamora because, as Mantis had mentioned, it was much more difficult to predict her emotional state.

“I said I do not know!” She barked, with her words coming out growled.

“You sure it’s not just you?” Gamora questioned.

“No!”

“We’ll just deal with this later.” Peter said, sighing.

“I want to deal with it now!”

“Later!” Gamora demanded.

“No!”

After Gamora immediately turned around and walked out of the room, Peter felt tempted to follow her out just because he didn’t want to deal with Mantis’s outbursts.

But considering she was still new, he’d need to talk to her about her emotions, since he suspected her being forced to deal with other people’s emotions made her not able to deal with her own.

Though he wasn’t sure why he was the one who had to deal with them. Even he could admit he wasn’t the right person to help someone cope with their emotions.

“What is she complaining about?” Drax asked.

Both Mantis and Peter jumped.

“What the hell, man?” Peter exclaimed.

“Answer the question, Quill.”

“Shit, man.” He put a hand on his chest, and glared, but still answered anyhow. “She’s just been annoyed by her own emotions.”

He then got an idea.

“Deal with it.”

He then left the room.

He wasn’t dealing with someone else’s emotions.

Chapter Text

- BOREDGrace23