Chapter Text
Everything was bleak. Russet red skies painted a deep orange over every building and skyscraper. Over bodies of sickly green skin and the newly familiar sight of pools of blood stained to sidewalks and walls.
Peter hadn't quite gotten used to the bleakness yet, and he didn't want to. There was still hope after all. Even if he and Happy were the last New Yorkers left in a city of 8.4 million. There had to be other people alive, other groups of survivors across America, waiting for a cure. Because there had to be a way to more than survive this, even if the virus had wiped out the Avengers in a day...
He shook his head of the thought, squaring his shoulders and resuming his vigilant watch from atop the nondescript gray building he had called home the last couple of days. There was hope, and Peter would help the ragtag team that adopted him into their ranks to see it, even though he was sure they didn't see it like he did. There had to be hope after all. Humanity couldn't end because of one mistake. Aunt May couldn't be gone forever. Ned couldn't be a zombie without being allowed to have had a nerd-freak out over the whole thing. Mr. Stark couldn't be replaced by a husk of his former self.
It was impossible for Peter, to stare out at the city every day knowing about the looks the others shared when they thought he wasn't looking. How Happy would stare sullenly. How Sharon would always speak to him a little softer than the day before. Even Kurt, who had been the only one willing and able to match Peter's enthusiasm and attempts to keep everyone's spirits lifted, would drop the act the moment Peter wasn't in the room. He knew. He could hear everyone in their building, after all.
Which was why Peter sat on the building now.
The group had all formed three weeks into the apocalypse, not so easily fitting together but still managing to find how they all worked. His powers definitely made Peter one of the most powerful assets to the team, which was why he was usually on watch or patrolling around for where most of the infected were concentrated. Where once he might have preened at finally feeling so important--so seen--now he wished more than anything that he could shrink away. That his powers weren't needed so badly to keep a handful of survivors away from a fate almost worse than death.
He wished that everything was okay.
Even if it wasn't. And it might never be.
The screen of his mask caught something. Peter readjusted, narrowing his eyes as Karen zoomed in. He relaxed. It was just a small group of normal but infected New Yorkers. As long as everyone inside was quiet and kept up their normal routine, there was little danger there. It wasn't like it was Mr. Stark or those weird portal guys that would've gotten Peter weeks ago had Hope not shown up. They were dangerous, and usually who Peter kept his eye out for. Karen was always on the job tracking Mr. Stark, but the teenager had gotten used to training his eye for the familiar glinting red regardless.
With a quiet sigh released in a huff under his breath, Peter wiggled into a more comfortable crouch, watching the zombies until they filtered away onto a different street and out of his sight.
"Is there a street camera around there, Karen?" he asked, his voice a strained whisper. Two months into the zombie apocalypse the teenager had finally trained himself to make every word small. To treat every sentence like a danger. Sometimes Peter thought it was funny, that he'd had to learn to be quieter. May had always been so loud she'd been confused as to why he was so soft-spoken and he would joke that she was losing her hearing in her old age. But those smile-inducing thoughts would make his features fall with regret and guilt and he'd shove them away as quickly as they came.
"Of course, Peter. Here," his faithful AI responded, the video popping up on his screen. It showed the people continuing to stumble away, so he waved the video away. No real danger. Just a normal, boring, and tense day in the apocalypse.
The high schooler thanked the AI as the video disappeared, forcing his strained shoulders to drop and relax. It was something he'd found himself doing a lot recently. The apocalypse was, well, it was the apocalypse. It was dangerous and nerve-wracking and every breath was filled with a tired guilt that made his chest feel stale. But it also lacked a lot of action. Especially recently. The past two weeks had been a strange mixture of the constant need to be vigilant but with a significant lack of things to do.
It wasn't incredibly hard to get food. Most zombies had moved from being indoors to try and hunt better--like there was really anything left to hunt--leaving supermarkets vacant and easy to raid. It wasn't hard to watch out for infected intruders. Two people were always on watch. Important items were always ready to be moved and Karen kept a constant eye on security cameras around whatever building they were occupying that week. And Peter was left with little to do to occupy his thoughts.
He didn't want to think. Not about his situation. Not about the world. Not about his family and friends. He wanted to fight. He wanted to do.
