A/N Heads up: this is for the "I did good, right?" prompt from day 15 of Whumptober 2024, so feel free to skip if whumptober isn't your cup of tea. Also, obligatory warning for implied character death. 

Honestly, Peter's not entirely sure what's going on right now.

He remembers the before, of course. (It would be kind of hard not to; it was, like, fifteen minutes ago.) He remembers the 'Guardians of the Galaxy.' He remembers Dr. Strange. He remembers following Mr. Stark into outer space against his wishes. He remembers trying to beat the shit out of that Thanos guys. And he remembers... dying? Probably? Except not really, because he's still here?

But still, he remembers the before. He has a pretty good idea about most of what happened during the before (except the maybe-possibly-dying part. He doesn't really understand that.)

But he doesn't really understand the after. One second, he was disintegrating into Mr. Stark's arms, and the next, Mr. Stark's gone and he's alone on an alien planet with the Guardians and Dr. Strange.

Fortunately, Dr. Strange seems to know exactly what's happening.

Less fortunately, he doesn't seem to be too keen on explaining it.

And what's why Peter is just kinda here, trying to tear apart the things that he thinks are Thanos's little gremlins and trying not to get murdered in the process.

He's kind of pieced together bits and pieces of what's going on. There's a magical Iron Man-y glove that everybody wants. This is a glove that Thanos isn't allowed to have. (Who is supposed to have it, he does not know, but it's definitely not supposed to be Thanos.)

Other things he's found out: Dr. Strange is an amazing sorcerer – which almost makes Peter forgive him for giving Thanos the green magic glowy stone earlier. Wanda Maximoff is also an amazing sorcerer. Thor is really fucking cool (if somewhat larger than Peter would have pictured him). Basically, the Avengers are the best, is the moral of the story.

But at this point, he's not sure 'the best' is going to cover it.

No matter how many of these bad guys they take down, more keep coming. It's like it never ends; like every one of these gremlins they kill, five more takes its place. The longer it goes on, the more sure he becomes of it: they're not going to win. Not like this.

But he keeps doing his thing. He keeps doing what Mr. Stark wants him to do. (Actually, what Mr. Stark probably wants him to do is go home and stay out of it, like he always tells him to do, but if the world is going to end, he'd like to know when that's going to happen, so he's staying here and fighting anyway.) If they're going to lose, they're going to lose together, as a team.

And they are a team. He hasn't met most of them, and many of the ones he has met weren't exactly allies at the time, but they're a team.

So when he sees the Black Panther lose the magical glove, Peter does the only thing he can think to do: he grabs it himself.

And then everything decides it wants to kill him.

He probably should have expected that.

Unfortunately, he did not.

His instinct is to whip out Instant Kill Mode and let his suit do the work until he can get the glove to someone who will actually know what they're doing.

But that's not going to solve the problem – any of the problems. It will get these monsters off his back, but only because they'll be targeting his ally instead. He can't do that. He can't put a target on someone else's back just to save his own.

There's only one thing to do, then:

It's time to see what this magical glove can do.

He smirks to himself, the anticipation bubbling up inside him. He doesn't even care what this glove does. He doesn't care if it does nothing at all; he'd even be okay with just a cool Iron Man-like glove that helps him punch people. Anything is better than just carrying it around.

He holds the glove in one hand, and he sticks his hand inside–

Fuck.

This was a bad idea.

It fucking hurts.

It's like somebody physically sucked up a fire in a syringe and started injecting it directly into his veins. He's been beat up a lot – it's part of the Spider-Man gig, after all – but nothing, and he truly means nothing can compare to what it feels like to wear this glove.

The pain eats at him from the inside out, as though it's trying to consume him, as though it's going to consume him, and all he can do is scream. He falls to his knees, eyes squeezed shut, every muscle in his body tensed as the pain rips through him.

He needs to get this thing off. He doesn't care what happens to it afterward. He doesn't care if it ends up in Mr. Stark's hands or Thanos's; he just needs it out of his own. His left hand feels around the best that it can, desperately searching for the end of the glove so that he can take it off, so that he can throw it as far away from himself as he can, but he can't find it. He doesn't even know where his hands are. They could be fifty feet away, and he'd be none the wiser. He can't feel his own body. All he feels is pain.

