The Soul World

The Snap

On a planet called Titan, thousands of miles from Earth, a group of superheroes sat in morose silence. They had just lost to Thanos, who had since vanished with a smug grin into his portal, leaving them all in dejected disbelief.

Among the defeated group sat Peter Parker, AKA Spider-Man, who considered himself an expert on heroes; ever since the alien attack on New York he had been fascinated by these incredible people and in awe of their abilities. The problem was, now he was one, and nobody had told him what happened when they lost. No one else seemed to know either. The whole point of heroes was that they won, the good guys won, right? At least, that was what he used to believe... Before he was bitten by a radioactive spider, before his Uncle Ben died, before he became Spider-Man...

He knew now that there was another side to the victorious, valiant veil: the battles and injuries and guilt that came with being a hero. However, whenever regret and loss threatened to cripple him, he had to remember that he now had a responsibility to do right, for he could help so many others. Like Mr Stark had said, he looked out for the 'little guy'.

All of that seemed futile now...

He gazed around at the others. Tony, Peter's mentor and inadvertent father-figure (though he would die before admitting that he felt that way towards the Tony Stark), was breathing heavily and wincing with pain at the wound in his side.  He was unsuccessfully trying to hide his grimaces as Dr Strange, a mysterious wizard whose magical stone had led them into this scenario, leaned over to assess the injury. There was also the space pilot, Starlord AKA Quill, and his companions, whose names evaded Peter but he thought they looked awesome. One was a blue man with a wrestler physique and red tattoos; the other was a pale woman with bug-eyes and antennae which Peter was studying enviously. As Quill sniffled, mourning the death of his girlfriend, Gamora, both of them sat nearby to comfort him.

While Peter surveyed his forlorn companions, the last person in their party caught his gaze and scowled in his direction: a blue, bald woman with black eyes that promised a slow and painful death to any who crossed her. No one had actually introduced her yet, but from the way she had smashed into Thanos with her ship he presumed she was on their side. Then again, the way she was looking at him suggested that she might be equally likely to skewer him with the jagged sword she was stroking.  Peter frowned and looked away.

"Why would you do that?" Tony murmured, cutting through the quiet. His arms and face were peppered with cuts and bruises; blood ran down his jaw like crimson tears. Peter was disconcerted to see him like this, so... Vulnerable. He was talking to Strange, who sighed sorrowfully, eyes brimming with guilt and helplessness.

"We're in the endgame now." Strange stated.

Peter tore his eyes away. For a moment, panic welled up within him, frantic thoughts saying that he couldn't do this, he was just a teenager, he was meant to be on a field trip, he was barely even an Avenger! Sudden homesickness flooded through him, the instinct of a child to run to his mother, an urge to find Aunt May and stay at home and leave all of this behind.

But he couldn't. He had a responsibility. And he was an Avenger now. (Albeit he had only been one for about two hours, since Tony had officially anointed him with the role on the flight here) Avengers didn't give up. He wouldn't give up. Tears pricking at his eyes, he turned away and took a few deep breaths, pushing the thoughts down, down, down to the place where he kept the memories of his parents' deaths, converting sadness to resilience, focusing on where he was.

When he turned back, the others had gathered. A foreboding wind swept through them and stirred the scarlet sand. Thunder rolled ahead along bulging storm clouds.

"Something's happening," whispered the woman with cool antennae. Dust flew up around her. With rising horror, Peter suddenly realised that it wasn't just dust - she was turning to dust! Her eyes widened for the last time before she disintegrated into nothing, flakes drifting where she had just been. Peter's jaw dropped open. What the heck had just happened?

"Quill?" Murmured the man with the tattoos. His brows knitted as he watched his arms fade, then crumpled as the rest of him followed. Within moments, there was no trace of him. Quill stared in shock at the absent space where his two companions had been standing a mere moment ago. Peter caught sight of his fingers quivering before he clenched them into a fist. His heart pumped loudly in his ears.

"Steady, Quill." Tony held up his hand and it was not so much an order as a plea, to stay and fight the inevitable. The space captain gave the merest shake of his head in reply.

"Oh man," he gasped, as if he had lost a video game rather than ceased to exist. Moments later, ashes swirled in the wind. Peter started to feel sick.

"Tony," Strange said. Slowly, reluctantly, Iron Man turned towards him. "There was no other way." Peter watched with a growing sense of fear as he, too, dissipated. He recalled how Strange had seen over 14 million futures - was his turning to dust part of the plan? Surely not?

Before he could agonize further on the subject, he suddenly gasped and staggered back. The previous nausea in his stomach could be blamed on nerves, but this was his Spider-sense, roiling and rearing within him, going into overdrive and crushing him with an overwhelming wave of panic, dread, terror.  Usually it only acted as a light tug in the direction of trouble; never had it attacked with such internal intensity. Peter stumbled as the certainty came like a kick to the chest: he was going to disintegrate like the others.

He had to tell Tony. The man was a genius, surely he'd know what to do!

"Mr Stark?" Peter lurched forward, desperately trying to reach Tony, "I don't feel so good..."

As he brought his hands up to his face, Peter's face paled at the sight of dust motes dancing around his fingers. He wasn't sure if he could feel his hands any more. Or his legs. Despite the numbness spreading over his body, he fought against it for a few more steps. Just... need to get to Mr Stark... He can help...

"I don't-" He tripped for a second, yet fought against the darkness, "I don't know what's happening!" Pins and needles crawled up his leg and he tripped again, but all at once Tony was there, supporting him. Holding him.

"You're alright." Tony grunted, though Peter was not sure which of them he was trying to reassure. As the world dimmed around the edges, he clung to his mentor until all he could sense was the warmth of Tony's body, the tightness of his arms gripped around him. In that embrace, Peter broke.

"I don't wanna go," he whimpered. His lower lip trembled and he bit down on it, hard enough to make it bleed, squeezing his eyes shut as if that might hold back the tears leaking out. Releasing a sob, Peter stopped fighting the inevitable blackness and instead clung to Tony's reassuring solidity, whilst Tony gripped the boy tightly as if he could hold him back from his fate. "I don't wanna go, Mr Stark, please, please, I don't wanna go!"

What was the point? It finally dawned on Peter that there was nothing that even the great Tony Stark could do. Memories, regrets, hopes, visions flashed in Peter's mind; remembering all the times he had complained that he wanted to do more - the irony almost made him laugh. Here he was, his first proper fight, and they had failed utterly.

"I don't wanna go." This came out as more of a squeak, for Peter's voice had increased several pitches as he struggled to contain his anguish.

Tony lowered him to the ground. He was breathing quickly, pupils dilating in anxiety, and he looked stricken. As Peter looked up at him through a glaze of tears, another memory arose:

"What if somebody had died today? Different story, right, because that's on you! And if you died? I feel like that's on me..."

Back then, it had been anger on Tony's face, now it was despair.

"I'm sorry." Peter mumbled. Everything was fading. Numbness spread up his body and his eyes unfocused, staring blankly at the sky. He could dimly see his own ashes being swept up by the wind.

The world turned black...