A/N: I was maybe a little upset about Infinity War. And Tom's just so goshdarn adorable.


The suit Mr. Stark had thrown onto him had saved his life. That was all Peter knew. He hadn't been able to get inside the donut-shaped spaceship, and at some point, was flung off of it, into the dark coldness of space.

Well, it was supposed to be cold. He could still breathe, though, and he only felt a little chilly, so he knew the suit had something to do with that. He was lucky there hadn't been anything in the way when he lost hold of the ship-it had taken him a long time to slow down in the absence of gravity. It was a lot of spinning, even for him.

"Karen?" he tried.

"Yes, Peter?" came the usual response from his suit's AI.

"Oh, thank goodness you're here," he sighed. "Um, you wouldn't happen to know where we are?"

There was a lengthy pause. Peter became increasing more worried the longer the silence stretched.

"I am unable to determine your location, Peter," said Karen, sounding regretful. "Unfortunately, we are no longer on Earth- "

"Yeah, got that bit," Peter cut her off. "You know, at least you're here. How long can you be here, actually?"

"I estimate two more hours of power, at the current consumption rate."

"Great, thanks, Karen," Peter said, his brain buzzing.

Two hours. Huh. He looked around. Nothing. He was in space, after all. He could see distant stars, but nothing looked very close. He'd never thought his first trip into space would be like this. Peter always figured he'd go to space someday (he'd always thought being an astronaut sounded fun), and after getting bitten by a radioactive spider, he kinda figured he wouldn't have to be an astronaut anymore to leave the planet, but he hadn't thought it would be like this, literally alone, in just his Spider-suit. He'd thought something more along the lines of Mr. Stark building a rocket ship and bringing him along for the ride. That would have been nice.

He waved his arms experimentally. The motion caused him to start floating in a slightly different direction, so he did it again. Peter distracted himself doing slow flips in space for a while. It was sorta the only thing he could do. He didn't have his backpack, or anything else, and he didn't want to talk to Karen too much, and risk running down the suit's energy.

Peter tried not to think about how he was probably going to die. He'd be dead before Aunt May even realized he wasn't home from school yet. Definitely before Mr. Stark got back from wherever that giant donut spaceship had been going. His suit was going to fail in… less than an hour now, and then the cold vacuum would freeze him.

At least he wasn't in Earth's solar system, because then he'd freeze and the sun would boil him at the same time, which sounded like a lot worse way to die.

The little air he had in his suit was already stale and thin. Peter was taking very long, slow breaths to try and help, but he was pretty sure it wasn't helping at all. His lungs were starting to burn, and he was pretty sure that was bad. It couldn't be good.

"K-Karen?"

"Yes, Peter?"

"If the s-suit d-dies, would, I mean," Peter was having trouble thinking clearly, on top of starting to feel the cold in his fingers and toes. A shiver spasmed his body. "C-can you s-save a m-message? I m-mean, the s-suit should be able t-to ch-charge up again, if s-someone f-finds me."

Karen took longer than usual to respond, and when she did it was in a much softer tone.

"Yes, Peter, I can do that for you."

"Th-thanks, Karen," he said, taking a deep breath to help clear his brain. "Okay, t-tell Aunt May…"

Peter was only halfway through Ned's message when he realized he wasn't talking out loud anymore. His jaw was too cold to move anymore, and his eyelids had already slid shut, and the darkness was so gentle…

"Peter? Peter!" Karen's frantic tone momentarily roused him, because it was so unlike her, but he couldn't find the strength, or the will, to respond.

"Peter, there appears to be a ship approaching. Attempting contact."

That's nice, Karen, Peter thought as he drifted into inky blackness.


Peter blinked. And then blinked a couple more times. His eyes felt so dry. He wiggled his fingers, and toes. He felt tired, but all his fingers and toes seemed intact, so that was a win. No frostbite. Whoever had stuck him in this cage, however, hadn't taken his suit off of him, so he probably had Karen.

"Karen?" Peter asked as he looked around. He was a little worried now, because it totally looked like he was in a cage.

The bars that made up the walls kinda gave it away.

"Yes, Peter?"

"Do you know where we are?"

"You are on some form of spacecraft, Peter. I was not able to get enough of an audio sample of their speech to translate their intentions."

"So, it's not looking good for me?" He tugged on one of the bars. It didn't budge. Well, it was a long shot, anyway.

"I would say not."

"Thanks for the optimism, Karen," Peter muttered. "How long was I out?"

"Only a few hours, Peter."

"Well, I guess I won't make it back before Aunt May notices, huh?" He dejectedly slumped against the back wall of the cage.

"Current time in New York City is 10 p.m."

Peter sighed. There didn't seem to be anyone around, and he couldn't see a door. Mostly because there was a bunch of shelving around, and large containers and things. Peter surmised that he was in some kind of cargo hold. There was a steady thrumming that was probably engines, or whatever they were using to power the ship.

His Spidey senses tingled as he heard footsteps from outside. It sounded like there was a hallway on the other side of the wall, and the footsteps were dragging something.

"I think we might have company," he said, mostly to himself. Karen didn't answer. A door opened somewhere off to the left of him, and Peter readied himself for whoever was coming.

Around a corner, came two humanoid-looking aliens, one of which was blue, and the other who… were those feathers instead of hair? Weird. Their outfits looked a bit like what Peter would have imagined space cowboy-pirates to be wearing: leather jackets, shirts and pants of questionable cleanliness, and what appeared to be space weapons strapped all over. They were each grasping the arm of some dude that they were dragging along between them. Whoever it was, he (or she, he supposed) was unconscious, and their arms were cuffed together with some weird, glowy space-cuffs. Oh, shoot. Maybe they were space cowboy-pirates.

"Hey! I'm, uh, I'm from Earth? You guys know where that is?" They both looked at him, and the feathery one gestured angrily with one hand. Peter wasn't sure what that meant, but he could guess it meant shut up.

"You guys speak English? Or Spanish? Um, espanol? I took two years of that- "

One of the space cowboy-pirates (he was definitely calling them that now) whacked the outside of the cage with his free hand, and Peter decided it really was time to shut up now. The blue one said something in a weird alien language that made it sound like he was retching, and the feathery one laughed.

They opened the cage by touching a panel briefly, and threw the poor dude they'd been dragging inside.

"Hey, wait," said Peter, taking a step forward, "who's this dude? You can't just- "

Apparently, they could, though, because the blue one drew his space gun without hesitating, and shot him, throwing Peter back against the bars.

He lost consciousness for the second time that day.


One guess who Peter's cellmate is?

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