Sometimes the teenager would try and piece together a semblance of a cure. Many zombies had rotted away completely, and there were vacant labs dotted around New York. He could try his hand at his chemistry knowledge and combat what he could. But every attempt, no matter how promising, had always ended in failure.
Peter couldn't make a cure. He was smart, but he was only sixteen and a half. He was a kid and he couldn't do it.
But there was a different sixteen year-old that maybe could.
Miss Okoye had arrived yesterday, in a shiny ship that had bled out of the air and landed in the open space in Avengers tower where the Quinjet should have been. Peter had been on watch then too, but he hadn't seen the plane land at the building across the city, it was invisible after all. Instead, Karen had alerted him and the teenager had immediately leapt off the building towards the tall and lonely ghost of a tower.
(His first day in the lab had been so tense and awkward. He hadn't known what to say and Mr. Stark hadn't known what to do. Peter had been so nervous he'd nearly burnt his hand off while doing simple wiring. Mr. Stark had panicked so bad--grabbing his hand and having Friday scan it and double-checking it himself when he didn't quite believe the AI--his cheeks blazed red and then Peter had burst out with loud giggles at the panic.)
Peter had arrived quickly and without interruption from a certain flying zombie, with enough time to warn Miss Okoye that Mr. Stark's suit also got alerts when something entered the tower and that they needed to leave immediately. Thankfully, he and the warrior had left before anyone could arrive and Peter had gotten to ride in a super-freaking-cool Wakandan ship. It hadn't quite distracted him from being back at the tower, but he'd let everyone think it had.
Now the group was making a decision. He could hear them faintly a few floors below, their voices murmured and concerned. It was hard to make out what they were saying exactly, but he couldn't quite say he cared. Certainly not enough to have Karen enhance the sound and let him know every word that was being said below. He had found that happening a lot recently. Not caring. At some point everything had become too much and his brain felt much too much like wet tissue paper to try and purse through anything in there other than I wish I wasn't awake. I wish I wasn't here. I wish someone else had survived instead of me. Someone who was ready.
But there wasn't anything else. And Wakanda would be safe, if they managed to make it there.
That was the debate.
Did they go search for a man who'd been thought to be dead and lost days into the apocalypse, or pack up and go to the last safe haven on Earth? Miss Okoye had her goal, with or without them--that, she had made very clear. But the rest of the group was split, and something they had decided when they'd first met was that the group should never split. And so, the debating. The arguing. All in whispered murmurs that had to be stifled to nothing if Peter ever gave the signal that an infected group was nearing too close for comfort.
The teenager hadn't heard much of the argument, hadn't made much of a point to pay attention to it, but he knew where everyone lay. Happy was ready to retreat to Wakanda, and Peter couldn't blame him. He didn't have superpowers, he wasn't trained, and the teenager was sure that it had been quite a blow to not only lose all of his friends but to have to depend on a snot-nosed teenager afterwards. Peter wanted Happy to go too. Traversing the zombie-infested country was a death wish for anyone who wasn't in better-than-peak fighting condition.
Kurt wanted to go. Bucky and Sharon wanted to fight.
Hope wanted to fight, but she wanted Peter to go.
Peter didn't want to go.
He wasn't an Avenger, but neither was she. There were no Avengers left. But he was the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. It was his responsibility to help his community, and hiding in Wakanda wouldn't help. If there was a fight, some way to help, Peter would take it.
Finally tired of the silence, he opened his mouth to ask Karen to let him listen to the debate, when a tingle--shocking and cold and running a shiver of goosebumps along his arms--stopped him. Immediately the teenager was on high alert, his muscles tightening in anticipation as he searched for the danger.
"Where's the Iron Man armor?" he snipped quietly to Karen. A screen popped up immediately, showing the armor still in Manhattan. He furrowed his brows. "Okay. Okay. Is it the wizard guys? Karen, search through security cameras nearby and alert the others that something is--"
He cut himself off at a painfully sharp tingle, instinct directing his chin up to stare at the tired russet sky. Except the laziness of it was gone now, replaced now by a fierce fire of ruby red, leaching out from a strange bright spot in the sky. A meteor. Great. The zombie apocalypse, now a meteor, what next? Nuclear war between the zombies?
