Weeks had passed since the dinner at Stark Tower and Peter had resettled into his home. His, situation, had never came up in conversation, and he honestly didn't care. It was his challenge- his choice, he should have to face the consequences.

Standing at his bar, his elbow leaned his body weight onto the wood as he poured himself a glass of wine, the red liquid filling the clear glass up to the brim. Red wine was his guilty pleasure, so why not indulge. It was Christmas after all.

Taking a glance towards the floor to ceiling window, Peter watched the snow flit helplessly to the ground, sticking to itself and building up piles in his yard. Pine trees were covered in the white fluff, making it a true Christmas morning.

As he brought the glass of wine to his lips, a sudden piercing pain shot through his head, making him drop it. The glass shattered into hundreds of tiny little shards, and the wine splashed across the bar and dripped onto the floor. Crumpling to his knees, Peter's hands gripped his raven hair, tugging at the strands roughly.

White spots danced across his vision as he struggled to keep consciousness, using all his power to keep his fingers from connecting. This pain was something he had never felt before- what the hell was happening?

Before letting his eyes flutter closed, Peter was barely able to touch the emergency button on his watch before face planting onto the wood floor. His legs became limp and his helpless form slumped.

"Hours" had passed before Peter's eyes cracked open, the bright artificial light immediately blinding him. He sat up with a groan, looking around the room. He was no longer in his house, but the tower.

"How in the hell...?" he murmured, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. He stood up and walked over to the window with a slight limp. In the glass he saw his reflection and almost stopped breathing.

From what he could see, a large, charred line was streaked across his neck and cheek, following all the way to his lips. It was clearly irritated and Peter brought his fingers up, grazing them softly over the skin. Sudden realization washed over him as he recognized the injury.

Had he...?

Peter's gaze dropped to his hand to see it severely burned, especially around his knuckles.

What the fuck.

"No, no no no..." he said, bringing his hand closer to his face. The stones still shone brightly against his reddened skin, yet they seemed to hold a demonic aurora around them.

"Mr. Stark," FRIDAY said, her accented voice bouncing off the walls of the room. Peter nearly jumped out of his skin, turning his face to the ceiling.

"FRI..? What happened?" he whispered. The twenty-two year old turning towards the window again, gazing out over the sea.

"It's been a year, Mr. Stark. Everyone had passed onto a new life. You snapped your fingers when the stones attacked you, causing hellfire to fall down onto the earth. Your father barely managed to get your unconscious body out of your house before it happened."

Peter felt himself begin to tear up. "A-Are they...?" he trailed off, collapsing into a nearby chair.

"Yes, Mr. Stark. I'm so sorry for your loss."

Peter let out a sob, clamping his hand over his mouth as he began to shake. He had killed his family. If only he had rid the stones from Earth, this wouldn't have happened.

"O-Oh my god."

•

Peter stood at the top of Stark Tower, looking fully out at the city that he once called home. Now it was demolished- crumbled buildings, shattered glass and the stench of decaying bodies filled the city of Brooklyn. The tide of the sea was lapping pitifully against the rocks and sandy beach, receding and starting again.

Everyone was gone, and it was all his fault.

He should've trained harder, how could he be so dumb to let his fingers come together?

"KAREN?" Peter's raw voice cracked at the simple name. His watch lit up the familiar blue color it usually was.

"Boss?" came the reply. Peter stifled a yawn.

"What's the point of living when everyone's gone?" he croaked out. It was silent for a few seconds.

"It may not seem like it, boss, but you have an important roll in the fate of universe. You have to protect the stones from getting into the wrong hands."

"God, you're always right," Peter laughed painfully. He cast his eyes towards the sky, studying the glittering stars.

"KAREN, how do I make an energy shield?"

•

"Happy twenty fourth birthday, boss," KAREN said as Peter woke up. He cracked a smile and rolled over, the blanket resting on his hips.

"Thanks KAREN," he laughed. After a few minutes of willing himself to get up, Peter got out of his bed with a groan.

After he got ready he went down to what used to be his father's lab. He renovated it, of course. He had invented multiple things over the past two years and some of the old equipment just didn't cut it.

"FRIDAY, STARK22 please," he called out. It was a code for one of his holo tables- they had to be hidden incase someone ever broke in.

The holo table emerged from thin air, becoming a solid surface in mere seconds. Sliding into a chair, Peter rolled over and began jotting down notes as he began his trial and error session of his morning. There was never a time for breaks.

For the past two years, Peter used invented and researching as his distraction from the world. The burden of the deaths of his family members still sat strongly on his shoulders, but making himself useful made his mind go elsewhere, like his own personal space that no one could evade.

And it was only a matter of time before he slipped into the space and didn't come back.

Maybe it was the glistening razor blade in the bathroom, or maybe it was the two empty pill bottles on the floor of his bedroom, but later that day Peter Stark was found dead by a search team that came to rescue him. They had taken everyone to safety when the attacks started, even the Avengers. They weren't dead after all.

When Tony was informed that his son was dead, he broke down. His only kid was gone and it was his fault. If he had told them to go just one a day earlier, maybe his boy would be alive.

Maybe.