Chapter Text
Peter slipped through the tilted doorframe, sneaking between the fallen furniture, walking his way towards the laboratory in search of the Sceptre, panting and wheezing at the dirty air and smoke entering his lungs.
The various lab equipment lay scattered all over the place, sending fiery sparks flying into the air. Peter crouched to avoid the overhead lights, bent and hanging off of the part of the ceiling that was left intact still after the initial explosion; he crawled his way through the room, careful to avoid the piles of shattered glass covering the entire floor.
He looked into every corner, checked every wall bent enough to become a hiding spot, and strained his ears as much as he could — desperately trying to pinpoint that distinctive hum of power and energy that the Infinity Stone proudly carried with it. Beyond the noise of electricity and busted hydraulics, however, Peter found nothing worthy of note.
A decent part of the ceiling — not overly big, however conveniently sized just enough to fit a regular person in there — was gone, becoming the perfect entrance to access the vent corridors on the floor above him.
Peter's fingers clenched against the piece of rubble under his hand, without thought twisting and bending the metal in his hold. Dread and resignation pooled together in his stomach, and he muttered a displeased, "Crap," with a sigh and a shake of his head.
The Sceptre was long gone, presumably already taken by the intruders while Peter was busy arguing with Romanoff a few levels below the laboratory.
Peter hauled himself off the floor, a jumble of curses slipping through his lips. He turned back towards the bent doorframe and ran, a clear destination already set in his mind.
From every crevice, every corner, behind every turn of the corridors of the helicarrier, danger echoed to Peter in the form of a ringing pain at the back of his skull. His spider-senses went wild, warning him of danger all around — coming from the brainwashed agents Peter could hear a certain distance away and from the imminent threat of the floating fortress at risk of falling into a descent from a height greater than a bird's view.
Peter ran as fast as he could, doing his best to push his body beyond the abilities a baseline human would be able to achieve. He weaved between the other SHIELD agents, all on their way to play their part in keeping the helicarrier airborne. He ignored every person that tried to call out for him, either from lack of recognition or out of concern for his person as Peter barrelled through on his way directly towards the biggest threat currently present on the helicarrier.
Ms. Romanoff relayed to him the orders from Nick Fury to follow Tony and help the man fix the failing turbine. Peter, in a fashion so familiar to him throughout his life, dismissed orders and claimed a task of his own in securing the Sceptre before the brainwashed agents under Loki's command could get their hands on it.
He laughed, earning himself weird looks from the passing agents. Had Tony — his Tony, the one who knew him and cared for him and was no longer alive — known that Peter once again went against direct orders to face a threat far above his paygrade, Peter would've been grounded before he could say a single word in his defence. And May would've supported him, because that's how things worked back at home — May and Tony teaming up to keep his vigilante alter ego in check.
He almost wished they would ground him right that second, if only that meant they both would've been alive to do that.
He weaved his way on a familiar route, having thoroughly memorised it during his visit to Loki the first time around. And just as he made his way towards the last intersection, from where a turn to the right would've led him straight to his destination, a sharp, 'Watch out!!', echoed in his head. Peter was pulled harshly out of the haze of memories, and he managed to fall into a crouch mere seconds before a blade — long and engraved with symbols he couldn't name but could recognise to be undoubtedly of Asgardian origin — embedded itself in the wall above Peter's head.
He froze in place, heart racing in his chest, pulling ragged breaths from the long run through the labyrinth that the corridors turned into in the state of chaos. Frantic fear pulled at his heartstrings. He turned his head, coming face-to-face with the person he knew he might meet but hoped he wouldn't have to.
Loki stood there, the metaphorical guns ablaze, hair no doubt standing on its ends in his rage. In his hands he held the missing Sceptre. Peter pursed his lips. He had been hoping to intercept the intruders before they could free Loki and pass to him the dreaded weapon, but now before him stood a brainwashed — mind-controlled? — Aesir, no doubt eager to decapitate him.
His gaze sparked blue under the overhead lights.
"You are," Loki drawled, tilting his head, staring at Peter equal parts curious and mad, "a variable I am not above admitting to not having foreseen."
