Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I'm crankin' up on the throttle
Victory is mine
Show you the harder the battle
The harder I fight
I've come too far to quit
Step back I'm goin' in
I'm crankin' up on the throttle
This is how legends are made
Legends Are Made by Sam Tinnesz

***

It’s pure chaos.

There’s smoke and dust in the air, the sky practically hidden from view by the hazy clouds, evidence of the destruction and carnage taking place below. There’s screaming and shouting and clanging.

Peter Parker dodges an explosion to his left, ducks around a spray of bullets coming at his right. He lets a web fly, taking him up and over a smoking pile of fallen debris. The battle wages on all around him, a conglomerate of aliens, humans, gods, and all kinds of other creatures.

It’s the fight of their lives.

Peter slides back to the ground, bounding after the awesome glowy Sky Lady and the group that’s got the gauntlet, determined to do whatever he can to help them get to where they need to be. He can feel the blood that’s dripping from his nose, but he ignores it and charges forward.

This is…this is totally crazy. It’s a little hard not to freak out over the fact that he’s fighting alongside warriors and Avengers. And that’s not even the wildest part of this whole thing.

His mind races.

Peter grunts as he takes a hard hit to the chest. He knows he can’t afford to be distracted, not right now.

But Mr. Stark had hugged him. Just right there, in the middle of the battlefield, while bullets and lightning and who knows what else zipped around them. Like nothing else in the world mattered at that moment. And he’d had this weird look on his face, too, while Peter was talking to him.

He remembers Dr. Strange saying that five years have passed, and Peter hasn’t had ample time to truly process that statement or its implications. All he knows is that right now, the stakes are the highest they've ever been. The future of the universe lies in the hands of the Avengers.

They have to win.

And the second the victory is theirs, he's going to find Mr. Stark and have a long talk with the man. And maybe another hug. He could really use one of those, and wow, the fact that Mr. Stark actually looked so worried and fond—

A huge explosion rocks the air, the aftershock reverberating throughout the entire battlefield, sending everyone into a shocked silence. Peter stumbles and hits the ground, rolling head over heels before coming to a stop with a grunt. He lifts his head, watching as the van they were so desperately trying to reach goes up in a ball of light—and the gauntlet holding the precious Infinity Stones is flung into a clearing.

Peter gasps for air, the explosion having knocked the wind out of him. He has to get over there. He has to help. They can still win this—right? There's another way to stop Thanos.

Peter grits his teeth and shoves to his feet. There are bodies and debris everywhere, a horrific combination that overshadows the hopelessness beginning to permeate the area.

One step, two steps, and then Peter's full on charging toward the small clearing. He's gotta get there.

He scales a chunk of building and catches sight of the fight that hasn't ended just yet—Captain America and Thor are putting every ounce of their superhuman strength into keeping Thanos away from the gauntlet that lies at their feet. 

It's not enough. Not even the glowy lady can restrain the power of the giant villain.

Thanos has the gauntlet on his hand now, face contorted in pain at the sheer power the stones he's wielding possess—the stones that have the ability to wipe all of them out with a simple snap of the fingers.

Peter can't let that happen. With a guttural yell, he lunges forward and wraps both arms around the gauntlet that's fitted around Thanos's hand. 

It's a losing battle, he knows. If Avengers like Mr. Stark, Captain America, and Thor couldn't stop him, Peter won't be able to, either. He might be strong, but he's no match for a giant purple alien who currently holds all six of the most powerful objects in the universe. But like the others, he won't go down without a fight—he won't give up until there's nothing else he can do.

But wait…maybe there is something he can do.

Just as expected, Thanos shakes him off like a rag doll within a second, flinging him across the clearing with disgust—or maybe mild amusement. Peter hits the ground with a thud and rolls.

That second was all he needed.

He watches as the mad titan who, so dead-set on killing half of the universe, is overtaken by surprise and panic when he snaps his fingers confidently and realizes he holds none of the power he thought he did. The gauntlet is empty.

And suddenly all eyes are on Peter.

He knows with astounding clarity what he has to do.

The pain is excruciating, bringing him to his knees, the power he wields nearly unfathomable as the stones fall into place on the hand of his Iron Spider suit. 

He swallows and sets his jaw, determination schooling his features even as his muscles seize and spasm. He slowly lifts his hand, watching the mesmerizing crackle of electric power from the Stones dance across his fingers, ready to be unleashed.

This is it.

Thanos's gravelly voice from moments ago echoes in his ears: I am inevitable.

Peter tilts his chin up, the barest hint of a smirk crossing over his face. “And you…just—lost.”

