Chapter Text
Peter wasn’t expecting dying to be that painful.
Before Spider-Man, he thought he’d die of old age, with a spouse and a family by his side. He’d live a long, fulfilling life and die when his body told him it was time. And surely, dying like that, peacefully in his sleep, couldn’t hurt, right?
When he became Spider-Man, he figured he’d die in battle. A shot to the abdomen, a too hard of a hit to the head, a slip of his grip on his web. Death in battle would hurt, he knew that. It would be slow and painful, but he assumed that his mind would go numb to the pain, that it would be too much to handle and simply bring him into the cradle of unconsciousness until he truly faded away.
But standing there on an alien planet, feeling a prick at the back of his neck, the distinct feeling of something is wrong, the panic that crept up his throat, Peter’s imagination had nothing on the real act of dying. Because oh God, did it hurt.
It felt like someone was peeling off his skin but then going deeper, his veins, his bones, the marrow inside. It was excruciating, it was like nothing he had ever felt before. It made him want to vomit, to cry and weep, to scream and throw himself into hysterics. Instead, he clung to Tony.
His mentor didn’t know what was happening. Peter barely heard his attempt at reassurance, a soft you’re alright, even though he wasn’t and they both knew it. But Tony held him back, and that’s all Peter willed himself to focus on. Tony was so much warmer compared to the cold, icy feeling of coming apart.
They ended up on the floor somehow. Tony was above him, terror and unheard pleas in his eyes. Peter so wished to soothe his mentor, to tell him that it would all be okay, to make both of them believe it.
In the end, all he could say was, “I’m sorry,” before he drifted off to sleep.
Someone was trying to wake Peter up.
There was a soft nudge to his side.
Was it his side? It didn’t feel quite like it.
Peter resisted the urge to turn over, to grumble at whoever it was.
He was tired, so, so, so tired.
He wanted to sleep for the rest of time.
He felt so heavy like he could fall right through the…
Was there a floor?
Peter didn’t think but he could feel and, no. There wasn’t a floor.
Was he floating?
Falling?
Dreaming?
What was this all?
Was he even sleeping?
It felt like it.
Sort of.
He felt weightless like he was made of nothing.
But he had to be made of something, right?
He had to be.
So what was he made of?
Atoms, molecules, matter, he was made of something.
It didn’t feel like it though.
The nudging returned.
He wanted to tell whoever it was to go away but something stopped him.
Did he have a mouth?
A throat?
A voice?
Where was he?
Peter didn’t think he was sleeping anymore.
If he wasn’t sleeping, then what was happening?
Was he dead?
In a coma?
Where was he?
There was another nudge.
This time he tried to reach out.
His arms felt odd.
It was like his body was made of water.
Heavy. Like something could pass right through it.
But water moved and so his arm did too.
His hand brushed something.
It was like cloth.
It was too hard to be cloth though, Peter could tell.
The leather seemed to reach back.
It touches the water of his arm and then pulled.
Suddenly the water became solid, like ice, but he didn’t feel cold.
He didn’t feel warm either.
Instead, he actually felt.
His arms weren’t water or ice, but flesh and blood and bones.
His body returned and it wasn’t nearly as painful as it had been disappearing.
He had a mouth, a face, a head, hair again.
He couldn’t see even when he had eyes again.
But then he could because his eyes had always been open, it was just dark around him.
His vision filled with light and it was all he could see, just light, light, light, light--
And then everything was golden.
Peter blinked because he could now. He looked down at his body, feeling his chest and stomach, his face and hair. He was whole again. He sighed out of relief, out of dread.
He looked around himself. He was standing in something like a lake. Or rather, on something like one. There was water below his feet but it was not disrupted when he moved. The environment was colored golden and red with orange shadows. It would’ve been pretty, perhaps even peaceful, if Peter had begun to remember everything.
The space ship. Titan. Fighting. Dying.
Panic gripped his chest and he found it nearly impossible to breathe. His knees gave out. He resisted the urge to curl up into a ball and sob. He let himself cry though. He braced himself on his elbows, kneeling on the ground, and cried. He was dead. He had left behind Tony, May, Ned, hell, even MJ. He had left them. And this was the afterlife? It was cold and barren; there was nothing.