"Believe me when I say I didn't plan to enter this equation," Peter huffed. Slowly, careful of accidentally cutting the thread of self-restraint that kept Loki standing still in his spot, Peter raised himself to his feet. "And I will gladly get the hell out of here if— if you would allow me. Blink and I'll be gone, and we will walk our separate ways— 'kay?"
Plan A of intercepting the intruders before they could reach Loki had failed with flying colours. Plan B, to redirect his focus to the orders given to him — to join Tony and help him fix the failing turbine — was falling apart before Peter's eyes.
He wasn't sure if he should have blamed his own reluctance to follow orders or the universe's ruthless and haunting habit of laughing in his face.
"Don't act foolish, little spider." An easy smirk fell into place on Loki's lips. He crept forward, his gait smooth as he was slowly approaching Peter, who leant against the wall, confident in himself and his every move. "You cannot possibly think I would let a time traveller stroll about the place unrestrained? Your involvement could pose a great threat to me and my plans."
"Believe it or not, you're gonna lose regardless of my involvement here." Peter grimaced. He kept his distance, slowly retreating from the wall and the blade embedded into it. "The Avengers didn't need me the first time around to win the battle."
He was playing with fire, he knew, and his spider-senses helpfully informed him of that fact.
The smirk on Loki's face grew tight. The two of them circled each other until Loki was close enough to pluck the intricate blade out of the wall. He snapped it in Peter's direction, holding it firm and steady, his gaze ablaze with a raging inferno.
"The Avengers are of no consequence to me and the army at my disposal," Loki sneered, waving his free hand in the air. "A bunch of pathetic fools who deem themselves the greatest of what your filthy planet has to offer yet act much like misbehaving children. A fitting company for my moronic brother, I'm certain."
Peter swallowed the lump in his throat, pushing the fear in his mind down, down the drain. His senses screamed at him to run, but he doubted that he could succeed in a simple game of catch against Loki.
"And I am also certain I can prevent their plans from coming into fruition if I have your brain at my disposal," Loki bit out, his lips twisting into an ugly snarl. "I am Loki of Asgard, and I am burdened with a glorious purpose. I will become humanity's saviour, and I will not let a mere Terran child become the nail that shatters my empire."
In a blink, Loki brought his arm back, and a moment later Peter was jumping out of the way of the blade searing through the air towards him. With his mind's focus shifting to the weapon, Peter's senses warned him of the incoming attack before his eyes could perceive it. With a gasp he scrambled to dodge as Loki lunged at him, both hands holding the Sceptre as he brought his arms behind himself for a swing. Loki's movements didn't falter, and without a hitch, he spun right into the next swing, bringing the Sceptre down at him. Peter stumbled on his feet as he tried to get away from it, throwing an arm out to block the direct hit — the Sceptre connected with his arm with a dull thud, and Peter pushed the Sceptre away from himself as he scurried to get out of reach.
He had to get away. Preferably, find Tony or Mr. Rogers — if nothing else, despite the confident speeches he pushed, Peter knew Loki would take his retreat once outnumbered. His gaze darted momentarily to the side, at the corridor stretching out the opposite way from the improvised prison Loki was held in, one that would no doubt lead him to the failing turbine and, consequently, to the aforementioned Avengers. The overhead lights made the metallic surfaces of the corridor glimmer under them.
His attention was brought back to Loki once again as his spider sense screamed, indicating another attack incoming his way. He brought his arm up to block the hit without a second thought, relying entirely on instinct born out of his prolonged reliance on his powers. The mistake had quickly shown itself to him in the form of sharp pain shooting through his arm. Peter cursed, reflexively forcing the weapon away from himself. It left Loki's hold and fell on the floor to their left with a metallic clatter, leaving behind a crimson trail of Peter's blood.
Peter leapt to the side, skipping backwards until he stood across from Loki in the opposing corridor from the one he was aiming at. The Asgardian stood right at the centre of the intersection, his figure illuminated by the overhead lights and casting a long shadow Peter's way, and gazed to the side, where the blood-covered blade lay under the wall.
Keeping an eye out for Loki, Peter brought his injured hand into his line of sight. Both the black jacket he received from Fury and the suit underneath it got ripped apart, a fresh wound oozing blood along his forearm and leaving a deep red stain in the fabric.
