#this is a draft

Peter blearily opened his eyes, taking in the orange skies and haunted landscape around him.

His mind was rearranging his memories, understanding falling into place as he heard a woman nearby.

“Something’s happening.”

When he turned to look to her, he saw the Bug Lady that was friends with Big Peter and the Alien dude. She was standing just behind him, looking out into the distance.

As he instinctively looked toward where she stared, the harsh wind he could feel making the rough planet seem even more desolate, he had the errant thought that Mr. Stark should be here.

Before he could ruminate on that particular revelation, he watched as Doctor Strange (the wizard, a voice in his head supplied) waved his arms and opened a portal, beckoning them through.

As soon as Peter had steadied himself on Earth, all he wanted to do was lay down and find Mr. Stark. But he knew, looking around at all of the heroes gathering around, (soldiers, that same voice whispered,) he had bigger things to worry about.

At the same moment that thought came and went, just as he was fortifying himself for another long battle, something hard slammed into his side, wrapping around his short frame until he was sure this wasn’t an attack.

Glancing at as much as he could, the absurd idea that this was Mr. Stark bounced around his mind. (Tony, the voice chimed again.)

“Peter, oh my god, Peter, you’re here.” He heard mumbled into his hair, the arms tightening around him.

“Mr. Stark? What do you mean? I was with you just a minute ago and now you’re-“ Peter could feel the words freeze in his throat as he got his first real look at Mr. Stark.

The man was older, grey overtaking the sides of his dark brown hair and beard.

But that wasn’t the strangest part.

The normal red and gold had been replaced by dark grey steel and a deep, deep green cape.

For a moment, Peter thought it wasn’t his Mr. Stark, but who else could it be?

This man looked at him with teary eyes, the harsh lines on his face softening for what had to have been the first time in a long time.

“Mr. Stark? What happened-“

He was cut off by a hand cradling the side of his face, the older man (older than he should be, sadder than he should be) heaving a sigh of relief so deep that Peter couldn’t imagine he had been the catalyst.

“It’s so good to see you, bud.” And no matter how strange it was, Peter found himself falling into his mentor’s arms, the rest could be figured out later.

“Stark.” Captain America’s voice cut through the moment, and Peter looked up to find him standing nearby with the Black Widow. The Captain’s voice was sharper than he had ever heard it, even in Germany when they were fighting each other.

“Yeah, yeah, Rogers. Keep your pants on.” Mr. Stark’s voice was low, more threatening than the teasing words should allow, and Peter didn’t understand.

“Thank you, for bringing them back. But this doesn’t change-“

“I didn’t do it for them.” Peter watched as the two stared at each other, one filled with regret and pity, hard lines and harsh eyes. The other, Mr. Stark, so different from how he looked yesterday, and even two minutes ago, resentment and guilt built around him like a shield.

Captain America’s eyes flickered to Peter, stood half a step behind this new Mr. Stark, and something unrecognizable flashed through his eyes.

“Is this him? Peter?”

One of Mr. Stark’s hand came back, pushing Peter that smaller bit closer behind him.

“You don’t get to ask me that. Not anymore.” The ease of the aggression in the older man’s voice told Peter that this was their normal, but he couldn’t help but feel it wasn’t his normal.

He didn’t understand what was going on.

He watched from behind Mr. Stark’s form as the Captain seemed to tense before a harsh furrow contorted the righteous look in his eyes.

“You’re the one who left, Stark. You’re the one who switched sides.”

“You left first!! You said if we failed, we’d do that together. And where were you? Huh?” Mr. Stark seemed to take a deep breath to compose himself, one hand still blocking Peter from the war hero and the other seeming to be powering up for something, though with whatever this new suit was, Peter wasn’t sure what it was. “And what is it with you and sides, huh? This isn’t a Disney movie.”

The captain seemed to take his own moment to compose himself, just before an alien creature landed next to him, reminding them where they were, what fierce battle lay before them, and after taking down the creature with a single blow, he met Mr. Stark’s eyes with a haunting resignation, “This doesn’t change anything. After this battle has been won, and the universe is safe, you will still be enemy number one, Doctor Doom.”

As the battle finally began to catch up to them, Peter turned to his mentor, the man that he believed would always be his own personal hero, fear and confusion swirling in his brown eyes as they met a version of the ones he’d known so long ago, harder and meaner than he’d ever seen them.

“What is he talking about, Mr. Stark? And Doctor what-?” He was cut off by a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up to see a glimpse of the man he knows, before he speaks as if Peter had any inkling as to what was happening.

“A lot has changed since we’ve seen each other, kiddo. I’ve done a lot of things you’ll probably hate me for, but it’s all for you, Peter. Everything I’ve done since the day I lost you, all of it was for you.” The man’s helmet comes down over his face, and Peter can’t help but think it was made to look as intimidating as it is.

The whole "Siblings...gone?" Thing has lived rent free in my brain since day 1 and I've been musing hard on what the Sentinels as a whole might've been like, and what the effects of being the lone survivor of that group might be like for Sec.

Also got hit over the head thinking about how a a metronome works and how one could draw some narrative parallels between it and a cogheart. A device that ticks in sync with the larger part of a musical chorus. Keeping time with the beat of song. What happens when that song falls silent - when a lone ticking is left in the absence of the thing it was made to keep time for?

No idea why this comparison came to me, but I think it would be rather haunting to keep track of the passage of time with one's own lone heartbeat. To stand in the midst of a room filled with the bodies of your comrades. Nothing but the tick ticking of your solitude magnified by the silence around you.

To hear nothing but the tick of your own heart still keeping time for a song that has forever fallen silent.

Anyways, I'll try to post this soon. Really need to break out of the writing block I've been struggling with for a year. Maybe this might help.