Peter heaved a sob, finally succumbing to the want to curl in on himself. He brought his hands to his head and let his body weigh on his thighs. He stayed there and cried for who knows how long. He was alone, it’s not like it mattered--
There were footsteps.
Peter’s head darted up and he quickly pushed himself up. He still had his suit on, his web-slingers intact and hopefully functional. If he had to fight, he could do it. He just wished his head would stop spinning for one moment so he could focus.
His vision blurred but Peter could make out the outline of some kind of gazebo. Open, no real walls, just a roof held up by Greek looking pillars. That… hadn’t been there a moment ago. Peter didn’t think he could be that unobservant. But in the center, maybe the entrance, of the gazebo stood someone. They were small like a child but that’s all Peter could tell.
Peter did his best to steady his breathing. “He-Hello?” he called out. “Who are you?”
Silence, then, “Come here.”
Peter started at the young voice. Whoever it was couldn’t be older than ten. Regardless, Peter saw no other choice than to begin towards the gazebo. “Where am I?” he asked as he moved.
The child did not respond.
Peter took in many measured breaths, keeping his focus on the structure in front of him. “Am I dead?” he continued. He knew the answer but part of him needed to hear it from someone other than his own head.
Still no answer.
Peter shivered, pushing down the desperation in his throat. “Please,” he choked out as he reached the steps of the gazebo. “Tell me what’s going on.”
The child, a girl, turned to face him. Her skin was bright green and her hair was purple, wound in two buns that fell into braids. She had markings on her face, intricate silver lines on her cheeks. She was small but Peter felt wary of everything. He wasn’t going to underestimate her.
Peter walked the steps and stopped finally in front of the girl. “Who are you?” he asked, much more gentle this time.
“That depends,” the young girl said, holding unnerving eye contact.
“On what?” Peter pushed.
“My body is not my mind,” she explained calmly. “My body is what the wielder of the Stone wishes to see. My mind is the Stone.” Something in her gaze felt ancient. Peter believed her even if he didn’t understand.
“The stone?”
“The Soul Stone. That is who I am. This body is simply an image, an illusion for the sake of the wielder. I could appear to be anyone.”
The Soul Stone. Is that what caused all of this? Is that why he was there? Peter needed more information.
“So,” he started, drawing out the word, “what do I call you? Just, Soul Stone?”
The child seemed to smile for a quick second, Peter might’ve imagined it. “This illusion, her name is Gamora. You may call me as such.”
The name sounded familiar, distant but recent. Peter didn’t give it much thought. “Alright, okay, nice to meet you, Gamora,” he said. “Now, uh, I’m Peter. Where are we?”
“In the Soul Stone.”
Peter blinked rapidly, his mind running, processing, piecing it all together. “So, this is what? A different dimension? A pocket universe?”
“A pocket universe, that’s an astute description.” Gamora nodded. She sounded much older than she looked.
“Is there anyone else here? I wasn’t the only one wh-who disappeared, right? Right?” He couldn’t be alone, he couldn’t be.
“No--” Peter would’ve sighed if not for her next words, “--half of every living population in the entire galaxy has disappeared along with you.”
Peter swore his heart stopped. “Ha-Half?” he stuttered. “Of every…” He stopped talking, forced himself to hold his breath. Panic surged in his chest. Half of everything. Trillions, more than that, were gone. Disappeared. Dead. He felt absolutely sick to his stomach.
“Thanos--” Peter flinched, “--vowed to wipe out half of every living being, of all life. And he succeeded. It’s why you are here.”
Peter opened his mouth but paused. He looked around himself. More people, living beings, than Peter could even comprehend were there somewhere. Trillions upon trillions of creatures, humans, aliens, animals, were there. People Peter knew and people he didn’t. They must’ve been in the darkness Peter had been in. But right then, it was just Peter and Gamora. Just two out of trillions.
“Then why am I here ?” Peter asked. “I wasn’t here… before. I was in-in some sort of darkness. It was like I was asleep. Did you pull me out?”
Now, looking at Gamora, it struck that for all she said her mind was, what the Soul Stone was, she really did just look like a child at that moment. “Yes,” she said, scuffing her foot back and forth. “I pulled you out.”
“Why?” It didn’t make any sense.