He lets out a breath.

And snaps.

***

Tony can't breathe.

Time is elusive right now, and he can't be certain if it's been hours or days since he stood on the battlefield and watched a sixteen-year-old kid do the unthinkable. But he doesn't think he's taken a breath since the moment he saw Peter Parker tussle with Big Angry Grape and come away with the Infinity Stones.

Tony can feel his heart drop, a scream on his lips, time slowing to a near halt as he watches the kid lift his hand encased with the Stones. He knows what's about to happen, knows even he bursts into motion that there's no way he can make it over there in time.

And he'd barely had a chance to see the kid again—much less talk to him. There were a million things he had rehearsed that he planned to say the moment he laid eyes on the teen again, but all of the words went right out the window when he saw Peter in the flesh, rambling nonsense as if it were any other normal day. Alive. Not dust.

The chaos of the battle had cut their reunion short, the confusion causing them to separate before either of them could gather their bearings. Tony knew that the moment it was all over, the first thing he was going to do was find Peter and tell him every single thing he'd spent the last five and a half years wishing he'd would've made clear before.

The kid snapped. He saved them all—Thanos and his entire army faded away into dust just like half the universe had five years ago. Just like that, the threat was eliminated, the world saved.

And then Peter Parker died.

Everything since that moment has been a blur. He remembers his feet moving without permission, falling to his knees next to the too-still teenager. He remembers there being lots of shouting—the sounds echo in his ears even now—and someone shoving their way in next to Tony to get to Peter and attempting to restart his heart. He remembers a portal opening up to take him back to Wakanda, where the best medical care known to man was promised.

Tony had followed them through without another thought. There were so many things to worry about at that moment—what was going on with the rest of the world, the current state of the Infinity Stones and protecting them until they could be properly taken care of, and a million other urgent matters. But there was only one thing on his mind then, the only thing on his mind right now, and his name is Peter Parker. The sight of the kid—fading brown eyes glazed over with pain, his entire right side a blackened, burned mess from the Stones' radiation and power—is seared into Tony's brain forever.

How can he lose him after he just got him back?

“Tony.” A hand touches his shoulder softly. 

Pepper.

Some of the others have been in and out since they arrived—mainly Rhodey. Tony isn't even sure where Steve and Thor are, and he can only imagine they're still back in New York helping get a handle on things there.

Whatever. He really doesn't care right now. He's got one thing on his mind—his family.

Tony blinks, lifting a hand to wipe at his gritty eyes. He's not in his suit anymore, but even the clothes underneath are dirty and stained. He probably needs a shower and a nap. Maybe some therapy.

But he won't be stepping foot out of this room until he gets word about the kid.

“Anything?” he croaks, already knowing she won't have any more information than he does—the private room they'd been shown to is located between the specialized operating rooms and the general waiting area, meaning that if someone was coming to give them an update, they'd pass through here first.

Pepper shakes her head, her generally professionally-styled hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, loose strands framing her own dirt-smudged face. “Still trying to get through to his aunt. There's so much going on out there.”

Tony sighs. The entire world is in chaos right now—there are, unfortunately, some negative repercussions to bringing back billions of people who have been gone for five years. They didn't exactly plan for how they would handle that. Perhaps they never really expected their crazy time heist to work in the first place.

The pain of losing Natasha and Vision that he'd buried down deep inside rears its ugly head. There's always a cost.

“I heard from Happy again,” Pepper tells him. 

Tony jerks his head up at that.

“Shh, Tony, everything is fine,” she immediately reassures. “He just wanted to check in.”

“Oh.” Tony relaxes a little. There are so many thoughts swirling through his mind right now, but the well-being of Morgan takes precedence. Actually, make that Morgan and Peter. “What's, uh, what about—?” He doesn't even know what he's trying to ask. His brain feels like it's caught up in a fog.

Thankfully, Pepper seems to sense his struggle. “I think some of the team is planning to reconvene here in Wakanda soon—they want to make sure the stones are protected until they can be…returned.” She clears her throat and repeats, “We’re attempting to locate Peter's aunt. Things are—they’re pretty bad out there—chaotic—with the sudden return.”

Tony stares straight ahead and rubs at his jaw. May Parker. She'd been part of the Decimated, too. Missed five plus years in the blink of an eye. He isn't sure if it makes him a bad person that he'd been almost relieved when he'd found out. At least they wouldn't have to deliver the news that her nephew was gone.

I lost the kid.

