Peter Parker (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
madeupnames) wrote2019-04-27 07:12 pm
madeupnames) wrote2019-04-27 07:12 pm
Open RP Post | Endgame Spoilers OK.
AU's and fix-its and all the other stuff A-OK, shipping age-appropriate only please!
AU's and fix-its and all the other stuff A-OK, shipping age-appropriate only please!
no subject
He's regretting eating, because what little food he's eaten sits like a lead weight in his stomach. He sets the sandwich aside, brushing the crumbs from his hands with far more care than strictly necessary. ]
You know that for sure?
[ He asks it slowly, voice deliberately flat. ]
Is this all just a nice fantasy, or is it really something you think you can do?
no subject
Once we have them, um. That part's a little wobbly, but...
[He quiets for a moment, absently drawing in the flour on the nearby cutting board. The childish cookie cutters littering the counter only reminds him that he's here and Mr. Stark isn't, honestly, and that's... that's not fair to Morgan. And it's not fair that Quill's flying around all alone, lacking something you can't just replace. And sure, sometimes life is unfair and has to stay that way — like how he lost Ben, all those years ago — but... what if it didn't have to be unfair?]
... It'd be worth a try, right?
[Besides, there's one thing he figured out in his labs that the Starks didn't:
How to replicate the Pym Particles Scott brought in.
So... Maybe Peter has a few additional ideas that he'll keep to himself.]
no subject
There's this bad habit Peter has, he thinks, that the Ravagers had tried their damnedest to stomp out of him. They wanted him jaded, worldly, and cynical as fuck – mostly because that's what it took to survive in the dark fringes of the galaxy, where they operated. But they got to him too late, because by then, at eight years old, he had already been raised on fairy tales and stories about good guys vanquishing evil guys, where movies always ended on a happy note, with everything wrapped up in a neat bow.
The bad habit that Peter has is that in spite of everything, he always hangs on to that little flicker of hope, even if he knows he'll be disappointed.
It's why at length he slowly, reluctantly nods. A part of him wants to be doubtful, wants to dig in his heels and remind the kid how impossible that sounds, but, well. Five years ago he would've thought that one dude snapping his fingers and wiping out half the universe was impossible, too, and he would've been wrong. ]
It's worth a try. Yeah.
[ He repeats it back quietly, voice a little rougher than he wants it to be. He clears his throat, shakes his head a little. Then, ]
So we go back in time. Get the stones. Snap everyone back to life. Sounds easy enough.
1/2
Good.
[And alright, fine — he couldn't help the grin that pulls at his face.]
... Dude, we're gonna Back to the Future this bitch.
no subject
And then they're in it. Like, all-in, no hand rails, no folding your hand kinda in it. Suits are made. People are dispatched. Groups take aim and go for the stones... They lose Natasha. The kinda lose that can't be undone, like Ben, like Gamora. Just. Gone. And there's this horrible period of time where they mourn... only to realize there's little time to mourn. There's a reason Nat was willing to make that kind of play; there's too much at stake for all of them to lose. Natasha, she would have rather lost her own life than end up at the end of a story where they'd failed.
Little Pete stands beside — well, Big Pete, and he can't stop tapping his foot anxiously as they wait for Banner to put that glove on, one that Peter had to build out of bleeding technology he only just lately started to grasp fully. They're all there. Most of them, anyway, and — surely this has to go right. This has to be their shot at giving people back their friends, lovers, families.
Hell, he wouldn't even mind Flash Thompson reappearing in his life, at this point.
He glances at Big Pete, frowning a little but bumping him with his elbow.
His voice is low but full of hard-kept faith.]
This'll work. It's gonna work.
no subject
Like, sure, it goes okay, but it's a mess.
He, at least, has the easy job of going after... himself. Back to Morag, in its torrential downpour and barely receded floods, just days before he met the others and formed his new family.
A part of him considered staying, considered replacing himself and going through his own life. How fucked would that have been? To kill himself and be himself, to relive four years of his own life, pretending to not know what he knows now but doing little things to change his future? Avoiding the mistakes with Ego, with Yondu, with the Sovereign. Taking his training with Gamora more seriously. Improving his gear and better equipping his ship with better weapons. Saving Gamora on Knowhere, when the time comes. Taking down Thanos on Titan with their team at full strength.
It'll be a different future from the one he's living in – that branching timeline that everyone seems so keen on avoiding – but it'd be so much fucking better.
He considers it. He honestly does. It's an ugly siren song, that temptation, and after he knocks his past self unconscious with the butt of his blaster, he stands over himself and thinks.
It's only his time-jump buddy that rouses him out of it, sets him back to work at unlocking the chamber doors where the Orb is sealed.
They all come back, minus Romanoff, and when Barton tells them what happened, Peter feels his heart break all over again. She can't be brought back, Barton tells them. He says she's gone for good, and Peter doesn't want to hear that. He wants to believe that they can bring Romanoff back, because if they can do that, they can bring Gamora back.
But Barton insists, and Peter nearly punches him in the mouth. Thankfully, Parker intercedes before they exchange blows.
Peter's mood isn't quite the same after that.
And here they are now, standing on the precipice of something. He has his arms crossed as he stares at the glove, at the stones glittering and glowing faintly on it.
(He was a god, once, what feels like lifetimes ago. He might still be now, in some ways. They shot down letting Thor use it, but Peter wonders – maybe his Celestial heritage might give him a shot at it. Maybe he could use the glove.
Maybe he could bring Gamora back.)
The kid nudges him, and Peter's gaze flits to him before refocusing on the glove. He nods, a little curtly, and for a second, he seems content to leave it at that.
But after a moment, he forces himself to relent. ]
Yeah. It'll work. [ Uncharacteristically gruff, but considering he has literally nothing left, it has to work. If it doesn't, then he's done, he thinks. No more moonlighting as an Avenger, no more haunting Earth because he's too afraid to leave and face his life in an empty ship. Back to space, back to his old life – or what he can scrounge up of it, anyway.
After a second, he clears his throat. Then, a little more gently, ]
You've done a good job. Stark would be proud.
no subject
He will be proud. When he comes back with everyone else.
[That's what he can only hope for. They prepare to handle the blast — Peter employs the bleeding tech, and the iron spider suit forms over his body. Bruce puts on the glove, as they all take cover behind their respective abilities; Thor puts himself in front of the Peters, eager to be of use, because god if he hasn't lost too much himself.
This is going to work, Pete thinks. It has to. It devolves into concern when he sees the pain that pulls at the Hulk's face — and of course it hurts, it's dangerous, and they could lose more than just Natasha right now. Bruce snaps his fingers, and there's a blinding light and a burst of energy that nearly knocks them all backward off their feet and into the walls of the building.
Peter sucks in a breath he'd been holding, hand grasping around until he feels the leather sleeve of Quill's jacket in his temporary blindness; his sight returns, and Bruce is on the floor, groaning and smoking, his arm damaged.]
Bruce—! Oh, man...!
[He's moving to put a hand on his friend's good shoulder, Thor's hand on the green giant's forehead as he hushes him to be still. Bruce just looks to Quill, his injured look shifting into steadfast hope. "Did... did it work?"]