Chapter Text
May smiles gently, petting down the curl askew on his temple. Peter leans his head into her hand, giving her a smile back. “Be careful, won’t you, sweetheart?”
Peter nods slightly, closing his eyes tightly to stop the itching feeling of tears threatening to spill. He could barely keep his voice from cracking as his lip trembled. “Of course, Aunt May.”
May kisses his forehead, tugging his shoulder to push him into a hug. She wraps her arms around him tightly. He could feel her slipping something into his pocket, warm and solid, but he could barely think about it when Peter could hear her frantic heartbeat, could smell the tang of salt tracking her cheeks and landing on his shoulder. He’s hyperaware of his Aunt’s every movement.
At that moment everything comes flooding back to his senses. The smell of burning flames and high-beaming light shooting near them. Midgardian gunpowder grows sharper as it spills, the sharp prickle of his danger sense settling in. The smell of iron and vomit fills his nose as he buries his face into her shoulder.
Peter sucks in a sharp breath, listening as May’s heartbeat gets quicker and quicker and the flames grow hotter.
Suddenly, May pushes him back urgently, dark eyes boring into him. “Go, Peter. I can’t leave, but you can.”
Peter shakes his head violently, eyes darting to her trapped leg surrounded by twisted, bloody, torn up metal. He can feel his throat clogging, his limbs starting to tremble. “No-no no nonono- May I cant- I can’t- You can’t leave me, okay? I’ll get you out. I-I promise. I’m strong enough. I can do it.”
As Peter starts to tear at the metal trapping her leg, his hands become bloody. Vibranium easily slices his skin with ease regardless of its sturdiness. May finally lets tears start dripping out of her eyes, tracking her tears down her cheeks.
“No. Go. He’s coming, Peter. I can’t stop him.” May pushed him harder, enough for Peter to actually be sent backwards. “But- May- please-”
A loud boom, and the sharp ringing suddenly in his ears alerts Peter to the spaceship that was blown up not too far from them. A plomb of smoke, screaming, crying, the oncoming footsteps has Peter scrambling.
“Go!” May screams, her eyes alight with fear as she tosses him the controls. “I love you, Peter! Now go!”
Peter could barely comprehend what happens next as a chunk of flaming metal is launched towards him, hitting the ground…on May.
The crunch of her bones, the splatter of her blood sprays his face as he’s launched backwards. His hearing goes out again and Peter can feel the shock settling in as he scrambles to the ship only a bit away.
He doesn’t have time. He has to leave. Leave.
Escape.
Without May.
The tears burn as Peter launches himself into the pod, the glass slamming closed as another ray is shot nearby. His breathing starts to pick up as a soft voice starts to speak as bright, blinding lights turn on.
“I’m Pod 213, and I will be your guide as you travel. Please keep hands, tentacles, feet, and any other appendages strapped in at all times. Please strap in after typing in your desired location.”
Peter furrows his brows, his vision blurry as he types in a random location, somewhere far from the sound of it. It’s what May told him…but he never had the chance to ask.
Strapping himself in, Peter could hear yelling outside the pod as the boosters stirred to life and launched him with a jolt into the air. Something hits the side of the pod, sending it spinning and bright red lights blinking boldly across the screens.
“Yellow Code 83, Pod 213 will now go into stasis mode for passen-” A glitch starts, the lights spazzing which sends Peter into a worse panic. He’s going to die. He won’t make it.
He failed May.
“Destination is located. Launching in 3…2…1…”
Peter feels the pod moving before it even finishes the count, a deep blue gas starts to fill the pod and he can feel his danger sense spike again. He can’t leave. There's no air-
He’s going to die- diediedie-
“You will be at Erang-” Static. Another glitch overtakes the entire pod, controls blinking and the destination panel flashing different locations from what he typed in. Peter can feel his eyes getting heavy, his limbs going numb from the smoke. His eyes close and he can barely catch the last sentence before it goes completely dark.
“-Midgard in approximately 1 Rolipra day, or 237 Midgardian hours.”
—
Peter woke up to the sound of pounding winds, blinding sunlight, and the frantic beeping of controls on the panel in front of him. Blinking his blurry vision away, Peter brings his hands up to rub at his eyes.
It takes a few seconds to register what is happening, but by that time it’s too late for Peter to do anything as he sees land rushing up to meet his pod.