And then, somewhere in the back of his mind, it comes to him.

He understands what the gauntlet does now.

It's more than just pain and suffering. It's salvation. It can do whatever he wills it to. As long as he wears it, he holds all the power in the universe, and there's no limit to what it can do. A snap of his fingers, and he can change the world.

There's only one thing to do, then.

He's getting rid of Thanos and his minions, once and for all.

So he snaps.

And then it's over.

The pain dissipates, and then he's just numb.

He opens his eyes, scanning the field around him, and he watches as one by one, all of Thanos's minions just... disappear, with nothing more than a cloud of dust in their place. He should be happy, he knows. He should be proud. He did this! He saved the Avengers! Hell, he probably saved the world!

But right now, all he feels is...

Tired.

He's tired.

That's what he is.

And that's to be expected, right? He was just wielding all the power in the entire universe. Of course he's tired. Of course a nap sounds like a good idea right now. He's earned that, hasn't he? He's earned a nap? Mr. Stark would agree. Hell, Mr. Stark would be thrilled to see him put his own needs first for once.

He finds himself falling back, and he sprawls himself out on the ground. This is nice. The ground is nice. He could stay here for a while. In fact, he thinks he will stay here for a while. He'll stay here and he'll take a nap and then he'll wake up and he'll go home and see Aunt May and Ned and it will be fine.

He closes his eyes and lets out a long breath.

Everything will be just... fine.

Until it's not.

Until a pair of hands grab his shoulders.

Until that pair of hands lifts his upper body off the ground and starts shaking him around.

Someone's saying something, he thinks. He can't quite make out the words. He can't quite make out the voice, either. Does he have to? Is this important enough that he has to listen before he takes a nap? It must be, if they're shaking him like this.

So he opens his eyes, and he's met with the rather blurry sight of Mr. Stark's face in front of his own.

Peter gives him a tired smile. "Hi, Mr. Stark." His words feel... wrong. His mouth feels wrong. He must be more tired than he thought.

"Kid?" Mr. Stark shakes him once more. "Hey, hey, kid, can you hear me?"

So he is saying words. Peter had suspected as much, but it's nice to know for sure.

"What were you thinking?" Mr. Stark asks, he demands, his voice full of frustration and desperation.

"I did good, right?" Peter asks quietly.

Mr. Stark squeezes his eyes shut, and a tear runs down his face. "Yeah." He nods, the movement tense, almost pained. "Yeah, kid, you did good."

"Stark!" It's a different voice this time. He can't quite place it. It's another guy, he can figure out that much, but then, aren't pretty much all of the Avengers and their friends guys? That doesn't tell him anything. That's a stupid observation.

Then Dr. Strange kneels down beside Mr. Stark, and Peter decides it's probably a safe bet that the second man's voice was Dr. Strange's. Though he'd said Mr. Stark's name, his gaze is on Peter, and there's an inexplicable sadness to his eyes. He doesn't get it. They won! They should be celebrating! This is a good thing! So what's he so sad about?

Mr. Stark looks over at him, eyes narrowed in a steely glare. "You knew," he says, his voice low, dangerously low.

But Dr. Strange shakes his head. "No," he says, "I didn't."

Mr. Stark isn't having it. "You knew!" He yells it this time, his voice filled with anger, with rage. "You said there was only one way we win this! You knew!"

"No, I didn't," Dr. Strange repeats, firmer this time. "It wasn't supposed to be him, Tony. In all the different versions of this that I saw, it was never him."

Mr. Stark glares at him, but when he turns his gaze back to Peter, there's nothing but fear in his eyes. "Peter, hey, look at me."

Peter is looking at him. He's not sure how much more looking he can do.

The glove of his suit retracks so he can cup Peter's face with his hand. "Hey, look at me," he says again, breathless as he tries to speak. "You're okay."

Peter nods minutely. "I'm okay," he says. He's okay. He knows he is. "I'm just gonna... go to sleep, I think." He lets his eyes drift close. This will be nice. He'll wake up and he'll feel all nice and energized and he'll be able to bask in the glory of having saved the–

"No," Mr. Stark says quickly. "No, no, stay with me, buddy. Keep your eyes on me."