It's been five years, and May is back now, but Tony still might be cursed to tell her that very thing. He clasps his hands together tightly in an attempt to still their trembling.

Pep continues, voice soft, “As far as Morgan goes, I'd like to know how long we'll be here before we consider bringing her over. But you know what—that's something we can discuss later. Let's just wait and see what the doctors have to say about Peter.”

Peter. Tony spent years after he lost the kid wondering what it would be like if he ever had another chance with him. The perspective brought about by that loss invoked a lot of changes and growth in Tony. It shaped him, molded him, made him into a better father and man than he ever thought he could be. If only he could've done all that while he still had a chance to show the kid.

Everything he went through just for a chance to get Peter—and everyone—back, and for what? Is fate toying with him to let him come so close to victory again just to snatch it right back? Hope reignited only to be blown out with a gust of tragic wind. Story of his life.

“Oh…this is nice.”

That hug on the battlefield with Peter might have been the last one. It was supposed to be the first—the first of many. Tony had so many plans, all carefully crafted and lived through over years and years of dwelling on what they could have had, of where they were headed before a stupid alien decided to play God. He wanted to be a proper mentor to the kid, have him over to the lake house on the weekends and help him with homework, teach him to refine and expand his skills and knowledge in the lab, take him to ball games, the works… Perhaps it all could have come to fruition if he hadn’t failed Peter by letting Thanos snap the first time.

Failing is the one thing at which Tony seems to excel.

He doesn't realize he's not breathing until Pepper cups his face in her hands. “Tony—hey, look at me. In and out.”

A burst of pain explodes in his chest. He follows her instructions, attempting to force himself out of his head. It's not the first time either of them has done this, but somehow everything feels different. “Pep…”

“I know,” she whispers, moving one hand to rake it through his already-tousled hair. “He's strong, Tony. He'll get through this.”

“Yeah.” Tony clenches his jaw, glances toward the double doors and hallway beyond that leads to the OR. He was assured by T'Challa that all of his top doctors are working on Peter. Wong is currently in there with the Wakandan specialists as well, assisting in whatever way Sorcerer Supreme can in a situation like this. Stephen Strange is supposedly off tending to some “urgent business,” and Tony will be damned if he lets that man anywhere near the kid anyway.

A door across the room squeaks open. “Stark.”

Speaking of the devil…

Tony lunges to his feet and lets his fist fly without thought, hitting the unsuspecting sorcerer square in the jaw. Strange stumbles backward with the force of blow.

Pepper gasps. “Tony—”

“This is on you,” Tony snarls out, taking another step toward the other man, the icy cold fear in his chest manifesting as anger. “Fourteen million outcomes and this is the one we win? Five years, and then letting a teenager make the sacrifice play?”

Strange, for his part, looks particularly unperturbed by the fact that he was just punched. He straightens up, using the back of his hand to wipe away the drop of blood at the corner of his mouth. ”Would you have rathered we all perished? Because that's exactly what would have happened had it gone down any other way.”

Tony falters at that, though he stands his ground and doesn't let it show on his face. “You didn't see every outcome,” he says. “Who's to say out of a trillion, we didn't win a few more? That it could have easily been different?” He would know, he's played out every possible alternative scenario in his head day after day for the last five years.

“Stark, it isn't that simple—”

“You told me there's one we win—you wouldn't tell me how because you knew I would have never let it happen.” And he's right. From the moment he was reunited with Peter on that battlefield, all Tony wanted was to grab him out of the fray and tuck him away at the lake house with Morgan—to keep him safe and protected. That's all he’s ever wanted.

Black burning radiation blood excruciating pain dying dying dying.

Strange presses his lips together and that's all the confirmation Tony needs. “I didn't want it to be the kid. Contrary to what you may believe, Stark, I'm not some heartless monster.”

Tony snorts, feeling Pepper's presence at his back. “You sure about—”

“But if someone had to die to save billions, was it not worth it?”

There's a lot in that sentence to unpack, but some sort of rageful expression must cross over Tony's face, because Strange immediately winces.

“I didn't see past the moment when his heart stopped,” he says, as if that’s any sort of apology. “It's quite possible that the boy will survive this.”

“Well, that's very reassuring,” Tony retorts, sarcasm dripping from the words. 

Pepper squeezes his arm gently.

“Dr. Strange,” she intervenes, her tone way too polite and steady for the emotional charge lingering in the room right now, “is there anything you can do, any way to know if Peter…will be all right?”