Fuck- Shit shitshitshit–
Peter barely had the time to brace himself before the pod impacted on the ground, an explosion ringing in his ears as his seat was ejected violently as a secondary blast of heat was fired into his surroundings.
His head slams on sheet metal below him, cracking ominously enough for Peter to become immediately disoriented with the breath knocked out of him.
Everything is sore and there is a burning, stinging pain on his right hip that makes him want to scream.
Fuck.
Heat beats down on his frame as Peter struggles for air. His head throbs terribly and he struggles just to open his eyes enough to try and look at his surroundings. The color of orange and pale-yellow attacks his eyes, with the clashing of blue of the…sky? He’s heard about it before, in their books, but never has he seen one.
Where the fuck is he?
The straps on his cushioned chair give out, retracting back into the seat. Peter couldn’t be more relieved as he rolls out of the chair and lands face-first in the burning hot crumbly-feeling ground.
Peter closes his eyes again, just trying to breathe. His hands run through the grating substance under him as he feels like baking alive. Slowly, his hearing and sense of smell return to him. Smoke fills his lungs, and he can hear the crackling of flames somewhere off to his left.
Shit.
Bolting up from his position on the weird-soft-flowy ground Peter looks at the pod. It's torn to shreds as flames lick its Vibranium shell, wires sticking out sporadically as they crackle with electricity.
Peter bites his lip, glancing around himself now. His only way out is destroyed, and the area he’s in just looks…desolate.
Double fuck .
He’d much rather scramble together the Unflems* for a whole day then figure this out.
Peter raises himself off the ground, dusting off whatever the grainy looking substance is off his clothes. He’ll have to pick a random direction and hopefully come across…something?
Where was he again?
He typed in planet Erang, the address for May’s mother, but this is nothing like Erang.
This is more like…
“Midgard in approximately 1 Rolipra day–”
Peter groaned out loud, smacking a hand across his face. He’s on Midgard . The most un-evolved planet in the system. Of-fucking-course.
The horror stories surrounding this planet are famous on Rolipra, Erang, Asgard, and Disjencher. The amount of people they’ve killed of his…Peter shivers.
They can’t know. They won’t know.
Peter will disguise himself. Get help from…someone? Maybe someone else from his planet escaped here?
Fuck if he knows.
Peter starts to walk as he tries to shove his fangs back in, the ones showing he’s part venomous, which only a small population of Rolipra was. Otherwise, he was below average on his planet, always the loner, the slower one, the outcast.
But he won’t think about that because Peter has to focus on walking on this god-awful grainy stuff that just keeps fucking moving with every step which is incredibly annoying.
Peter heaves a sigh as he walks, heat beating down on his form of torn clothing and drying blood. His hip burns like never before as he tries to keep his balance. His mouth is dry as hell and it makes him want to dive into one of the water pits back home to feel alive again.
Midgard seems terrible already.
No water holes, no buildings, no spacecrafts, nothing but…whatever the hell this is.
On top of that something keeps banging against his leg in his pocket and swear to the goddess above he will rip whatever it is to shreds.
Shoving his hand into his pocket, Peter touches something smooth that radiates heat. Confused, he grasps it and pulls it out. Unfolding his hand near blinds him as he looks at a small, very bright, red stone.
Blink.
Wait-
Holy shit. It's the Reality Stone.
The longer he holds it the more it feels like it’s going to rip him apart, even in its suppressive casing.
Glancing around himself, he shoves it back in. Biting his lip, he continues to walk faster away from the ship. His danger-sense starts to prickle. Is he being watched right now, how would he know? What if they're after the stone? Where did he even get it?
He felt May slide something in his pocket.
Of course his Aunt, even if her dying moments, prioritized anything and everything above herself. She gave him the stone to protect. She trusted he could leave. She trusted him.
Now he has to trust her decision.
Peter walks for a long time. He can barely think as he urges himself off, eyes dropping every now and then as sluggishness takes its hold of his limbs. Somewhere along the way he found this solid gray-black ground that makes him feel twice as hot. He doesn’t even remember when he found it, just that one moment everything was yellow-orange and the next there’s a staggering amount of faded gray lining the grain.
Less than another mile into his walk on this weird path, Peter hears something. Like a loud engine, the sound of a motor turning in a familiar fashion as the craft warehouse on his planet. Next comes a blast of music, the tingling of his danger sense as the sound only gets louder.
