Chapter Text
Peter wakes up drowning.
Cold.
That is the first thing he feels.
Not the cold of deep space.
The cold of water.
But it is wrong.
Cold and hot and burning and freezing all at once.
He's drowning.
He's breathing.
His lungs are on fire.
The world is too bright.
Too dark.
Too loud.
Too much.
Blink.
He's alive.
Breathing.
Sitting in a pool of glowing green liquid.
What?
Blink.
An alley.
Somewhere.
A city.
A big city.
Dark.
Dirty.
Wrong.
Like the kind of place vampires would pay rent.
His head hurts.
Protect your head.
The thought arrives from nowhere.
His hands fly upward.
Nothing.
A jagged helmet.
A ripped up suit.
Tangled hair and shaking fingers.
His skull feels like it is splitting apart.
Why?
Why does everything hurt?
Why is everything green?
Blink.
Nothing is green.
The pool is green.
The alley is dark.
Brick walls.
Overflowing dumpsters.
Rain-stained concrete.
Pull yourself up.
Move.
His arms tremble as he drags himself from the pool.
The liquid clings to his skin.
Burning.
Actually burning.
A strangled sound escapes his throat.
His hands are red.
Raw.
Like he'd dragged them across concrete.
Or burned them.
A memory flashes.
Blonde hair.
A gentle smile.
A first-aid kit balanced on a kitchen counter.
"Make sure it doesn't get infected, Peter."
Aunt May.
Relief floods him.
Something familiar.
Something real.
He clings to it.
May fussing over scraped knees.
Bandaging cuts.
Making soup when he got sick.
Her voice.
Her face.
Her hand reaching toward him.
"Peter?"
Peter looks up.
A figure stands at the mouth of the alley.
A woman.
Blonde hair.
Warm eyes.
Concern written across her face.
"Peter?"
His chest tightens.
"May?"
The figure frowns.
"What?"
Wrong.
The voice is wrong.
Too deep.
The hair isn't blonde.
Brown.
Not a woman.
A man.
Middle-aged.
Holding a takeaway coffee.
Looking at Peter like he's escaped from a hospital.
Reality snaps back into place.
The stranger takes a cautious step forward.
"Kid, are you okay?"
The man's heartbeat is deafening.
The smell of coffee makes Peter nauseous.
The city sounds crash into him all at once.
Car horns. Sirens. Footsteps. Voices.
A thousand sounds screaming directly into his brain.
Everything is too loud.
Too sharp.
Too much.
"Hey," the man says softly. "Easy. You look hurt."
He reaches out.
For one awful second, it isn't the stranger's hand.
It's Thanos'.
Reaching.
Grabbing.
Winning.
The memory slams into him.
Titan. The ship. Dust. Fear.
Tony. Mr. Stark.
"I don't want to go."
Something inside Peter snaps.
His hand shoots out.
He shoves.
Too hard.
The man flies backward into a dumpster with a metallic crash.
The coffee cup explodes across the pavement.
Silence.
Peter freezes.
No.
No no no.
The stranger groans.
Alive.
Thank God.
Peter's knees nearly give out.
"Oh God."
The man stares at him.
"What the hell?"
Peter stumbles backward.
His hands shake.
"I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
Fear flashes across the stranger's face.
His hand slips into his pocket.
Phone.
Peter hears it.
Every sound.
Every heartbeat.
He claps his hands over his ears.
Nothing.
"Kid, you need a hospital."
Hospital.
A memory flashes.
White walls. Machines. Green glow. Pain.
Peter freezes.
He runs.
Five years.
Five years.
Everything burns.
A shop window catches him.
He stops.
His reflection stares back.
Soaked clothes. Pale skin. Fear.
And glowing green eyes.
No.
No no no.
He runs again.
Eventually, he collapses into an abandoned building.
Concrete.
Roof.
Safe enough.
He sinks down.
Sleep.
Darkness takes him.
And something watches through green eyes.