Karen zoomed in on the meteor heading straight for Manhattan and--no. That wasn't a meteor. Was that--a person? Oh my, God, it was a person.
Said person zipped out of sight just as that thought registered, disappearing among the buildings. Towards where he knew Mr. Stark was.
Peter didn't even weigh his options. A person (alien or possibly already dead) was heading towards the most zombie-infested area of the city. He had to try.
And without a second thought, he slipped off of the building and began swinging.
"You're not going to convince him!" Happy snapped, his frustration bubbling over. The argument had taken up much of the night before and pretty much all day now. All held in stifled and angry whispers that only made the man angrier as he was forced to keep his voice low and repeat what he'd been saying for hours now. "You've known him for months now! You know you can't."
"He's a kid," Hope pushed back, her voice just as steely as when the argument had started. "He doesn't need to be in the middle of this--even if you and Stark thought it was a good idea. If there's a safe haven in Wakanda, that's where he needs to go."
"And lose one of our most powerful members?" Sharon said. "Look, I don't like the kid fighting any more than you do, but we can't really go anywhere without him. I doubt we'd ever even get out of the city without him."
Hope glared at the agent, aghast. She'd been backed into a corner for hours now, but the woman had refused to back down, spitting and snarling her argument through furious whispers and an exaggeratingly patient voice. Her hard stare examined the faces around the table, looking for some sign of agreement that Happy wished he could offer.
Happy had seen what had happened to Tony. He'd been there when Pepper had turned. When Peter had come bounding through the window of the tower and snatched him towards their new semblance of safety while blubbering about his Aunt and his friend and the state of the city. All in one afternoon.
The former bodyguard thought back to that afternoon a lot. It was clearer in his mind more than almost anything in his life. It had been a gray day. One that turned the sky white and hung heavy in the air and cooled the once bustling streets of New York. It had been strange for the end of spring, but appropriate for the world.
Tony and Rhodes had both been infected, along with the rest of the Avengers, that much they'd known since Friday had reported their vitals completely askew. Happy hadn't told Peter yet, but he'd assumed the kid had already known. The entirety of the West coast had been swallowed, but shaky live footage of people's last moments and journalists as brave as they were stupid had been on a repeating cycle of news for the last thirty-six hours. Peter had never been particularly on top of the news, but Happy had heard how he'd begged Tony to go and help the Avengers. He'd remembered the heart-breaking anxiety and the admittance of a terrible feeling from his Peter Tingle.
But Tony had made Peter stay. He'd told Happy to make sure the kid didn't run off or 'stick his nose into anything that he shouldn't.' Happy's best friend had left with a tight smile. Happy had said good luck.
And now Tony was gone.
Or, more accurately, Tony had spread the infection among the entirety of New York in four hours.
Happy remembered a lot about that day, but he still wasn't sure why Tony had come back to the city. The bodyguard couldn't read brain scans, but Friday had said Tony was practically a shell after fifteen minutes. And a shell had no reason to return home.
He guessed the why wasn't terribly important, because Tony had returned, heading straight toward the tower.
Happy had been about the leave, actually. After watching news footage of Natasha--on her own, bloodied and torn and still trying to fight--finally losing an impossible battle, he knew he'd needed to pick up Peter and May. They needed to get to the compound and try to figure out how to keep the world from breaking. With the Avengers gone there had to be another solution. Maybe it was going to be harboring scientists on a heavily fortified government base. Maybe it was going to be finding other heroes, like Fury had done. The world was so big, there had to be more superheroes--but it hadn't worked out like that.
He'd been on the phone.
"I'm leaving now," he'd said to Pepper, stepping into the elevator. "I'll get Peter and May and take them to the compound. I think you should get in the car with me."
"No. I'll drive myself after you in a couple of hours," she'd said, the dryness of grief clinging to her voice. "The governor's meeting with me soon to discuss how to best lock down the city and prevent an infection."
Happy had thought they'd have at least a week or so. The infected Avengers were fast killers, but they were thousands of miles away and hunting their way through the country.
He'd thought they'd had so much longer.
"I don't know how we'll prevent anything without a cure or a forcefield," he'd said.
"Wakanda's providing aid all over the world. I'll hold a meeting with Queen Ramonda and the President this evening to discuss protecting vulnerable hotspots around the country. New York should be able to--"
The phone had crackled as it crashed, whatever Pepper was saying being completely lost to a thunderous boom of glass. His heart had begun racing before he even found the ability to speak.