Looking behind himself, Peter squints to look at the blue-looking blob heading towards him.
What the actual shit is that?
The cart looking thing starts to slow its approach, circular black things rolling under it start to slow their spinning. Peter doesn’t really know what to think as he blinks blearily at the blue cart-rollie thing.
The dark tinted glass rolls down in a slow fashion and Peter ducks his head down to see who’s inside. It’s an old woman, akin to what his Grandma Herata looked like at her worst.
“Hi Sonny. What you doin' out here in the middle of Chihuahuan Desert?” The lady asks, eyes wide with curiosity.
Peter furrows his brows, what did she say?
“I don’t… understand?” Peter responds, and only a few seconds later does he want to hit himself. Of course. She’s speaking whatever the hell Midgardians speak. Peter speaks Roliprain.
The lady just smiles without a concern. Maybe they’re used to his language? She doesn’t look distressed at the difference.
“Ah, well, that’s okay, Sonny. Come on in, I’ll get ya to the next town.” The woman says, waving her hand towards herself.
Peter can understand that much, at least.
Looking at the cart thing, Peter puts his hand in the handle and pulls at it. Hearing a slick crack he panics and throws himself in the cart as fast as possible, almost slamming into the nice lady before slamming it probably way too hard by Midgardian standards.
God Peter is so bad at this.
The old lady hums, picking at a strap-thing laying across her chest. “Put this on, will ya?”
Peter stares at her for a second, trying to comprehend what she’s wanting before looking to the side of her head where the strap is coming from then looking next to his own head. There was another one there, so Peter’s assuming he’s supposed to put it on.
Tugging at it gently it pulls quickly to the point he feels it jam, making Peter pause because holy shit everything here is fragile.
With a sigh, he lets it go as the lady directs and eventually clicks it in place next to a big red button thing.
Midgardian technology is wack.
The cart makes a sputtering noise before it starts rolling forwards again, wind picking up as it slaps at the sides of it while the little old lady starts to hum along to something that doesn’t make a lick of sense. Like, really, what the hell was it? Screeching zasipolls*?
Peter had never wanted to rip his ears off his head more in his life .
The ride was long as they passed by hills full of yellow-y grain, light from the sky beating down on all of it. Some type of vent was blowing cool feeling air around him, which is strange and a bit foreign since they didn’t have anything like it for their own personal use, just for the machines.
But it is kinda useful, so Peter won’t comment.
Soon Peter can see large buildings in the distance glistening with sharp lights, the sky turning muffled blue to darker tints of orange and black. There is a specific type of smell that hits Peter as they roll into the town, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. It’s like the feeling of familiar surroundings, but never being there.
Is that even a thing? Peter mentally shrugs.
Eventually they roll next to a short sturdy looking building, bold white font against a black metal-looking sheet at the doors on the front. Peter furrows his brows as he tries to understand what it says but gives up halfway through.
The old woman coughs, gaining Peter’s attention. Looking back at her the woman is pointing out the window. “In there, sonny. They’ll help you out. Them officers will know where to put ya.”
Peter nods slowly, looking back at the building again as he clicks the big red button which releases the strap quick enough to startle him.
Guess he’s going into that building. That’s what the lady’s pointing at anyway. Maybe there’s someone there from Rolipra she knows of? She seems confident.
Peter nods decisively.
“Thank you, Miss” Peter says as he opens the door, and the woman just nods. She doesn’t look like she understood what he said, but that she got the sentiment. With a little wave, the door shuts and the old woman pulls off out onto the long pathway again with a few other carts darting past.
He’ll never understand this place at this rate.
Turning around, Peter makes his way to the doors of the building. Pulling only slightly at the fragile looking handles to open it with a loud piercing ding from some type of bell.
A head shoots up from behind a long counter, curly black hair frizzed to the max shoved into a half-fallen hairstyle he doesn’t know the name of. Her dark brown eyes bore into his own, and Peter pauses for a second as the woman tries to collect herself.
“Hello, what seems to be the issue you need to report?” The woman asks politely, and Peter wants to bash his head in. Of course. Midgardian language again.
Peter sighs, glancing around the place to try and understand where he was dropped off. “I, uh…I’m lost, I suppose?”