Gamora looked away, suddenly now sheepish. It was a childish gesture. Peter was an only child, was the youngest in his friend group, and had never dealt with a young child one on one. Still, there was a feeling in his gut that he trusted. Peter crouched down, leveled himself to her. “I’m not upset,” he found himself saying, voice soft and gentle, “not at you. I don’t think you really had any say in what happened with Th… the wielder.”
Gamora met his eyes again. She looked so small. “I didn’t,” she told him. “But it is in my nature as the Soul Stone.”
Suddenly her eyes began to glow, a deeper orange than the environment around them. Peter jolted but didn’t move. There was no prick at his neck; Gamora wasn’t a threat at that moment. She raised her hand, emitting a similar glow to her eyes, and waved it to the right. Peter looked behind him to see a planet. Blues and magentas covered it with an eclipsed sun behind it. Cloud-like figures floated above the world. “Vormir,” Gamora began, “is where I resided.”
Peter stared at the view of the planet, Vormir, zoomed in. He moved to sit on his knees, thighs touching calves. As images of barren terrain appeared, Peter said, “Is this your home?” He looked back at her.
The area where her eyebrows should’ve been scrunched up. She looked confused. “I do not have a home,” she said simply.
Peter’s heart hurt for her. “Oh,” he murmured and turned back to Vormir.
Gamora continued, “Vormir is in the center of all celestial existence. It is deserted. There is no life. The only nature there is lakes and mountains. In the center of it all is where I could be claimed.”
The images shifted. Peter watched as they morphed and swirled before settling to an image of an insanely tall mountain. At the very top, there were two large stone pillars flanking a circular area. Below the cliff of the mountain was a similar circle, indented with a series of markings, symbols perhaps.
“Claimed?” Peter repeated.
The images moved again, this time stopping at the opening of the two pillars. A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness. In Peter’s startlement, he distantly thought it looked like a wraith. “A guardian stands before the structure,” Gamora explained. “To anyone who comes in hopes of claiming me, he is the one to tell them the cost of the Soul Stone.”
Suddenly the orange glow turned blood red and the images changed. The location stayed the same but two people appeared. A tall one and another much shorter. When Peter looked closer, shock coursed through his body. It was Thanos, with only three stones in his gauntlet, and an older, adult Gamora.
She was much taller than she was now. Her hair had grown out and more markings painted her face. She looked strong in a general sense. But as Peter watched the scene unfold, watched as she and Thanos talked, he noticed the panic and fear that set into her eyes. He watched, frozen, as Thanos grabbed her wrist and dragged her closer to the edge of the cliff. She fought but ultimately Thanos was stronger. Peter let out a wet gasp, choking on it, as he watched Gamora be thrown over the edge and down the mountain. He was glad there was no sound, that he couldn’t hear her screaming.
The Gamora beside him barreled on but Peter didn’t miss the gentler tone she used. “The price for the Soul Stone is a soul. One must sacrifice an equal for the stone. To gain, you must give. My nature as the Soul Stone is to take. I am a soul. I desire a soul in exchange for mine. That is how it has always been.”
The glow turned back to orange as Thanos and the wraith figure disappeared. Peter felt himself shaking. He brought a hand to his mouth and closed his eyes. He didn’t quite pray but he sent out whatever comfort he could to the present, real Gamora, wherever she was.
Peter gulped and took a deep breath through his nose. He blinked to keep his tears back. “Okay,” he finally managed, “okay, I get that. I don’t blame you for what happened. I just…”
He looked back to Gamora, stared directly into her eyes. “Why am I here, Gamora? Why did you pull me out?” he begged.
Gamora breathed in, holding eye contact. “I used to be alive,” she said. “Not just my illusion but… before. Before I was the Stone.”
The silence hung and Peter let it sit there. He could wait for her to continue.
“I don’t remember it,” she admitted quietly and there was something in her voice that made Peter’s chest feel tight. “I know I was, but I don’t remember it. Sometimes… who I was interferes with what I am.”
Gamora sighed deeply. Peter’s chest doesn’t loosen. “It is in my nature as the Stone to collect souls. It is what I am.” She paused, made a hiccuping sound and continued, “But it is also in my nature as who I was to question what has happened.”
She looked away, first to the floor then out to the golden world around them. “Nothing like this has ever happened before,” she whispered. “As the Stone, it brings me joy.” Peter shivered. “My purpose is being fulfilled. I am collecting.”