And then the red. Lights and alarms flashing overhead in a terrifying headache that Happy remembered even now. The fear. The fatigue. The overwhelming wish that everything would just be okay.
But it wasn't. And it likely wouldn't be.
"Pepper?" he'd finally said. No response. "Pepper? C'mon--what happened? Friday, take me up to the penthouse. Now."
The AI obliged, the elevator stopping and shifting as it began to zoom back up.
When the doors had finally opened, Happy had wished he had just left. That he'd just gone for May and Peter hours ago. He knew it made him a coward. He knew it was a betrayal to Tony's trust. To Pepper's. But...
The smell had been strong immediately. Rotting and stomach-churning and burning the hairs of his nose. It was a smell he would come accustomed to in the coming weeks, but then it had been new and terrifying.
The sound had been low. A growl upon the still and charged air. A low hum that had taken him a moment to register past the smell.
And then he'd finally taken in the sight.
And it had been Tony.
But it hadn't been Tony either.
Tony had always had such a distinct posture that Happy could pick him out in the biggest of crowds. His skin was warm and his eyes a deep familiar brown. The suit had been an oxymoron for years. It had meant safety in a lot of ways. It had meant protection and the world and the knowledge that Tony would look out for them, and that he would avenge them if need be. But it had also meant that his friend was in danger. Every damn day. That he had left to go face danger, and that the danger had finally bested him.
Now the suit was the danger. Now it held a rotting corpse, with eyes white and red and veiny. With skin gray and blue and green and grafting off onto the expensive tile floor. Now the arc reactor shined on a collapsed body, twitching in tune with the ringing of the phone beside it.
Bulging eyes had turned to the opened elevator door. Pepper's red hair had begun to shift and turn until a matching pair was facing him.
Happy had pressed the close door button just as he had heard a shouted, "Oh, my God. Mr. Stark I saw you fly in through the window! What--"
The bounding figure of Peter Parker had leapt through the broken window, landing lightly on the shards of glass littered on the floor like sand. Fear had so tightly taken over the excitement held tightly in the kid's shoulders. The imposters had stared. Peter had taken a step back.
And then there'd been a fight.
That was where pieces of the day had gotten blurry. He remembered Peter yelling something at Happy, something about getting out of the building, but Happy didn't remember going down the elevator. He'd rushed out, knocking the couch into Pepper's way while Peter had grappled with Tony. In a flash of panic and skills that Happy hadn't known Peter had had, Tony and Pepper had been flung into the elevator. Peter had grabbed Happy. And they'd swung.
Of course, that elevator hadn't lasted for long. It was a pitiful prison for Tony. No, he'd escaped within minutes. Long enough for him and Peter to get away, but not long enough to warn the city. Not to save May.
Hope's voice snapped Happy back to the argument and out of his hellish memories.
"So Peter comes with us," she said, defeated. "But where are we even going? If he's coming, we're not leaving without a solid and airtight plan."
"There is no such thing," Okoye responded. "Not anymore. Not here."
"But--"
"She's right, Hope," Barnes said, his voice as steely and cold as usual. "The best we can do is not argue and keep moving. When we have T'challa, we'll call for backup and head to Wakanda."
"Sounds like the best plan we'll get," Happy said.
"Great. We'll leave in the morning," Sharon declared. There were nods all around, except for from Hope, who had turned from her arguing to fiddling with the high-tech gauntlet on her wrist, her brows furrowed. And, suddenly, Happy had a bad feeling.
"Or we'll leave right now," Hope said.
"What?" Kurt exclaimed. "Why would we--"
She raised her forearm, displaying the screen on her wrist. "Peter just left. And Karen just alerted me to breaches in the atmosphere."
Oh yeah. Super bad feeling.
"Of course it got worse. How could it not get worse?"
Peter was only halfway across the Brooklyn Bridge when he saw it. The second thing to interrupt the russet sky of the day. A spaceship. Great. Let's just spread the alien virus to the rest of the universe, yeah?