Peter frowns, but rather reluctantly, he forces his eyes open once more. He's very... blurry. Was he blurry before he closed his eyes? He can't remember.

"We're gonna get you out of here, okay?" Mr. Stark says. "We're gonna get you to the hospital, and I'm gonna call your aunt and she's gonna meet us there and–"

"I'm okay, Mr. Stark," Peter interrupts. "Really." His voice feels weird – slurred, he thinks. He's not sure why. Is this what it feels like to be drunk? "I just want to go to sleep."

"No!" His voice sounds more panicked with every word that leaves his mouth. "No, Peter, stay awake. You have to stay awake. Please." His voice cracks on the last word, but he's not done. "Stay with me, Pete. C'mon."

Peter cocks his head slightly to the side. He's being a little dramatic about this whole nap thing, isn't he?

"C'mon, c'mere," Mr. Stark says quietly as he wraps his arms around him. He picks him up slowly, carefully, holding him gently against his chest. "You think you'll be okay if I fly you to the hospital, or do I need to drive?"

"I don't need to go to the hospital," Peter mumbles. "I just wanna go home." He never told Aunt May he was taking a field trip into outer space after school. He doesn't want her to worry that he's running so late.

"You're going to the hospital," Mr. Stark says, and there's no room to argue, so he doesn't. "I'm gonna fly you 'cause it'll be quicker, but tell me if I need to slow down, okay?"

Peter mumbles a vague affirmative response and rests his head against Mr. Stark's chest. This is kind of nice. It would be nicer without the big hunk of metal he's using as a pillow, but it's kind of nice nonetheless.

"Find Pepper," Mr. Stark says – not to him, he thinks. He's not looking for Pepper. He's staying right where he is. "Tell her to call me. I'm taking him to the hospital."

"Good luck," Dr. Strange says.

And then they're off.

The wind is harsh against his body, much harsher than he'd expected. He likes that. He likes the reminder that the rest of his body does, in fact, exist. He's more than just a torso and a head. He has arms; he has legs. They're cold arms and legs, but he has them. That's nice. He likes having arms and legs. Arms and legs are important.

The wind is getting to be a lot, though. It's blowing in his hair, his face. His poor eyes feel like they're going to lose every bit of moisture they've ever had. He's going to close them – just for the ride. He knows Mr. Stark told him not to, but it's too windy and comfortable and he has to.

It's nicer this way. It brings a nice warmth to his eyes. His body starts to feel heavy. He really could just doze off right here. He has, what, a few minutes? Probably? Before they make it to the hospital? (He's not sure. He doesn't actually know where he is or where the nearest hospital is or how fast the Iron Man suit can move. He's completely guessing.) That's enough time for a little nap. It's enough time for one of those fake naps – the naps where you don't really fall asleep, but you're kind of asleep and you wake up feeling a little more refreshed than you were before you took it.

He can feel himself start drifting off. This is nice. Maybe he will get one of those real naps in before they make it to the hospital. He'd like that. He'd like it a lot, actually.

He'll just...

Fall asleep.

Real quick.

Just for a few minutes.

Just...

For a few...

"Peter!"

Peter doesn't really want to acknowledge that. He's almost asleep – far too close to dreamland to try opening his eyes. But he still manages to mumble a quiet, "What?" to show that he's still listening.

"We're almost there, buddy," Mr. Stark says, and his voice is so... panicked. Desperate. It's weird. "I can see it from here. We're almost there. You just gotta hang on a little longer, okay?"

"Mm," he hums. He can do that. Can he do that? He can probably do that. He can probably do that. He can probably stay awake.

... He's not sure he can stay awake another few minutes.

"C'mon, kid, stay with me!" Mr. Stark pleads. "Don't make me tell your aunt that you're not coming home. Don't make me do that. Please."

He can feel the thud of Mr. Stark's boots hitting the ground, but the thump barely registers. He's just too tired.

He's just...

Too...

Tired.

And just like that, everything fades away.