A/N: So I posted this on Tumblr over a week ago and I've been debating whether or not to post it here cause it's based off one of my other Tumblr posts, but what the hey, I think y'all can figure out what's going on.

Peter was making one of his nightly rounds through his museum that honored the heroes he had once been friends with. There were dozens of rooms, showcasing the heroes in groups based on bonds – for example, Steve, Bucky, and Sam were in one room; Wanda, Pietro, and Vision another; and Thor and Valkyrie's statues in another, with one pedestal empty and waiting. All of the rooms had the same wooden walls and white tile floor, but the base of each statue was decorated according to personality. He knelt now in front of Gamora's statue, whose pedestal was black with pictures of various swords on it. A kid had vomited on her leg, and he was working to clean it up.

"Don't you have janitors for that?" someone teased.

Peter chuckled wryly, glancing over his shoulder at Loki. The prince had aged well over the last four thousand years – his hair was snow white but still impeccably styled, and he had very few wrinkles outside of laugh lines. His sense of style hadn't changed since Peter first met him all those centuries ago – elaborate black and deep green leather, with gold accents.

"You know she's different, Loki."

Loki smiled in understanding, glancing around the room. Nebula stood beside her sister, with Drax, Groot, Rocket, Mantis, and Yondu lining the other walls. There had been more Guardians over the years, but Peter saved this room for the originals. "I know," Loki said.

"Were you just visiting Thor and Val?" Peter asked, wiping off the final spot of vomit. He set to disinfecting it.

Loki nodded. "I miss them," he murmured.

Letting his power flow into the statue, Peter repaired a couple damaged spots on her leg, then stood, brushing his hands off. "I miss them, too."

"You look like you could use some fresh air," Loki observed, jerking his head towards the exit. "Come on."

"That's rich, coming from an old man who looks more fragile than a house of cards. A gust of wind could blow you over," Peter retorted lightly. He blew Gamora a kiss before following Loki, walking through a maze of memories before they made their way outside.

Outside looked exactly like Missouri – Loki liked to complain that Peter should've made the planet far more extravagant, like an Asgard 2.0. But Peter was the one who had spent two thousand years building this place, and he preferred the rolling green hills, vibrant blue skies, and lively ponds of his home state. The duo hiked up one of these hills now, Peter helping Loki along – setting Peter's favorite tree atop a steep hill had seemed like a better idea when Thor, Val, and Loki were young enough to climb easily. But Loki refused to let him change, and after a few minutes, they were settled on opposite sides of an old picnic table. Stars shimmered above them.

Loki shivered a little, hugging himself. Peter frowned, and a moment later, a warm breeze sprang up. "Thanks," Loki said, tilting his face into it.

"You really are old," Peter said, his tone a mix of concern and trepidation. It was easy, sometimes, to forget that Loki would soon follow his brother and wife into death's clutches. He had been a constant in Peter's life for four thousand years – his best friend. And when he was gone, Peter would be the last one alive who had lived alongside anyone in that museum.

Loki lifted his gaze to the stars. "I can hear them, sometimes, Thor and Val. And my parents."

Peter winced, dropping his gaze to the table. "How long has that been happening?"

"A few days." Loki looked at Peter again. "They're still faint, Peter. I have some time left."

"That's…" What? Nice? He has every right to want to reunite with his family. Thor's been dead a century, Val another three. "Thanks for the warning."

Loki reached out and took his hand. A few thousand years ago, they never would've done that, but with Loki's looming death and Peter's circumstances afterwards… Well, they had stopped caring about such things. "I wish I could stay, Peter."

"No, you don't," he said gently, squeezing Loki's hand. "As much as you see her in your daughter, you miss Val."

Loki took a breath to argue, but he just sighed. "True. I'll even admit that I miss Strange."

Peter laughed. "You two were sassing each other all the way to the end."

"We were," Loki said fondly, memories flickering through his eyes. "I guess what I meant was that I wish I wasn't leaving you alone."

