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It was over. They lost. No one said anything, but you could feel it. Something in the air just… changed. This was made all the more apparent by the way the Guardians were disintegrating. Mr. Stark’s face looked progressively more panicked as more people turned to dust. Dr. Strange was talking, but Peter couldn’t hear. Listen. He couldn’t… something. It was like he was being tugged at, in every single direction, all at once. Like every atom in his body was straining towards the exit. Somewhere in his mind, he acknowledged that Dr. Strange was gone, the same way as the others. He stumbled towards Mr. Stark.
“Mr. Stark?” he began. He hoped he didn’t sound as weak as he felt. “I don’t feel so good.”
He could barely walk. His feet wouldn’t listen. They weren’t moving right, and Peter could feel bile start to rise in his throat.
“You’re alright.” Mr. Stark replied, in that dismissive way that he used with people he cared about. It was the way he said, ‘you have to be alright, because I don’t know what I’ll do if you’re not.’ The way he said, ‘you’re fine, because it’s not an OPTION for you to be hurt.’ Vaguely, Peter wondered if he knew he did this. Well. It was nice to know he cared.
“I don’t- I don’t know what’s happening, Mr. Stark I don’t-” He was scared. He rambles when faced with danger, except now he didn’t have the energy to ramble. So he just stuttered.
He tried to take another step, but his legs gave out. He fell forward, and Mr. Stark caught him. He continued his stuttering into Mr. Stark’s shoulder, but now it was more tears than words. He felt disconnected from his body, like he wasn’t completely there. His skin was buzzing. He could barely think. It felt like his brain had been removed from his body, and now just existed about 2 inches to his left.
Everything he could feel was vibrating. Hot tears were streaming down his face. He was dying, like everyone else had. Turning into nothing. Then, he remembered something.
He was 7. He, May, and Ben were in the living room. May and Ben were sprawled out on the couch, and Peter was sitting on the floor. All 3 pairs of eyes were trained on the TV, where the latest episode of Doctor Who was playing. May had grown up watching the show, and when the reboot was announced in 2005, watched religiously, and eventually got Ben and Peter interested as well. It became their family tradition, to watch the episodes together each week. This was a special, and the last episode of David Tennant. Peter was a bit confused, as the plot was a little convoluted, but he got the basic gist of the thing. The man on screen was dying. He was standing in the T.A.R.D.I.S., and was starting to cry.
“I don’t want to go.”
A golden mist started emanating from him, and then he burst into flames.
Peter clutched at Mr. Stark’s shoulders. He needed… traction. He needed… to stay here. Something to hold him down
“I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go…”
Everything felt weird and far away. He could feel bits of skin beginning to flake away. “Sir, please, I don’t want to go-”
Mr. Stark stumbled forwards and tried to lay Peter down, but kind of just fell on top of him. Maybe it was just him, but Peter thought he could see tears in his eyes. He looked up at the sky. Could you call it a sky? Was that just an earth thing? Is this just an atmosphere? It was orange. Like rust. He could feel his legs and torso crumble into nothing, the… disease, or whatever you wanted to call it, climbed steadily up his body.
He looked back at Mr. Stark. “I’m sorry.” He choked out.
Mr. Stark didn’t say anything, but his face spoke for him, his eyes pleading. It’s not your fault.
Don’t apologize for this.
Please don't do this to me.
The world was out of focus. Huh. I never got to meet Captain America, he thought, as he faded into nothing.