The wound burnt, but Peter knew from unfortunate past experiences that the pain felt greater than the actual damage he'd taken. He had a taste of a fair share of wounds and knew exactly how much effort it would take to render him immobile and unable to fight back.
Somewhere in the far distance behind him, coming in like a blessing, he heard the familiar blasting of repulsors. He looked at Loki — judging by the leisurely way that the Aesir marched to retrieve the blade, Peter was the only one to hear the incoming reinforcements just yet. He licked his drying lips, a plan forming quickly in his head.
"Man, I'm sure we can keep going and do this all day," Peter said, his words coming out on a wheeze. "But I have people waiting for me on the other side, you know. I don't think they will be very happy with me if I come back home covered in bruises."
"You are right in that we can continue onwards for a long time to come," Loki hummed. He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as he glanced Peter's way, his gaze suspicious. He spoke slowly, every word. "And I do, too, have certain quite urgent matters to attend to. However, I would say you are not moronic enough to believe I will let you rejoin your own troops. So why won't we stop those pointless games? You may come with me willingly, and I can promise you my word — you will not be harmed so long as you cooperate."
The man's lips stretched into a smile, vile and endlessly cruel, his gaze piercing Peter with its intensity. Peter was sure Loki was just about to continue his noble speech, talking grand and charming as Loki always did — however, something behind Peter must have caught his attention. The smile swiftly fell away, replaced instead by an enraged scowl.
'Watch it!' His mind screamed before he could blink, and Peter sharply turned around, both hands coming up to stop the incoming hit from whatever it was that barrelled towards him — but instead he was swept off his feet in a very familiar fashion by a red-and-gold suit of armour.
Peter yelped in surprise, scrambling to stick to the armour — his arms flying up to wrap around the suit's back; his legs flailing around for a moment before coming to latch onto Tony's. He squeezed his eyes shut as the initial gust of wind rushed past him.
He let one of his eyes drop open, looking back at Loki as Tony carried him away through the corridors. And in that last, parting glance, all he saw in Loki's deep blue eyes was a raging tornado amid a vast ocean.
Peter's attention fell from Loki as soon as he disappeared from his line of sight on the first corner they turned at, focus shifting, taking aim instead at Tony. Relief washed over him, and his fingers grabbed tighter at the Iron Man armour, his body sticking to it at every point of contact.
"To— Mr. Stark?" Peter said in a breathless whisper, his voice trembling from emotion. "What are you doing here?"
His hearing picked up a distant roar of a turbine coming from the direction they were headed in, the volume rising gradually with each passing second they spent flying. He could also, clear as day, hear the ruckus of a fight ongoing coming from that direction. Brainwashed SHIELD agents, he assumed, fighting back against Captain America.
"Fury couldn't get in contact with you. Told me to go fetch you and, quote, 'keep Parker out of trouble'." Tony explained. He huffed. "Imagine my utter relief when I saw that you were mostly intact and still alive. Imagine how it was crashed once I realised you were with Loki, for some reason."
Peter bit his lip, eyebrows shooting to his forehead. "Oh, shit. I'm sorry, I completely forgot about my comms—"
"I'm not your babysitter, itsy-bitsy," Tony cut him off. He could hear the smirk in his tone, but the words — laced with dismissal built on lack of familiarity and something Peter could only name to be apprehension—cut at him still. "Save the apology for Fury."
This time, Peter bit at his tongue to keep his mouth shut. He braced himself momentarily before they made another sharp turn midair and then winced at the dizzy feeling it gave him. The roar of the engine was louder from that point on, and Peter assumed that they must not be all that far from their destination. His guess had been confirmed only a second later, when he turned his head around to see daylight coming from down the corridor.
To his surprise, Tony spoke to him again only a second later.
"Jarvis tuned me in on your conversation with Loki. This one and the last," he said. Dread pooled in Peter's chest, and he licked his lips in his worry. Tony exclaimed, incredulous, "Time traveller. What the hell, kid?"
Peter gave the man a humourless laugh. He leant his forehead against the armour's chestplate and closed his eyes. "It's— complicated."
