Everything's Fine (Marvel Fanfic)

Chapter Eighteen

It took a year before the inevitable happened. The bad days outweighed the good. Peter continued to wear Loki down. Loki started to hit the bottles, himself. He stayed in brief contact with Thor, reassuring him that everything was OK and that Peter was fine, he just didn't want to talk. Shield was actively looking for both of them, but Loki kept his head down and didn't do anything stupid. No one had the manpower to go check on random basements in Wyoming.

The downward spiral turned. The seasons changed, winter melting into spring and spring heating into summer. In the basement, nothing changed.

And then he died. He and Loki were curled up in bed, sharing a bottle. No one was counting drinks, and he swallowed one too many. Loki was too drunk to notice, kept handing him the bottle anyway.

The world was blurry and numb, and went completely weird even for how drunk he was. And then he realized his dreams were walking through the room. Peter could see the ghosts: the fallen, the faceless enemies, the minor villains, Mr. Stark, Cap. Most of them passed through without noticing him, even Thanos. His comrades were the ones waiting: Stark and Steve. Peter left his body on the bed and joined them. Stark's hand was warm and solid on his wispy, ghostly back, but Peter didn't want to face him yet.

"I didn't know you'd actually died. I thought you just got old," he told Cap instead.

"No one paid attention," Steve joked, and Peter recoiled. How many times had he said that about the people around him? About Thor, May, Shield? Anyone who got close but didn't intervene. Anyone but Loki.

And Loki... He tried to turn back to say good-bye to his husband, but there was nothing behind him. Just a wall of pure void, blacker than the night sky on a new moon.

"Loki?" he asked softly.

"Loki's still got work to do," Tony gruffly explained. He turned Peter away from the past, and led him forward. They weren't in Wyoming anymore, but on a winding path somewhere in the underworld. It was peaceful here. Gentle sunshine and lots of butterflies visiting wildflowers. For the first time in years, Peter felt truly relaxed. There was no nagging at the back of his head, no urge to drown out the world and everything in it, to drown himself. He skipped down the path and turned around to face his old buddies.

"Where are we going, anyway? Heaven? It can't be Hell."

Tony and Steve shared a look. "The instructions weren't clear... but we'll see when we get there. The fork's almost coming up."

"Instructions aren't clear? What's that mean?" Peter frowned, but he couldn't stay worried. A large butterfly landed on his arm and he laughed in delight. "Look at it, Mr. Stark!"

"I see it, I see it." They kept walking down the path, eventually coming to a place where the road split into three. At each path, a representative guard was blocking the path. All three underworlds - Folkvangr, Valhalla, and Hel - were sealed off to him.

"Is no one going to let me pass?" Peter asked in a quiet voice. He looked back to Tony. "What do I do?"

"We'll wait with you, Peter. It shouldn't take long, now that we're here." He sat down in the dirt, and Steve crouched down beside him. With nothing better to do, Peter joined his friends.