She stopped. Then she sat down. Right next to Peter. Legs lied out to her side. It was unexpected yet such a simple gesture. Peter wondered how tired she must be. Still gazing out, she said, “But who I was speaks to me. It’s something deep, instinctual, you might call it. It’s telling me this is wrong.”
She made the hiccuping sound again. Peter stared as her eyes turned glossy, shining with tears he knew she would refuse to let fall. “It is screaming, Peter,” she choked out. Peter wasn’t even surprised she knew his name, too concerned with the child in front of him. “It is so loud sometimes, it hurts. And I don’t know what to do.”
Peter didn’t know how long they sat there. The silence stretched on. Peter felt the itch of wanting to move burrow into his skin but he didn’t have the motivation to quell it. It didn’t matter right then. Gamora had pulled him out for a reason. He needed to know why. He could wait. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere.
“I was looking for someone,” Gamora’s voice almost startles Peter in its abruptness, “anyone, when I pulled you out. I needed someone…”
Peter studied her for a moment. There weren’t many tells or traits that Peter could pick up but he didn’t need them. He knew Gamora was holding something back. “Needed someone to talk to?” Peter offered.
“In a sense.” She nodded. “I needed someone. Someone willing--willing to try.”
“Try what?”
Gamora’s eyes flicked over his face. She was studying him this time. Her eyes began to glow again. With a swipe of her hand, between them stood a golden crystal. The Soul Stone, Peter realized, his heartbeat picking up. Peter was surprised to feel the heat coming off the illusion.
“The Soul Stone requires a sacrifice of something you love,” she told him but then hesitated. She reached out to the Stone. Peter expected her hand to just pass through but instead, she grabbed it and held it in the palm of her hand. “But in the end, I have a choice to give myself for whoever was sacrificed. I’ve always been content to give myself for a soul but now…”
Suddenly, a small smile came across her face. Peter felt himself smiling back. “I’m glad I pulled you, Peter,” she said, “because you’re willing to try.”
Peter found that she was right. He didn’t know her plan, didn’t even know if she had one, but whatever it was she was talking about, he would do it. Peter just hoped it wouldn’t get anyone killed or hurt.
Gamora held out her hand to him, Stone in hand. “Take it,” she said, continuing despite Peter’s obvious shock. “Take it and go back. You could fix this, Peter, all of it. Take it and use the other stones to fix this.”
Peter stared at the Stone in her hand. He could feel the power radiating off of it. He couldn’t fathom what it could do to him, to others, to the world if he took it. But then his eyes lifted to Gamora. This could very well be a trick, could be some mind game. Peter could be sent back to the darkness and left there for the rest of his life, or longer. It could all be some bluff. It could all be a lie. But if it wasn’t? And Peter didn’t take it? Then he would be sacrificing trillions of people for his own safety. And Peter couldn’t do that.
Gamora said that the Stone required a sacrifice. Maybe, this time around, he was the sacrifice. His soul for everyone else’s. Bring back everyone and fall into the darkness again. He might die for everyone else.
And as Peter reached out and grabbed the Soul Stone, with Gamora beaming at him and finally letting the tears fall, he knew he was at peace with that.
Now, Peter thought that dying was painful. And it had been, don’t get him wrong. It’s just that holding the Stone was worse.
Or maybe it just hurt in a different way. Because while dying had been cold, holding the Stone was pure heat. It poured into his veins and burned through his blood. It seared into his skin, bubbled under the surface. It was boiling red hot and he couldn’t escape it. It made him want to throw up, it made him wish he was dead. He almost yearned for the darkness because there couldn’t have been anything worse than this and the sweet release of nothingness sounded pretty good right about now.
But he couldn’t go back to the darkness, he had to get back to his world. He had to get back to May and Tony and Ned and MJ and whoever was left of the Avengers. He had to get back to them, he had to make things right.
He could fix everything. He could bring back trillions and help them. He could do this.
He felt his body change, go from solid and real to nothing and then back to real. When he closed his eyes against the golden beams (which he realized were coming from him), the colors changed behind his eyes. It went from gold to black, and then to a somehow familiar light blue. And when he opened his eyes, finding himself somewhere familiar, it made it worth the pain.
Peter didn’t know where he was.