"I bet." Tony huffed. He peered down to look at Peter. "After we send Loki off to— Tartarus, or whatever equivalent of it they've got on Asgard— I'm stealing you away, and you will answer all my questions. Fury can kiss my ass."
Peter smirked, right about to tell how Tony would have to step in line because he wasn't the first to demand from him an interrogation — but before he could, Tony carelessly deposited him on the busted floor. Peter gasped, his hand immediately flying up to grab and stick to the nearest wall before he could fall off the edge and down into a freefall from umpteen feet above ground.
"You two came right on time," Peter heard Mr. Rogers' voice coming from behind. "I wouldn't mind a helping hand right about now."
Peter turned. There, Captain America — fully clad in his superhero attire, an older version of the suit that Peter'd only ever seen on television, the iconic shield strapped to his arm — fought back against uniformed troops.
"Awesome," Peter whispered, before shaking his head and joining the swarm of fight.
—
Phil Coulson was dead, and Peter did nothing to stop it.
The tragic news hit them as soon as they returned back to the flight deck after finally managing to keep the helicarrier in the air, the three of them — Tony, Mr. Rogers, and him — sitting down at the round table, though this time their numbers were much fewer than an hour ago.
Romanoff had retreated to the medbay to take care of a recovering Clint Barton, treating each other's injuries in the solitude of their private company. Thor and the Hulk had, apparently, fallen off the helicarrier — though Peter wasn't told how, exactly, that particular situation had come to be.
Despite the sudden attack, there had luckily been very few casualties reported. Most of them occurred after the very first explosion broke out, destroying a decent part of the helicarrier docker room and sweeping with it the nearby floors; none of the agents had actually been fatally injured in a fight against the brainwashed intruders.
None of them, with the exception of one Phil Coulson — who went down facing Loki, of all people, with a single weapon carried in his arms. Suddenly, Peter could remember where he'd heard that name before with a terrifying clarity.
"There was an idea," Fury was saying as he walked around to come up to their side of the table, "called the 'Avengers Initiative'. Parker and Stark both know about it."
For a fleeting moment, Tony's gaze jumped to him — seething, full of venom and something heavy behind his eyes. Peter avoided it like the plague, quickly looking down at his injured hand instead, before he could catch whatever reaction Mr Rogers had to the revelation. The wound, thankfully, no longer bled, but a visceral part of Peter somewhat wished that it still would.
"An idea to gather together a group of remarkable people," Fury continued, voice solemn and composed. Peter wanted to look him in the eyes but didn't dare to raise his head. His footsteps echoed together with his words. "To see if they could become something more. Phil Coulson died still believing in that idea."
Vintage Captain America cards, covered in blood gone cold long ago, lay scattered across the table before them. Mr. Rogers fiddled with one of them — a portrait of himself, made before he went down into the ice.
'We call ourselves the Avengers because if we can't save people, we will sure as heck avenge them,' Tony had told him once. The memory came to Peter as clear as day, a vivid image flickering before his eyes. 'The team assembled to avenge someone who died due to— our own incompetence. He was a brave man. His name was Phil Coulson, though I liked to pretend that his first name was Agent. Just out of spite.'
"And you," Fury turned, pointing a finger in Peter's direction. His expression, previously resigned and collected, twisted into something scathing and judging. Peter was overcome with an urge to shy away from it, and it took great effort and clenched fists to keep himself from flinching. "Turned off the comm link. Blatantly ignored my direct order to stay away from Loki. Could you imagine what would've happened had he succeeded in taking you under his control?"
'Clearly you weren't ready—'
"I didn't plan on going after Loki," Peter weakly defended, though his voice held little confidence despite the truth his words held. He'd been hoping to stop the intruders before they could free the god from his glass cage — evidently, the plan failed, but at least he tried to do what he considered best. "It was just— a coincidence. It just happened."
"Well, it better not happen again," Fury retorted. His hand dropped, and he resumed his walk around the table. "You came to me offering to provide help. Do not become the reason I would need it."