"Don't feel guilty for the inevitable," Peter told him. "Don't regret dying. You've lived your life."

Loki smiled. "You're brave, Peter. I don't think I could face what you are."

Finally, Peter looked skywards, letting himself take comfort in the night's beauty. "It helps to live in the moment."

Loki pulled his hand back, still uncomfortable with prolonged contact. Even now, the torture he'd been through between Thanos's control and his own actions still haunted him. "I'm glad we got to know each other, Peter."

"Yeah," Peter agreed. "It's been a great few thousand years, buddy." A smirk grew on his face. "Remember that time when we filled Thor's room with balloons and then they all stuck to him?"

Loki burst into laughter. "Gods, he was so annoyed. But he still let one stick around, for the kids' amusement. Called it his crown for the day."

"He destroyed us in battle practice the next day," Peter recalled. "So worth it."

"Completely. Also, do you remember-"

"Star-Lord! Star-Lord!" a young voice called, panicked.

Peter was on his feet in an instant, spinning around to see a young Kree girl running towards them from the village. He jumped to the bottom to meet her, Loki following with a burst of magic to soften his landing. Peter knelt to look her in the eye. "What is it?" he asked calmly.

She was panting, tears in her eyes. "There's a man, back in my village, and he's got a blaster-"

"Which village, sweetheart?"

"Kevin Bacon Town."

Peter nodded, straightening up. "Loki, stay with her. I've got this."

"Hey, wait-" Loki started protesting.

Peter leapt into the air, flying away before Loki could continue. He wouldn't risk Loki's life, not unless it was absolutely necessary. He powered along, wind whipping through his curls, until he was hovering over KBT. It was one of the larger refugee villages, complete with white houses, a sprawling school, and a glittering shopping center.

The problem was immediately apparent – a crowd had gathered outside the pharmacy. A man stood in front of it, waving around a blaster. He had a young woman pinned in his grip, and she was desperately begging him to let her go.

Peter landed carefully, holding up one hand in surrender and gesturing the crowd back with the other. "What seems to be the problem here?"

The man bared crooked teeth. He looked human, with scraggly blond hair, white skin, and beady brown eyes, but he could've been Asgardian or Xandarian, too. His clothes were in rags, suggesting he was new to the planet. "This witch ain't givin' me what I want."

Peter recognized her. She was pink and plump, her normally-wide eyes now like moons of terror on her face. "Her name is Sandaria," Peter informed the man. "What's yours?"

"Shut it," he snapped. "I jus' want my meds."

"Well, why won't she give them to you?" Peter inquired.

"Says I ain't got no prescritor or whatever," he growled. "I jus' want my meds!"

"Ok, ok," Peter said, edging forward carefully. "You new here?"

"Maybe."

"All right, you may not know this then, but you need a doctor's appointment first," Peter informed him, still inching forward. "Once the doc confirms you need the medicine, then Sandaria here will happily provide it. So why don't you just put the gun down-"

"Stop moving!" he shrieked, firing off a shot. Peter froze, squelching down the ever-present instinct to dodge, waiting to take the hit before a bystander could. Unlike them, the shot wouldn't kill him – but it would hurt like hell.

A shield of emerald light blocked it.

Peter whipped his head around. Loki stood behind him, arm outstretched, the little girl sheltering behind him. "I'm not dead yet, Quill," he muttered.

"Never said you were."

"No, but you implied I would be if I helped. I resent that."

"I don't care. Go!"

"No."

Peter groaned – why were Asgardians so damn stubborn? "Fine. But next time-"

"Yo!" the man exclaimed. "I still have a hostage!"

Loki rolled his eyes. In a heartbeat, another wave of green shimmied in between Sandaria and the man, wedging them apart. He lost his grip. The magic wrapped around her and carried her off, placing her safely in the crowd. Then it yanked the blaster from his hand, putting it safely in Loki's, and turned into some cuffs and rope to keep him from escaping.