Crouching on top of a bridge spire, he stopped for only a moment to observe the circular ship taller than a skyscraper. It was definitely different than the Chitauri, so he guessed that didn't mean they were going to attack. Of course, it didn't mean that they were going to not attack either. Part of Peter hoped that maybe some friendly visitors had heard of their troubles and were descending with a cure. A more realistic, and more bone-crushingly tired part of him knew that that was most definitely not the case.
With a rallying breath, the teenager kept going.
"Okay. Just gotta make peace with the new aliens and hope backup arrives. Oh, Karen. Send an ask for backup to Hope please? I've got a feeling Mr. Stark is gonna be here."
"Done, Peter."
"Great. Thank youuu," he sung, dipping low and skimming the water for a few seconds before swinging back up and finally making it into Manhattan.
The spaceship was stirring up dust and its gusts of winds were whipping around trash (a months-old Starbucks cup ended up hitting him right in the face, so nature wasn't quite healing like they'd thought). But, most dangerously, it was attracting a crowd. Hordes of zombies lining the streets were snapped out of their trance and were beginning to amble towards the disturbance. Some faster than others, but as long as Peter was quick they wouldn't be the main disturbance of the afternoon.
Karen kept up a map of Mr. Stark's rapidly approaching location.
Peter arrived as the dust settled upon the street, revealing a strange mixture of figures, a low thunder of throaty growls, and the sound of at least one regular guy. The teenager recognized three of the figures, and had expected them too. Iron Man and the Wizards. If they ever lived through this, he needed to tell Mr. Stark they'd be a good band or something.
The other two infected figures were--you had to be kidding. The aliens were infected. Amazing. Thank you, Universe for being ever so helpful.
The man--not infected and hopefully human--let out a strangled exclamation of surprise as Mr. Stark raised his arm, once again on the attack. Peter pulled harder on his web, willing himself forward faster. He was so close and yet so far. Mr. Stark and the wizards were still approaching but he still wasn't even close enough to strike what was he going to do--
A flash of red. With a determined flourish, nothing but a floating piece of fabric declared itself in the street and dove. And then, quickly and efficiently, Mr. Stark was thrown. And now Peter was in range.
The young superhero landed just a little too harshly in front of the uninfected man, not even taking a moment to examine his face as he flicked out a hand at the nearest creature. The wizard's jaw was hanging loosely from his cheeks as he raised his hand, a dangerous path of orange following the trail of his fingers.
At the same moment Peter shot a web at his wrist the fabric wrapped around the zombie's head. Peter pulled and the cloth tugged. He stared at the thing, confused as to what it's plan was--could it have a plan? It was an inanimate object. A floating one, but still--before this time tugging with it. In a strong and swift motion, the wizard zombie was knocked into a car, making the vehicle dent in its doors and fall to the side.
"Nice!" Peter exclaimed as the fabric zipped off the guy's head before it was slammed into the car door, the thing was by his side in a flash, finally allowing him to see it was a cloak. "Woah. Wizard stuff is pretty cool."
"I'll tell you what's not cool," Peter turned towards the new voice, his jaw dropping as the man continued to speak, "sticking around here! C'mon, move it!!"
Bruce Banner--literally Bruce Banner oh, my God. Where had he been? Why was he here now? Wait, did he maybe have the cure? Was that where he'd been or something--grabbed his arm and began running. Confused and shocked as he was, Peter followed, allowing his legs to be pulled into motion.
A shock ran up his spine, but it wasn't fast or strong enough to completely warn Peter of the sparks that turned into a window twenty feet behind him before he could even blink.
Wizard whose face was still attached lunged. Bruce Banner jumped back with a fearful exclamation, backing the two into a nearby car. The zombie's teeth clicked and snarled, its rotten stench burning at his nose and making his eyes water. But the teeth never came, not close enough to bite. To infect.
"Don't eat me!" Dr. Banner yelled. And, surprisingly, it didn't.
It took Peter a moment to realize what was holding the incensed zombie back. Cloakie had grabbed onto its arms, tugging back harshly. The cloak tugged, the zombie chewed the air, the portal dimmed. And then the portal was gone, snuffed out as quickly as it came and leaving nothing but a lolling head on the ground beside Peter Parker and Bruce Banner.
Peter, so numb and so wired on adrenaline at the same time, had no reaction but a small flinch and a hitched breath. Dr. Banner fell, scrambling to get away from the head as he still backed himself into the car, strangled and horrified yells escaping his lips.