Peter frowned and, in his guilt, turned away from Fury to cast a look around the room. Seeking validation, perhaps; he wasn't certain. Mr. Rogers was staring at him, a frown and a twinge of something complicated twisting his features. Peter had a gut feeling that the man was torn between defending Peter's disobedience and simultaneously scolding him for it. The thought almost made him smile, but one short glance at his mentor made him bite it back. Tony was looking away from the table, his eyes unseeing and expression unreadable, though his lips were pursed and the fingers on his left arm twitched every so often.
Peter, acting on a mere habit of days long gone, unconsciously mirrored his mood, feeling the unease and shame as if it was his own. He turned his head down, sheepish, and rubbed the wrist of his injured hand— leaning forward, folding into himself as guilt burnt bright in his chest.
Peter, once again, wasn't good enough. Wasn't fast enough, couldn't get to the intruders in time to stop Loki from escaping and prevent a certain tragedy from occurring. Now, Coulson was dead.
('If you were good enough—' echoed a voice in his head, scathing and judging, a traitor whom he once considered a friend reading him like an open book and pushing against all the right buttons to make him bleed. '—Maybe Tony would still be alive.')
He would do better from now on. He had to, if he wanted to prevent anyone else from dying. He must do better if he wanted to bring this universe — this timeline — a future that his own had no chance to experience.
Fury carried on with his speech, his focus shifting from Peter and back to the general topic of the Avengers, of Loki, and of all things connected to them. Peter tuned it all out.
—
Not much time passed before the group dispersed entirely. It started with Tony — the man abruptly stood from his chair midway through Fury's speech and walked away. Mr. Rogers followed him shortly after, his eyes shining with intent and silent determination. That left Peter to sit alone at the table, mulling over his own anxieties in the solitude of his mind.
He would've spiralled, he knew, had he been given the chance to do so; however, to his utmost gratitude, he was pulled out of his thoughts once again by Fury, who heaved a deep sigh as he clapped Peter on the shoulder. He noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that Agent Hill had stepped closer to them at some point in the course of their conversation. She was glaring at Fury, judgement burning behind her eyes, though Peter was sure that he'd missed whatever had become the topic of their disagreement.
"Now, we need to resume our search for Loki's whereabouts. Again. God only knows where that scoundrel went." He tapped Peter's shoulder, leaning down to ask, "Think you might know where he is headed?"
"Yeah," Peter hummed, swallowing down the lump that formed in his throat. He tilted his head back, lowering his voice enough that only Fury would be able to hear his next words as he said, "Loki should be going towards Stark Tower now." He smirked. "The Avengers will go after him in just a minute."
"Oh, will they?" Fury snorted, an eyebrow arched as he looked Peter in the eyes. "Are you going to follow? I'd rather have a forewarning if you do. I can't afford to overstress, you see — not much hair left to lose."
Peter chuckled, amused, and his gaze trailed down towards his injured hand. Mercifully, the wound and the bruise both no longer hurt as much as they previously did; however, Peter knew that they would ache in the midst of a battle — and that would, without a shadow of a doubt, hold him back, considering the extent of his reliance on being able to hold himself airborne on his webs.
Peter frowned. He had grown too accustomed to fighting by relying on his
Peter's physical state aside — the Avengers had no problem dealing with the Chitauri the first time around, when they invaded Earth in their universe. His presence would only hinder them, and Peter wasn't sure he wanted to test how his presence would affect the ongoing fight.
'Everything Spider-Man touches comes to ruin!' J Jonah Jameson spoke, and the city chanted with him.
"No, I will stay here." Peter shook his head, smiling hesitantly up at Fury. He hoped that the man wouldn't see a shadow of his thoughts reflected in his expression. "The Avengers can handle themselves."
"A smart decision," Fury nodded.
"You owe me so, so many answers, Nick." Agent Hill said with a sigh, drawing their attention back to her. She stood with her arms crossed, posture slumped in defeat. "Come on. We have a job to do."
—
Peter stared at the control panel in astonishment, dread and filthy terror settling in his mind. His thoughts wandered away, aiming towards his own memories of the battle of New York that he experienced as a civilian. He could still recall watching that recording on the news — of Iron Man flying into the wormhole that tore the sky above New York apart, to the other side of the cosmos, guiding in his arms a nuke. Peter could still, as clear as day, recall the equal parts of horror and admiration that the recording had stirred in him back then, for he relieved that feeling with every new deed that the Avengers had achieved and every disaster they had to prevent.