"And I, Prince Loki of Asgard, was in the middle of a conversation."

"Didn't your mother ever teach you it's rude to interrupt?" Peter joked, turning to the crowd. "All right, show's over, everybody go home! You ok, Sandaria?"

The pharmacist nodded, thanking him while her friends led her away. Peter smiled, waving after her and playfully blowing her a kiss. He dealt with rough situations for her often, though usually nowhere near as potentially deadly, so they were good friends. "I'll come by tomorrow to check on you!"

"P-peter-"

Peter turned back to Loki.

His smile vanished.

Red light pressed against the blaster he held, shoving its barrel towards Loki while pinning it in his grip. Loki pushed against it, both with his hand and magic, but it was barely working. Common sense screamed to knock out the red magic's user, but Peter panicked – he just grabbed the blaster and pulled.

"No no no," Peter muttered desperately, throwing his weight into pulling.

"You're not the one about to die!" Loki snapped, half-hysterical. "I don't want to- not yet- not now- please-"

One of Loki's wrists broke with a snap. Loki screamed. Peter fumbled, almost releasing the blaster on instinct, and that was all the magic user needed.

The blaster snapped around. It shot Peter in the shoulder. He fell with his own scream. Between Loki's broken wrist and the sudden disappearance of Peter's strength, the blaster easily swung back to its original victim.

With a bang, it shot Loki in the chest.

"No!" Peter shrieked. He scrambled to Loki's side, now flat on his back, pressing shaking hands against the smoking wound in his chest. "No no no no, stay with me!"

Blood was dripping from Loki's mouth, splattering out in hoarse, weak coughs. He didn't even have the strength to tremble. His eyes were wide, blank from shock. "Val…"

"Loki, no, it's Peter," Peter sobbed. "Please- not now-"

The ghost of a smile dawned on Loki's face. He still seemed to be staring at nothing. "Mom."

"LOKI!" Peter screamed.

Suddenly, Loki's gaze focused on him. "Peter… It's ok."

"No, you can heal this, you can," Peter insisted.

Loki shook his head, the movement hardly a twitch. "I lied earlier… I never had more than a couple days left… I'm sorry, it's still a habit…"

"It's ok," Peter said with forced brightness. "It's ok, I forgive you, I don't care. Just- just stay with me, please."

Weakly, Loki lifted a hand to pat Peter's cheek. He closed his eyes with a sob, leaning into the contact. "Goodbye, Peter," Loki breathed.

Slowly, his hand slid away. His shuddering chest stilled. His eyes drifted shut.

With one last exhale, Loki left him, too.

Peter caught his hand and threw his head back, wailing to the sky. The agony was wordless, because how could he express it? His best friend of four thousand years had just died bloody because Peter failed him. Peter had just failed the last true friend he had in the worst way possible.

All he could do was scream until his throat was raw, not caring that he had a growing audience.

Gradually, maniacal laughter reached through his haze. Peter focused on it, squinting through tears, until his gaze landed on the man. He was cackling, red light still twining around his fingers. "Man, that was easy," he gasped between laughs. "Assassinating a prince for funzies was always on my bucket list."

For the first time in thousands of years, Peter snapped. He threw his hand out, tearing a boulder from the ground. With a violent jerk of his arm and a roar of rage, he smashed it into the man's head.

If the man died with terror on his face, Peter would never know. There wasn't enough face left to tell.

And suddenly, Peter felt empty. There was no killer to catch. He was too existentially exhausted to scream.

He just crumpled over Loki's body, pressing their foreheads together. Tears continued sliding from his eyes, but no sound accompanied them. He just cried silently over his already icy body, clutching fistfuls of the familiar leather tunic.

After four thousand years of immortality, Peter was finally, truly alone, thanks to his own stupidity.

Even millions of years later, he never set foot in Kevin Bacon Town again.