There's a chagrined sigh as the former doctor shakes his head. “I'm afraid it's not as simple as that—”

“Nothing ever is, is it?” Tony's had enough of this. “Harry Potter here can only see into the future when it's convenient for him—”

“Tony—”

“Stark, I am—”

“No, no more of this high horse routine! Because of you and your stupid mind games, a sixteen-year-old kid might die.” His chest clenches at the thought, voice breaking despite his best efforts. “Actually, you know what—even worse is that you thought he was going to die, and you just stood by and let it happen.”

“I understand how you're feeling, but it is not—”

“Get. Out,” Tony growls, voice dangerous.

Strange must sense that this is a fight he does not want to continue, so he lets out a deep sigh and nods. “All right, I'm going. And I truly am sorry. But Stark, that kid… he saved the universe. He's a hero.”

Yeah, trust me, I know. Tony just crosses his arms until the other man finally turns and makes his exit. He sinks back down into the chair he'd previously been occupying and puts his head in his hands. Pepper sits next to him, rubbing a gentle hand up and down his back.

“I can't lose him again, Pep,” he whispers, allowing his vulnerability to show in a way he only ever does around her. “I just got him back.” Is the universe really this cruel, that it would allow him to bring Peter back just to have him snatched away again?

“I know,” she whispers, just as understanding. Just as broken.

The door to the OR swings open, and a woman in scrubs steps into the room. She pulls the mask over her face down to her chin and meets Tony's gaze. “Mr. Stark? We have news.”

***

He chokes out one ragged, gasping breath. Then another.

Fire is shooting up his arm. The pain is…well, it was excruciating in the moment, but now that he's done it, he's snapped, it's ebbing away into a dull throb. It pulses from his palm and up to his shoulder and then spreads throughout his entire body.

Everything around him is a blur—it's like it's all in a haze, cloudy and unclear—

“Pete?”

That voice. That voice he knows. It's a struggle, but Peter forces himself to focus, gaze landing on the person crouching in front of him.

“Mr. Stark.” His cracked lips attempt to form the shape of the words, but nothing comes out. 

“Stay with me, kid—please.” 

Peter has never heard Tony sound as panicked and fearful as he does in this moment. It's unfamiliar from the man who's always exuded nothing but confidence in front of Peter. His eyelids flicker, and he tries to hone in on the man crouching in front of him, even while it's becoming harder and harder to draw in a breath.

“Hey, hey. You did good, kid. Okay? You're a superstar. We won—but you need to hold on now. Please.”

There are more words being said, a comforting hand splayed out across his chest, but Peter can feel himself fading.

He doesn't want to go, not again, but if he has to, at least he can go with the knowledge that he helped save the world. That's pretty cool, right? Thanos and his army are nowhere to be seen in his limited range of sight. Whatever he did must have worked.

And whoa—are those tears in Mr. Stark's eyes?

Peter wants to be reassuring, to tell the man that it's okay, but he can't manage to force any words out past his half-charred throat.

“Pete…” Tony trails off, and Peter senses someone else sliding in next to them.

His tired mind tries to place the fuzzy figure, but he's having a hard time focusing any longer.

“No, hey! Stay with me, Peter! Don’t you dare—”

The darkness is closing in on him, the pain fading into something warmer and more peaceful. Even though he can't feel much of anything on his right side anymore, the power of the Stones still buzzes throughout his body. Pulsing. Powerful. There.

Let go.

Peter releases a final, soft breath and lets his eyes fall shut.

***

He’s floating.

Voices drift around throughout the darkness and silence that generally pervades his mind. Some of them he recognizes, others not so much. He doesn't always retain the words, but the quiet, soothing tones are comforting nonetheless.

“I'm here, baby. I'm right here.”

“You’re brave, kid. Strong.”

“Thank you for what you did.”

“You saved the world, sweetie. Everyone is okay because of you.”

“Your vitals are looking better this morning, Peter. Any day now I expect you to join us.”

There's one voice that tends to garner his attention more than the rest. One that he knows but isn't used to hearing sound so soft or wistful when it speaks.

“Pete. You've gotta wake up soon, kid. I don't think I've ever seen you keep still for so long. There's a lot of people who want to meet you. Hero of the hour.” A soft, wet chuckle.

He doesn't know what it is about that voice that makes him want to open his eyes, to see the face it's attached to and confirm it for himself. Sometimes he thinks he's on the brink of doing so, but his body seems to want to keep him trapped.

“I had five years to think about all the things I wish I would've done while you were still here,” The Voice says one time. “Now you're back, and I still can't tell you any of it.”

You can! Peter thinks. He wants the voice to keep talking. He wants to know. Wants to hear.

