Author's Note: This is only half of the chapter, I've been really busy lately. It's coming along slowly but surely, thanks for sticking with me!

Chapter Four

"What's the problem?" Happy asked, turning to face the red, white, and blue-clad figure.

"Furys on a call in the conference room and we aren't sure if we should answer it or not," Scott said, absently sipping on a Capri-Sun. He looked sort of dazed and kept tripping over everything. Happy leaned towards Steve and dropped his voice.

"Did someone spike Scott's Capri-Sun?" Happy said, throwing a query glance towards Scott.

Thor walked up to the two of them, flask in hand, "He was stressed." He states and takes a quick swig of whatever Asgardian alcohol was in it.

Happy was about to reveal the situation to the whole team, but before he could, Shuri yelled.

"Happy! Did you find Peter?"

Everyone's attention turned to him. He panicked for a second, but took a deep breath and laid it out.

"No, we didn't find him yet." He paused and looked directly at Shuri, trying to reassure her, "But we did find who took him."

Peter slowly pushed open his bedroom door. His eyes swept over the dark apartment. There were boxes everywhere and everything was covered in dust. Where's May? Peter asked himself. He tried to think of where she could be, but the pain in his arm was making it hard to focus. He made his way to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. As he moved to open the door, Peter sees himself in the mirror for the first time since coming back. He could barely recognize himself.

His hair was snarled and stiff. His face had a layer of dirt that covered every inch of his skin, down to where his suit ended at the base of his neck. He reached up with his good arm to touch the dark circles under his eyes. Suddenly he felt as if he hadn't showered in months, and he certainly didn't feel like he'd saved the universe.

Peter found some painkillers and carefully read the label before taking any. Then turned on the shower.

When he got out of the shower, he wiped away the steam on the mirror. Now that the bandage was gone, he could see the real damage the snap had caused. Almost half of his face was covered in long scars that stretched up from his shoulder and didn't quite reach his nose. The same scars decorated across his chest from his shoulder. His arm was unbelievably thin, quite literally skin and bone. He tried to move his fingers or bend his elbow, anything to reassure himself he wasn't completely useless now. Nothing. When this blows over, he tells himself, I'll fix this. He looked himself in the eyes, I am not done helping people.

He found some of his clothes in a box labeled "Peter" after he'd scrounged up enough bandage to rewrap his entire arm. There were quite a few with the same label. Everything he owned was packed away. Other boxes had May's things, but it looked like there were about three times as many boxes of Peter's.

Now that the pain in his arm was finally subsiding, though he still couldn't move it, Peter realized he was starving. He tried to remember the last time he'd eaten.

Mr. Strange said we'd been gone for five years. Have I really not eaten in five years? He rummaged through a couple of boxes labeled "Kitchen" and found a can of chili. He decided that's the best he could do at the moment.

With his stomach full and his pain somewhat bearable, Peter laid down with his head propped up and closed his eyes, he tried to assess the situation.

Everyone's back from the snap. We defeated Thanos' army and have all the stones. I was kidnapped by an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D and… and there's a bounty or a ransom of some sort. Twenty Million dollars. For me? Who in their right mind would pay that much money for… me?

His thoughts were cut off by the sound of keys jingling at the front door. He jumped and clung to the ceiling, biting his tongue to keep from screaming out in pain. The door opened. He craned his neck to see the person who entered the apartment.

"May!" Peter exclaimed as half jumped and half fell off of the ceiling. May stood in the doorway, unable to speak. Peter righted himself and looked expectantly at her. She looked older. Five years, Peter's mind echoed. "May?" He said, taking a step forward.

"Peter?" She breathed, like he was the last person she'd expect to see here. He tried to answer but May wrapped him in a hug before he could get the words out. "You're real." She whispered and squeezed him tighter. "You're really real."

Peter hugged her back, wishing he never had to leave May's arms. After a minute or so, she put him at arm's length.

"I thought you were dead! You left for a field trip and the next thing I know they're carving your name into stone with the rest of the Vanished! They told everyone you weren't coming back, they kept telling us 'They're gone. You have to move on, there's nothing you can do.' and I tried not to listen, I tried, but you were gone for five years, Peter!"

"I know, May, I know. I'm so sorry."

"Don't you dare apologize!" Her eyes were red and her voice was shaking. She searched his face for a moment, then ran her thumb over the scars on Peter's face. "My God, Peter. What's happened to you?"

He shrugged and looked down at the floor, "It's a long story."