He was lying on his back when he came to. He was still burning hot but it was a reassurance that he still had the Soul Stone. When he blinked his eyes open, he saw a whicker roof above him, the sun peaking through. Below him was a wooden floor. The place looked fairly bare from what he could see. He couldn’t hear any birds chirping, but there was a breeze passing through. It provided some comfort to him.
He took in a deep breath and quickly regretted it. The Stone seemed to flare to life and course its power through him. It breathed with him and it hurt. Peter forced himself to breathe through the pain, to calm himself down before he spiraled. He couldn’t afford that right now. He gritted his teeth, thinking to himself that the pain would be worth it, he just had to bear with it.
When the worst of it passed, he sat up. He was in some sort of hut. It was small and it had no real door, just an opening not too far from him. Outside, it looked like home. But when he focused more on his breathing and what truly surrounded him, he found that the air was thick, but not quite with humidity. It was heavy and somehow Peter knew that’s just how this air was.
He wasn’t on Earth.
That alone made him want to break down. Instead, he just closed his eyes and promised to himself that he would make it back. He would find a way, whatever it took.
Peter stood up, breathing with the Stone. It thrummed through him and Peter found that the more he lived with it instead of trying to control it, the pain lessened. Idly, as he noted the room around him, he noted that he was still in his suit as well. He felt a little more safe with it on, a little more like a hero.
He was about to move forward, to venture out into whatever was out there, when he stopped. There was something calling to him. It didn’t call to him with a voice or a sound, but a pull that felt similar to when Gamora pulled him out. Peter looked away from outside and began walking towards the call. He didn’t know how he knew where to go. He turned the small corner of the hut and stopped.
It was the gauntlet. More importantly, it was the Infinity Stones.
Peter knew them all. The Power Stone, on the index finger. Space Stone, middle finger. Reality Stone, ring finger. Time Stone, thumb. Mind Stone, the center of the gauntlet. And finally, on the pinkie finger, missing, was the Soul Stone.
Peter and the Stone breathed together. They sighed as the Stones called out. Peter blinked and walked forward, the humming of the Stones becoming louder and louder. The Space Stone was the loudest perhaps, emitting something akin to real emotions. Betrayal, Peter would call it. The Space Stone felt betrayed. Something ancient in Peter, in the Soul Stone, hurt for it. It was not human, it did not understand anything beyond the actions that would fulfill their purpose. And yet it knew enough to understand what had stopped their purpose.
Peter stood in front of the gauntlet. The Stone in his hand still burned but now he could feel it in his throat. It didn’t quite hurt, though it wasn’t exactly painless. Instead, it felt like the familiar burn of trying not to cry. It was a knot in his throat. Peter knew it wasn’t his own emotion but the Stone’s. He felt them just as strongly.
Take it and use the other stones to fix this. Gamora’s words ran through his head. Peter breathed for himself, brushed aside the burning sensation that spiked in him, and reached for the gauntlet. He could use the gauntlet to create a portal back home and then with whoever was left, they could fix this. Or maybe he should head back to Titan, get Tony and the blue woman and take them home. Maybe he should just put on the gauntlet himself and just be done with it, just use it to bring everyone back, to hell with himself. Regardless of what he did, he needed the gauntlet and he needed it now. His fingers barely touched the gold and he was immediately overwhelmed by the Stones’ power, the Stones’ cries. God, it was too much, too loud, too heavy, it was too much. It hurt so bad, his throat, his hand, his head. He just wanted to fix this, to be safe, to help, to go home--
“Out of all the thing I expected…”
Peter felt the Stone all react. The ones in the gauntlet preened almost to see their wielder return. The Soul Stone recoiled, burned, raged. Peter forced himself to breathe, to let the Stone breathe through him but fought for control. It was trillions of souls against his. He had to be stronger, just for the moment. He’d let them all have their revenge soon enough. Besides, he would be joining them.
He turned, rage and fear boiling under his skin. He kept his face as calm as possible. If he could look the part, then maybe he could act it too. He turned and stared directly in Thanos’ eyes. “I didn’t expect a child,” Thanos finished.
Thanos didn’t look very worried to see Peter so close to the gauntlet. He didn’t seem to notice the fact that the Soul Stone was missing, nor the faint glow coming from Peter’s hand. Peter counted it as a blessing.