“Sometimes I wonder if I've just built all of this up in my mind. Maybe if—when—you wake up, you'll think I'm crazy for ever pretending there was something deeper here.”

He doesn't like the sadness that he senses from The Voice. It shouldn't be there. He wants to say as much, but his brain is working overtime just to stay aware enough to hear what's being said.

“Peter? Hey—you see that? He's frowning. Is that good? Does it mean…”

The voices devolve into meaningless chatter that's difficult to follow. Peter drifts for a while longer, continuing to float in and out of awareness. Sometimes there are more voices, sometimes he even sees images in his head. Every once in a while, an explosiveness of phantom pain and light that leaves as quickly as it comes. Nothing really makes sense here. He wants to know what's going on.

But time is elusive, an enigma, as is his grip on reality. It's condensed and elongated and nonexistent all at once.

“Oh, baby.” It's the feminine voice again, the one that's so often there. It’s a comforting presence, a light in the dark. “I know you need to rest, but the doctors say you're healing well. They aren't keeping you asleep anymore. We're just waiting on you.” 

Waiting…on him?

“We don't want to rush you…but it would be so nice to see your beautiful eyes again and hear your voice. I miss your laugh.”

It continues on like this, similar routines and voices as he fades in and out and wishes for more.

Then one day something a little different happens. He hears several voices, sort of overlapping, but not in the way that he's just not understanding. Because they're all truly talking at once. He's only able to make out some of it.

“I don't know if this is the best…”

“Okay, let's just make sure—”

“—be careful, honey—”

And then there's a new voice. It's small and hesitant yet powerful. “Hi, Peter.” It's quiet for a moment. “I've been waiting to see you for so long! Mommy and Daddy finally said it's okay I...I know you're sleeping, but they said you might be able to hear me anyway. I really hope you wake up soon.”

In the end, he's not really sure what does it. Maybe it's the consistent knowledge that everyone has been waiting for him, begging him to come back. Telling him how much they love him and are proud of him. Maybe it's the new little voice that sounds so hopeful that he's still in there. Maybe it's nothing like that at all.

Whatever the case may be, it's one of those times that he's becoming subconsciously aware that it happens.

The voices around him suddenly start to become clearer. Closer. He feels like he's trying to swim for the surface and actually succeeding for once. Up instead of down.

Awareness surrounds him in an odd way—different from how it usually is when he's listening to the voices.

He wants to say something, and he puts all of his effort into the endeavor, but all that comes out is a tiny whine, so faint he barely hears it himself.

But suddenly everything around him goes absolutely silent—sans the heartbeats, all of which speed up rapidly in unison.

And then…Peter cracks open his eyes.

It takes some time, a lot of coaching and questions and assistance, but eventually he feels like he's fully present in the room. It's a lot of work to even move his head, but he recognizes most of the people surrounding his bed—namely Aunt May and Mr. Stark—and he knows where he is and his fuzzy brain is starting to remind him of the events that occurred to lead to all of this…

“Thanos?” he croaks, his throat dry and voice hoarse from disuse.

Mr. Stark gives him a grim smile, something still shimmering in his eyes the way it has since Peter first woke up. “Gone, kid. Thanks to you.”

Peter closes his eyes for a moment. He remembers. Snapping his fingers in hopes that it would stop Thanos and his army. 

It'd worked.

He lets out a breath.

“Peter.” One of the doctors steps in on the left side of his bed. She has a kind face, but there's also something pinched about the expression that passes over it when she exchanges glances with Mr. Stark. “Before we go any further, I feel that it is imperative that we let you know some important information regarding the physical injuries you sustained.”

The atmosphere in the room immediately shifts, the tension almost palpable. Peter furrows his brow.

“Do you understand?” the doctor asks.

“Yes.” Something isn't right, he knows that much. He's felt…off, ever since he's awoken. He knows he must have been badly injured, but he hasn't had a chance to place whatever's going on—

“When you wielded those stones, Peter, the amount of gamma radiation that was released was powerful enough to kill any regular human. Your enhancements allowed you the strength to survive the initial snap, but not without causing some irreparable damage.”

The picture being painted is slowly, painfully, coming into focus. Peter's breath hitches. The blanket that's covering him is pulled up almost all the way to his neck. His left hand rests on top of the covers, fingers linked tightly with May's, but his right…

Peter glances down just as the doctor says, “I'm sorry, Peter. I know this is going to be hard to hear, but your right arm was too damaged from the Infinity Stones' radiation. We did everything we could, but unfortunately, in the end, we had no choice but to amputate.”