Peter Parker dies on on a sunny day, along with half of the universe.
When Peter had thought of death, before (because now there’s a before and an after, and there will always be) it had been with the brief levity of someone who knew they still had all their life to live. In his mind, it was quick and painless, and distant, something his old frail body would come to expect.
This was not something he could have possibly prepared for. He’s sorry, though. He should have done better.
Peter Parker dies in Tony Stark’s arms, scared and confused, his pale face terribly young.
Tony is left staring at the ash that remains, feeling empty and sick and guilty, feeling the space that Peter had occupied- Peter, with his bright smile and brighter mind, who Tony wanted to be better than him, who already was on infinite different levels- suddenly vacate in a way Tony knows he’ll never recover from.
He doesn’t even have a body to hold.
Bucky Barnes dies far from home, in a place he’s learned to love.
When his body starts to dissolve, he has half a second to be confused, because he had expected death, even wished for it, at times, but this is not what he had had in mind.
Then comes the acceptance.
Bucky is so, so tired. He just wants to rest. He feels his weariness pulling, severing every thread that still ties him to this world.
He calls for Steve, because Steve always knows what to do, how to make things right, but the only thing Steve can do, again for the second time in his life, is stare at the place where Bucky vanished and wish for the same for himself.
He gets ash instead.
Loki dies next to his brother, and to him, that’s all that matters.
A part of Thor, the one who treasures fondly memories of two boys running through the quiet halls of a golden palace before falling asleep sprawled in front of the fireplace, the one that forgave Loki over and over, that would always forgive him, dies too.
Over their still bodies shines the light of a million stars.