The World I Knew [Discontinued]

To Hope, or Not to Hope

They were flying away.

The ILS's had torn Hope's body from Peter just as the infection began to take place in order for her eyes to snap open and have her snarl at him and start clawing at him.

Despite the green skin, and the insatiable appetite for blood, Peter still tried to hold her as a crushing weight was placed over him--his heart, specifically. He tried to hold her even as the ILS's grabbed her and yanked her away, and only then did he start trying to fight, deny it, say she was fine, and it required both Sam and Paddy to hold him back when Harry grabbed zombie-Hope as she started thrashing and snarling and reaching for Peter, teeth gnashing hungrily.

He screamed when Harry threw her out of the Quinjet, and screamed even louder when the Quinjet took off, fighting frantically, screaming Hope's name even as something stabbed him in the neck, muscles and limbs going numb until he couldn't hold himself up, and he sagged against the robots, trying to fight the drugs they'd injected him with.

It was a losing battle, and after a minute of struggling, Peter had no choice but to give in and pass out.

*****

Waking up was dramatic, and painful.

He could feel metal crushing his body into the ground as he fought, before his eyes had even opened. He could feel screams ripping through his body, yelling, shouting, howling at them to let him go, shrieking Hope's name.

But Hope was dead.

Everyone was dead.

Bucky.

Okoye.

Natasha.

Bruce.

MJ.

Ned.

May.

Tony.

Everyone.

He was alone.

And there was nothing he could do about it, except fight, until the anger dissolved into a gaping hole that threatened to swallow him up, something it was dangerously close to doing.

Whatever it was holding him down didn't let up, though there was something bitterly comforting about it, forcing the breath out of him until he was wheezing and gasping, unable to move with his wrists and ankles and torso and head pinned, showing him that while he was not in control, he was not alone. There was someone to hold him down when he couldn't himself, someone to stop him from doing something stupid and reckless.

But after a while, Peter was reduced to panting, eyes now open and staring blankly at the ceiling, not caring that the ILS's were talking to him. He blinked when one of them flashed a light in his eye to get any response from him, voluntary or not, but did not move otherwise.

He curled up on his side when the robots let go, but made no attempt to do anything further than regain his breath. He laid there for he knew not how long, listening to nothing at all except the too-loud roar of the Quinjet soaring through the air, taking him somewhere, impossible to tell.

Peter could only feel Hope's ring in his hand, the metal pushing into his palm cruelly, reminding him of what he'd just lost.

At some point, he started crying.

Softly.

More like weeping, as drop by drop, his tears fell.

He didn't move, didn't respond to anything, he just cried--not sobbing, just crying, accompanied by shaking and trembling breath.