“Are you here to kill me?” Thanos asked, putting down a bag full of plants. Peter hadn’t noticed it before.
Peter didn’t know what to say. He had never wanted anyone dead, never had the capacity for that kind of anger. He thought that now face to face with the person who had killed half of everything, he expected to feel that anger. But he didn’t. Not exactly. He knew that Thanos deserved to die for what he had done, he knew that. But something told him that killing him wasn’t Peter’s right. That honor belonged to someone else. Peter felt the Soul Stone hum in agreement.
“No,” Peter told Thanos. He was glad his voice wasn’t shaking nearly as much as his body was.
“Then you’re here for the Stones.” It wasn’t a question.
Peter nodded and barely had time to react to the giant sword thrown at him. He was able to jump to safety. His mask formed over his face. He was grateful for the familiar screens, for the small chirping start-up of Karen’s AI. He didn’t take a moment to speak to her, just grabbed the gauntlet and ran.
There was a prick at his neck the entire time he ran. It started at his neck and spread throughout his whole body, filling it with dread and the need to run faster. He ran from the hut, out the open entrance. He could hear Thanos chasing him, using the sword to cut through whatever was in his path.
He wished he had a free hand to use his webs to pull himself forward, but he had the gauntlet in one hand and the Soul Stone in the other. And it wasn’t like the suit had any pockets. He didn’t give any of that much thought though, too focused on getting to a safe place to use the Space Stone.
He sensed the sword first, heard it next, and felt it last. He was lucky, he had managed to jump away before it could kill him, but not far enough to avoid it entirely. As he jumped, it nicked his leg, slicing his calf. He went down hard, gripping the items in hard tighter, rolling a couple of feet. He begged his body to work him, to get up and start running again. Thanos would kill him if he didn’t. He had to get up, had to get up, get up, get up, get up--
He did, in fact, get up, but not on his own accord and not on his feet.
Thanos, towering above him, grabbed him by the throat and lifted him into the air. Peter scrambled, unimaginable panic running through his body. He fought the urge to claw at the hand around his throat. He couldn’t afford to drop the gauntlet or the Stone.
He wriggled again, trying to keep the gauntlet away. It was a futile attempt, even Peter knew that. “I admire your determination,” Thanos said. Peter had enough spite left in him to roll his eyes. “But it will not get you far, nor will it save your life.”
He began to squeeze Peter’s neck. Peter let out a pitiful sound, something from the back of his throat. He squirmed, kicking Thanos but getting nowhere. He still didn’t dare use his hands. Thanos continued. “You and the rest should be grateful. I have given the whole universe a second chance, a chance to survive. The supplies will last longer, the resources will replenish. The universe is as it should be, and we should all be at peace. And yet…”
Peter’s airway was cut off. Instinct won over and he dropped the gauntlet and clawed at the hand wrapped around his throat. Thanos chuckled, a deep, foreboding sound. As he grabbed the gauntlet, he said, “And yet, those who resisted have not given up their ways. Those on Earth, those on my home. You all have resisted, and you all have lost. Is it not easier to just rest? What is done is done. I am inevitable .”
Peter gasped and wheezed but no air came into his lungs. They screamed at him, demanding air he couldn’t supply. He kicked and clawed and let out the barest of a scream. He couldn’t die, not now. He had to get back home, he had to see and talk to May again. He had to make sure Tony was okay. He had to help Ned build the latest LEGO set. He had to get back and fix everything, he couldn’t die now.
In his panic, in his stumble through his thoughts, he didn’t notice the Soul Stone move from his hand. Not slip, not taken from him, but moved. It moved from his hand, up his arm, and to his chest. As Peter’s vision began to dot with black spots, it was encapsulated by his nano-tech suit and nestle against his chest. And suddenly, Peter’s vision was golden instead of black.
There was a loud crashing sound. When Peter managed to catch his bearings, he realized he was on the ground. Everything was golden. It was the only color he could see. Even shadows were tinted with gold. It was disorientating, to say the least. He didn’t know what had just happened or what the burning feeling on--in?--his chest was. But then he blinked and any question disappeared as his mind cleared.
It felt like there was a breeze within him. Despite the burning from his chest, his entire body held a cool sensation. It was light blue to him, even when everything else felt gold.