Back at the time, with a mind of only ten years old, Peter paid no mind to the nature of the nuke beyond the pure and childish 'how cool was it' that Iron Man had single-handedly destroyed the entirety of the alien army still standing alive at the time — damaging their hive mind enough for the Chitauri still flying around the city to drop down dead around the streets.
He never gave much thought to why, exactly, a nuke was fired in the first place, and he couldn't quite remember whether the people around him talked about it either. The population's focus drifted towards other matters — the aliens, for one, becoming a reality that a lot of people struggled to accept. Peter had hopped onto the same train back then, and his immature ignorance came back to haunt him now — in the form of an overheard conversation between Fury and the senate.
If it wasn't for Tony, New York City would have ceased to exist years before Thanos could've made an appearance. Peter would be dead if Tony hadn't thought of redirecting the nuke into space. The realisation sent a violent shiver down his spine, and he barely managed to conceal the sudden panic ripping through his body.
Still, he exhaled through gritted teeth — and he knew his expression must have been twisted into some sort of grimace despite his best efforts to remain indifferent. He brought a hand up, brushing his hair off his face.
He waited for Fury to cut the connection with the senate, and then, with words shaky and unsteady breathing, he commented, "I have a feeling that they will still fire the nuke." He chuckled in a vain attempt to divert his fear and feign frustration instead.
He didn't care enough to see Fury's frantic reaction to his words or listen to the orders he gave in a rapid fire of words. All his attention was turned inwards, to his thoughts and speculations running wild at the implications of the situation at hand.
He recalled their earlier meeting with the senate — the distaste towards the idea of Avengers, clear as dat to any whom it might matter, and the bold reluctance to set the initiative into motion despite the urgency of the situation. He thought of the Tesseract and the mysterious Phase Two, of the weapon that Mr. Rogers had found in the storage room on the helicarrier, a Hydra symbol plastered onto its side.
Peter crossed his arms at his chest, careful to avoid stirring the still-healing wound at his arm. He sighed, fingers starting to tap a rhythmic pattern into the sleeve of his jacket, and cast a glance around the room. He hadn't noticed it until now, but Fury was long gone, exiting the room in a hurry, no doubt in an attempt to intercept the launch of the nuke, and Agent Hill went with him. Peter was left to stand alone at the control panel. Several SHIELD agents in the room — ones who weren't occupied with any urgent tasks beyond simple monitoring — stared his way, curious and apprehensive, though they quickly averted their gazes once Peter's focus was brought towards them.
With a deep, miserable sigh, he whispered, "This is a mess."
—
Peter's breath caught in his throat. On the screens all around the room, broadcasting recordings from various cameras, the scene played out in a very familiar fashion. He watched, mesmerised, unable to turn his eyes away, as Tony — once again, just like he did in Peter's memory — carried the nuke into the wormhole in the sky.
The entire room exploded with celebratory cheering, people clapping and whooping as the Iron Man suit disappeared into the wormhole, but Peter couldn't bring himself to join in with them. Instead he watched, trepidation squeezing at his heart, as the wormhole gradually began to close — with no sign of Tony Stark falling out of the sky.
Peter knew that Tony would succeed — he had seen the recordings of him falling from the sky, and yet he still had to swallow down his own nerves, fingers twitching where they grasped at the fabric of his jacket. He whispered under his breath, in a feeble attempt to settle his mind, "He will come back."
And in less than a minute, Tony did, falling back on Earth mere seconds before the wormhole disappeared for good. Now Peter could gladly join in with the cheering all around him — letting out a relieved exhale, his posture slumping as all the tension gradually left his body.
Tony was okay.
He looked to his side, where Fury stood, too, carrying a gentle smile of his own. They shared a short glance and turned back to the monitors.
The various Chitauri soldiers began falling from the sky, dropping dead in the middle of their flight. The behemoth creatures — leviathans, Peter thought they were called — slumped on the ground and on top of the buildings, too, going completely limp as all life left their bodies.