A/N: I know, I already kinda wrote a fic about this... But then I made a Tumblr post that just blew up with notes, and there was one part I added in my addition to it that got my fanfic brain churning again. Plus I have too many Iron Dad and Spidey son feels. I don't know how I'm gonna survive until May. And this one is very different, I promise. So here it is!

And Peter and Tony are main characters through influence more than actual interaction.

For a while, the battle went fairly well. At least, no one was dead or wounded so badly they'd been benched, which was a miracle considering just how many heroes were on the field. But Steve was fighting harder than he'd ever fought before, even with Bucky, Sam, Natasha, and T'Challa fighting the same opponent. But it felt good, throwing himself so entirely into a fight with his friends beside him.

It felt good, that is, until a scream sliced across the battlefield.

Steve had heard screams before – he was a soldier, after all. He had heard soldiers scream out their death throes. He had heard civilians scream out their panic. He had heard children scream for their parents. He had heard the sleeping scream themselves awake.

But never, never had he heard this. It was a raw howl, a soul-piercing fountain of grief and guilt and rage and agony pouring from a single source. A single heartbreaking, unexpected source.

Steve spun around to search, and his gaze landed on a spot towards the edge of the battlefield. There knelt Tony – the scream burst from his gaping mouth. Even from a distance, his face shone with fallen tears. Even from a distance, Peter's broken suit glistened with pools of blood. Even from a distance, Steve could see the way Tony clutched Peter's broken body to his chest, his hands pale from the strength of his grip, his entire body shaking with the strength of his emotion.

Strange was slumping back beside them, his head hanging in defeat, his blood-soaked hands shaking, his magical cloak slowly, futilely drying his cheeks.

Time slowed to a snail's pace as the heroes slowly started to react.

Wanda, fighting not too far away from the trio, fell to her knees, screaming a familiar scream, scarlet power bursting from her uncontrolled. Clint loosed a trio of arrows to cover her, his hand flying to the pocket that held the picture of his kids the second he stopped firing. Scott suddenly appeared beside him, reaching for his own picture of Cassie.

Rhodey and Hulk dove into action. Hulk roared ferociously, almost sounding pained, and swung his fists at anything that tried to approach Tony's vulnerable form. Rhodey crashed down beside Tony, jumping out of his suit to try to pry Tony away.

"We can grieve later, Tony," he tried to say, even as his own voice shook. "But you have- you've gotta calm down, bro. You can- can't do this right now. Tony!"

Mantis moved in to help, taking hold of Tony's face. The second her skin met his, tears fell from her eyes and a sob escaped her as she crumpled in on herself. But she dug her fingers in and held onto his face, rasping "Calm" over and over.

Drax ran in to guard his teammate, his fingers firm on the trigger but his eyes hollow with dark memories.

Groot was watching, his fighting limbs going still, his eyes wide and terrified. Rocket ran to his side and jumped up to his shoulder, where he sat and wrapped his tail firmly, protectively around the teen tree's shoulders. A new layer of terror showed in his movements, in the way he rained bullets down on the enemy.

Quill looked more haunted than anyone. He stood frozen, horror etched into his face as he listened to Tony begging Peter to live. His blasters hung uselessly at his sides, and he didn't move until Gamora ran to his side and planted herself between him and danger as if that alone could protect her own Peter.

Rhodey and Mantis were making progress, easing Tony backwards and Peter to the ground. Wong stepped up, resting a strengthening hand on Strange's shoulder before he opened a portal. Then he crouched and gently, as gently as if he were holding a newborn, picked up Peter's limp body and set it on the couch on the other side of the portal. Rhodey's grip on Tony was half-hug, half-restraint as the billionaire tried to reach for Peter; the cloak stretched out to block him as Wong closed the portal.

"He will be undisturbed until we can… fetch him," Wong assured them, unshed tears shimmering in his eyes.

Steve tore his gaze away as Tony sobbed. Mantis and Rhodey still held him, still covered by Hulk and now Thor. But he was recovering, very gradually, rage edging out the pain on his face. Quill and Wanda were recovering a bit faster, regaining their "mean faces," as Quill put it.

Suddenly, Sam dropped down beside him and turned his wings into a shield just as an explosion rocked the ground mere feet away from where Steve had been standing. They were blasted off their feet, flying through the air before Sam managed to flare out his wings and catch them both, halting their tumble relatively gently.

"Focus, Steve," Sam growled over the break in his voice. His eyes flitted to Tony before he took off again, returning to the battle.

Bucky was scrambling to his feet a few feet away. "Come on, Stevie," he urged, dropping the empty magazine from his machine gun and replacing it.

Natasha and T'Challa landed more gracefully; Steve couldn't see the king's face, nor did he speak to let on if he felt anything about Peter's death. Natasha said nothing either, but a couple tracks of cleanliness ran through the blood and dirt on her cheeks. The duo flung themselves back into the battle alongside Bucky and Sam.

Steve could only stand rooted in place, hearing words Tony had snarled in grief-stricken anger six long years ago: "We are not soldiers."

Looking around at the tear-streaked faces, hearing the shaking voices, seeing the crumpled bodies, Steve realized something: Tony was right.

He's been right this whole damn time.

Soldiers went into battle with at least some expectation of making it out alive, of winning the war, if not the battle. They had the support of extensive training, a steadfast mentality, and the backup of plenty of people with similarly extensive training. They knew how to emotionally detach just enough to get the job done.

But these people? These Avengers, these Guardians, these heroes… They didn't. They came from pirates and torture and the circus and endless parties and high school – and so much more. Some had the training, some had the mentality, some had a combination of both, but others had none of that. They were friends and siblings and lovers and parents. Some of them were kids.

Some of them were soldiers, yes. They would never lose that part of themselves.

But all of them were just people. They were people who had been flung into their current situation through fate alone, people who had been dragged in by mad scientists and crappy fathers and accidental friendships. They were just trying to protect the band of misfits they called a family.

And they were failing. Because even the most sheltered people – even the seemingly-invincible superpowered teen cloaked in high-tech armor surrounded by a hoard of protective adults – even he could die. It only took one misstep, one lucky blow, to lose someone to death's cold clutches.

And if he was the first… he won't be the last.

Steve could only look around the battlefield with a kind of terror he had never truly felt before, because this time he wasn't looking at trained soldiers. He was looking at people who couldn't hide the terror and desperation he didn't let himself show.

We could fight to the very last breath. We could fight until there isn't a single hero left standing.

Tony certainly looked ready to do just that. His grief was gone, replaced by a stone-cold expression of rage as his suit snapped shut and he fired up his repulsors. Rhodey and Strange geared up beside him, the others already back at the fight.

And this time… we still may not win.

A shared glance with Bucky, Sam, and Natasha proved their thoughts were following a similar path.

"You knew there was no way we were all getting out of this," Natasha pointed out in a low voice.

"Isn't that the 'why we fight?' So we can end the fight, so we get to go home?"

"I know," Steve admitted. "But… I hoped." Especially for… for the kids. Maybe not me, but them, at least, he added silently.

She flashed a weary attempt at a smirk. "There's a chance you might be in the wrong business, Rogers."

Steve couldn't find the lightheartedness needed to laugh. He just looked at everyone one last time, saw them exchanging heavy looks of their own, found himself wondering who he would joke with again. Wondering if he would ever joke again.

A/N: Ok, this turned out way more Steve-centric than I meant. The second half was supposed to be a little tidbit, not half the dang fic. Oh well, I suppose. And sorry if Steve is a little OOC, I don't write his POV very often.