"Oh!! Ugh! Ah, ah, go away go away!!" the Avenger said, kicking the head away in his panic. Peter watched it go before turning back to the fight still continuing behind him.
Mr. Stark was blasting at Cloakie, who still held the zombie's headless body as it looped around in the air in a flurry of motion. Peter watched his mentor for a bit, debating on whether he needed to attack and trap him while the man was distracted, or grab Dr. Banner and run, when the decision was made for him.
"Agh!!--" he exclaimed as his legs were tugged and pulled into the air. A confused scream escaped past his lips at the lack of anything physical pulling him, but there was no time to ponder.
Instinctively, Peter stuck his hands to the pavement, grunting as his legs were still pulled straight up in the air. Now essentially in a magic headstand, the teenager could make out the approaching zombies. Mr. Stark, Goatee Wizard, Squidward, and Gray Hulk. Squidward seemed to be doing the magic in this scenario, its hand held out in a probably magic but threatening gesture.
"Hey! No, put me down! C'mon, I'm not good meat, guys. Really. You'd be better off finding some rats or--" There was a crack. Peter looked down at the pavement he was sticking to now crumbling around his hands. "That's not good."
And then Peter was fully in the air, the cement still attached to his stretched out hands and the zombies still approaching.
"Heyyy, guys," he said, trying hard not to look at Mr. Stark. "Y'know, I feel like you just had something to eat and I hate to spoil dinner so I'm just gonna--"
Buzzing filled the air, choking the rust sky in clouds of black. Peter closed his eyes even as the figures stopped only a foot from his face, unable to watch the spectacle and glad to fall to the ground. Wind gushed overhead, a hot air following the streaming wave of ants as they thundered forward.
Remembering that Mr. Stark was there, Peter forced his eyes open in time to see his mentor be completely surrounded and engulfed by a flurry of ants as thick as smoke. The husk of the hero growled and snarled, swinging and snapping at the pests now swarming around him.
The other three wasted away, their soft and rotting flesh eaten completely by Hope's army of thousands, but Mr. Stark still stood, dead yellow eyes staring straight into Peter's.
Mr. Stark didn't recognize Peter. Peter didn't recognize Mr. Stark.
Hope warped back to her normal size, mounting a defensive stance between him and Mr. Stark with her arm outstretched. Mr. Stark's repulsors whined and Hope's gauntlets charged. It took the teenager a split second to realize what she was about to do.
He made to his feet.
"NO!! HOPE DON'T--"
Mr. Stark's body careened. His head rolled, stopping just by Peter's foot.
He couldn't look away.
Mr. Stark had always been such an infinite figure in Peter's mind. Uncontrolled and ungoverned by terrors of death and incapable of causing grief. So the teenager hadn't let himself feel grief, because it was too unreal--too impossible--to feel grief for his mentor. To feel grief for the world, because the world couldn't end like this. He'd repeated that every day. Every morning. Every night. Every minute. Humanity couldn't end because of one decision. One mistake.
But Peter had made a mistake too. He had made the mistake of locking misery and his mourning away, of moving every thought towards something different. Something productive, something positive, something uplifting. He'd made it his role, and his role alone, to keep the group going, no matter how much denying he had to do to get there.
And that had been a mistake, because now there was nothing stopping two months of fear and regret and anguish as it piled and piled and piled. It flooded in like a torrent of mud, slimy and all consuming through his head and his stomach and even towards his limbs until everything was numb and he had only thought left.
Mr. Stark's gone. He's gone. He's gone.
An ant, as huge as he was, grabbed Mr. Stark's head and left.
Peter stared at the spot where it had been, unblinking, breath short, limbs taut. Hope kneeled beside him, her helmet retracting.
"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I know you two were close."
He ignored her apology. "There could have been a cure. There could've--and now--"
"I'm sorry," Hope said again. "But you have to let go, Peter. We can't save everybody."
Peter didn't hear her. A new thought replaced the old one.
But why couldn't we save him?
Someone cleared their throat. Peter and Hope turned to stare as Dr. Banner stepped over a now rotten skeleton.
"Would anyone care to explain, please?"
Hope sighed. "Where to start."