You sat in front of the TV, gnawing on your fingernails as you watched the destruction unfold onscreen. It was dim in color and shaky footage, and the screen was full of static. Your family sat in front of you, but didn't notice how your eyes searched for one specific suit, one specific person. They were just as nervous as you were, but they were worried for their world, not for your friend.

The smoke was thick around the cameras for a moment, and then there was a flash of light as an iron suit flew across the street. You stiffened at the sight of Tony Stark, because wherever Stark was, Peter wasn't far behind.

But you didn't see Peter, and that worried you. Did something happen to him?

But you saw Hulk crash through a building and then more heroes follow. You didn't recognize some of them, and you didn't take time to figure out what their powers were. Right now, you were just focused on finding one specific person.

Minutes went by before you finally saw him. He was running alongside Tony, disappeared for a minute, and then you saw him again. He was going towards Tony, and a giant purple, man-like thing was walking towards him, his fist ready to hit him -

And Peter was running faster to stop him, and he leaped forward, straight into the hand of the monster-

And then its hand was around his throat. His body jerked forward like a rag doll. He was clutching the hand, trying to squirm and break free. You leaned forward, hands gripping the sides of the television. A choking sound of horror broke out of you.

Why were the news people casting this? Why couldn't they see that he was dying? Why wasn't someone helping Peter?

"No!" you cried.

Someone save him! He can't breathe, he's going to die, I'm going to lose him and there's nothing-

Then he was lifted higher. You swore you could hear him cry out in pain, and then he was lifted even higher and thrown towards the ground. The whole floor shook as he hit it, crashing through the top layer of dirt and rock.

And then you got up and ran out of the living room, ignoring the shouts from your family. You sprinted all the way down the street that was covered in debris. You were vaguely aware that whatever creatures had been tormenting people were still wandering free in the streets of New York, but you had to get there.

You had to.

You knew where they were. You didn't know how old the footage was, since it wasn't live, but you knew it wasn't that old. The news usually broadcast footage only a few minutes after it was captured, because they were desperate to keep track of what was happening to the heroes everyone had come to love-

But you were desperate to get to him, and so you ran and ran, all the way to Third Street, feeling so out of breath and sick and weak. You heard noise and ran through some smoke and tripped over your feet, scraping your kneecaps and palms, and then you got up and kept going, crying out Peter's name as you quickly approached where Tony Start was kneeling on the ground, Captain America next to him, Thor next to him, and a bunch of other people you had never seen. They all looked up when they saw you come to a stop about nine feet away and make a pained noise as you saw Peter draped across Tony Stark's arms, unconscious.

"Is he alive?" you croaked.

...

Peter could tell his eyes were shut, but he was seeing things that were so vivid and real that it seemed like this eyelids weren't drooped shut. A mixture of bright colors and flashes of people. Peter holding Uncle Ben's lifeless body. Mr. Stark scolding Peter for not listening to him and taking the suit back. Peter pushing debris off of his body. Hanging out with you and Ned, watching Star Wars, piles of textbooks that were ignored stacked around you.

Little bits of his important life - his Aunt May cooking him dinner, Ned bringing over boxes of Legos, Mr. Stark giving him advice, Happy Hogan smacking his camera away any time he tries to vlog trips to headquarters.

And you.

Him taking your hands and holding tight. Him saying goodbye at the bus. Him telling you to stop before you could finish telling him what you felt for him. Him not saying it back, even though it was probably his only chance to ever tell you-

No.

No!

Peter panicked. His eyes were closed and he was struggling, struggling so badly to wake up. He was almost forcing himself to keep these thoughts swirling in his head. If they stopped, would he be left in darkness forever?

He was so scared. He wanted Aunt May.

And then, over the silence of his soundless mind-

"Is he alive?"

It was you. It was you. It was you.

He wanted to say your name, to let you know that he could hear you, but he couldn't find his lips. Instead he imagined you sitting next to him in a hospital, holding his hand. He was hurt, but he would heal, and everything would be okay. You would stay by his side and drink coffee until he woke up, and then he would wake up and you would kiss him, and he would jokingly gripe about how you tasted like bitter coffee.

But he slowly realized that he wasn't in a hospital. He was being moved, and there were a lot of voices, and the air smelled of fire and blood. He felt his head roll on his shoulders. His forehead hit a hard, cold surface. Mr. Stark's suit.

Then there was shouting and he opened his eyes.

"Mr. Stark," he whimpered.

He blinked away the blurriness and his head fell back. He gasped, feeling pain swell into his chest, and he leaned up and out of his arms, groaning.

"Peter!"

He looked up. You were standing there, in the middle of a crowd of Avengers, your eyes overflowing with tears.

"___," he whispered, feeling his heart fill with absolute love, and then he said, more urgent and confused this time, "___?"

And while everyone was watching, something grabbed you.

Thanos.

Thanos had you.

He had you by the neck.