He stood up. He felt light like he could rise off the ground and float in the air. In fact, he realized as he looked down, that’s exactly what was happening. His feet weren’t touching the ground, but hovering just a few inches above it. For some reason, he didn’t feel shocked at the sight.
His mind suddenly fell back on track, processing the last five minutes in a rapid session. Thanos, the gauntlet, the Soul Stone. Peter slowly looked down at his chest. Emanating from it was the Soul Stone. Nestled right in the center of the spider emblem on his suit, it sat there and glowed brightly. It was a much more distinctive, sharper golden than everything else around him. It was burning him again too. From the center of his chest and out, it burned. Tingled almost, closer to the tips of his fingers. He tore his gaze from the Stone and out into the fields before him. It was impossible to miss, the deep trench that had been created in the ground. Peter could see the familiar purple at the end of the trench. Thanos didn’t exactly look like he’d be getting up anytime soon.
Peter wobbled in the air with the number of emotions pouring onto his shoulders when he looked at the titan. They were not his own, Peter could tell. It did not come from his soul but those held in the crystal in his chest. As soon as Peter acknowledged the voices, his knees buckled and he fell to the ground. The cries of them all made his head ring violently. He covered his ears, desperately trying to find some solace, but how do you block out sound coming from inside? They screamed at him, making no real words, but the emotions behind them were enough to understand. Rage, sorrow, pain, hate, hurt, animosity, hysterics, agony. Pure suffering was drilling into Peter’s head.
Later, Peter would wonder why his most painful experiences just kept getting one up’ed.
Peter let out a yell of his own. If he didn’t find some form of control, he knew he would pass out. And then he would be dead, and the Stones would be with Thanos, and that couldn’t happen. Knowing that he had a few moments before Thanos came to, Peter took the precious seconds to breathe in properly. He clamped down on whatever whimpers wanted to escape and focused. He closed his eyes and reached inward. He found the connection to the Stone in the right corner of his mind. I promise, he will get what he deserves, he told the Stones, the souls inside it. I swear, he will pay, he will. But I can’t do anything with you all yelling at me. I need to focus. I need some quiet. Please, you will be avenged.
Something in his head loosened. It was like a headache finally receding. He could breathe and think again. The souls had listened. He wasn't in control though. It was something more like a compromise. The Stone was a host for the souls. Now Peter was a host for its power.
He and the Stone breathed.
Peter stood, straightening his back. He looked out to Thanos. The gauntlet lied a few feet from the titan. Peter moved once, simply pressed his foot into the ground to begin walking, when he rose off the floor again. He didn’t take the time to marvel at it. He worked with what he was given, somehow instinctively knowing how to begin moving. He leaned his body slightly forward. He began moving forward. He gently descended, his feet hitting the floor, when he reached the gauntlet. It felt heavier than the last time he picked it up.
Now, how does he create the portal?
The Soul Stone whispered to him, Sister, just as the Space Stone hummed.
Peter knew he couldn’t just pick up the Space Stone. If the Soul Stone burned, then he could only imagine what the Space Stone would feel like. Instead, he held out his hand. He blinked when his eyes began to sting. It wasn’t necessarily painful but it wasn’t comfortable either. But his attention was directed elsewhere when his hand began to glow. It was the same glow that Gamora’s hand had shined. He distantly wondered if the stinging in his eyes was because they were glowing as hers had.
He worked on autopilot. He knew that he was taking a backseat at that moment. He was the host to the Soul Stone, not its control or director. They lived together as one for now. They breathed together. Peter and the Soul Stone, the Soul Stone and Peter. They were one.
Peter watched as they held their hand over the Space Stone. There was a moment of silence from the Stone, perhaps taking the time to recognize who it was. And then it wept. It cried out to them, yelled at them. She was angry and hurt. For a brief second, they thought, I’m sorry, Sister, before closing their hand. It wasn’t a fist, that would’ve been too aggressive, just a soft grasp. The Space Stone was lifted from the gauntlet and into the air, hovering in front of their hand in a glow of gold.
They wished to soothe their sister. They wished they didn’t have to use her when she didn’t want to be used. But they had a mission to take care of, a world to fix, people to save. They just hoped that their sister could forgive them when it was all over.
With the gauntlet gripped tightly in their left hand and the Space Stone next to their right, Peter and the Soul Stone opened a portal to Titan. They breathed and walked through.