She stares at him blankly for a second before furrowing her brows, clicking her nails along the countertop. “Great. Okay, well, I’ll get someone who might understand you out here. You from New York? I swear that’s the place with all that funky business.”
Peter watches as she reaches for a weird-shaped device that kind of reminds him of a clunky semi-circle on a plate thing with buttons. She starts to click them, and he startles when a shrill ringing sound comes from the device. Damn that’s annoying.
The woman starts talking in the device as Peter waits there awkwardly, watching as other people in similar clothing walk by with papers or other people in metal bracelets things that look distinctly uncomfortable.
Wiping his nose on his wrist, the woman hands him a papery looking thing that kind of looks like a very thin cake. Is she giving him something to eat? It doesn’t look that appetizing…but Peter doesn’t want to be rude.
What the hell does he do?
He eats it.
That tastes like shit.
***
Stella didn’t know what to do. She’s seen weird shit, it’s Texas for God’s sake. She’s seen re-enactments of Ted Bundy or someone being a rip-off Bunny Man with an ax, and to be honest she shouldn’t be surprised by much at this point.
But lo and behold, something strange hits again.
It starts with this scruffy blood-covered teenager walking into the station, hair an absolute mess, weird clothing torn to hell and back, and the weird fear of touching literally anything she’s offered– like a tissue when he tries to wipe his nose.
The boy ate the tissue.
Stella is not paid enough for this because what the actual fuck?
So as the phone rings in her ear, she prays to God someone picks up and she can ask what the hell is she dealing with. Because New York is so used to this she has to ask for their professional help.
Plus, the boy distinctly sounds similar to Thor with that weird language…so somethings up.
The phone finally picks up and a tired sigh is heard from the other side of the line. “Hello, This is the NYPD, how may I help?”
Stella bites her lip, watching the boy look around as if he didn’t recognize anything. It’s creepy in a way. “Uh…yeah, this is Stella from CPD in Texas. I have a teenager here bloodied to hell and back, clothes torn, and speaking some language I’ve never heard before that sounds similar to what those aliens in New York spoke a while back. Like, Thor for example. You remember his speech of 2015? He sounds like him. I don’t have a clue what he’s saying but we can’t question him if we don’t know what he’s saying. Can you…get someone down here? You guys are the experts.”
The guy scoffs, “You expect us to know anything? We don’t know what they’re saying half the time either.”
Stella scowls. She hates dealing with guys like this. “Well, you have that direct contact with the Avengers, don’t you? It was established this year months ago. Can you just– give me the number to connect to?”
With a sigh, the guy shuffles around on the other side of the line. “Fine, but fair warning they almost never show up to help unless it’s world-ending.”
She nods, “I’ll take my chances.”
The guy gives her the number, she thanks him, and hangs up.
That was unpleasant.
The boy is standing in front of her again, talking, and it sounds like distorted sounds that she can’t seem to quite catch. She just holds up a hand to him and he stops talking. “I don’t know what you’re saying. But I’m going to call someone that might. So, wait.”
He stares at her a little bit longer before tilting his head and following where she points to a chair next to her station. He seems to understand that command and goes to sit on the chair as she types in the number for the Avengers. She prays to God that they respond.
The phone starts to ring again, and Stella crosses her fingers that it works. It takes about twelve rings before there's a click, static, and a stern voice speaking into the phone. “This is Hogan.”
Happy Hogan? Tony Stark’s personal guard?
Thank fuck.
“Yes, Mr. Hogan, the CPD in Texas needs some Avenger assistance. Nothing deadly, but there seems to be a boy here that talks eerily similar to Thor, as we all have come to understand his language from the 2015 speech, and no one here knows how to talk to him. The main problem is that he is covered in blood, torn clothes, and honestly looking as skinny as I’ve seen them. Do you think you can get someone out here that understands…well, any variation of how Thor speaks.”
Hogan pauses for a moment. “Are you sure? Can it not just be an Eastern Language?”
Stella nods, but voices it when she remembers he can’t see her. “Positive. It’s too distorted and indistinct.”
There's clicking from the other side of the line as Stella waits impatiently. After about two or three minutes, Hogan shifts and starts talking again. “I can get Thor or Bruce Banner to come down, seeing as they are both free and have experience with Alien Languages. They can be there in approximately two hours.”
Relief floods through her system, and gratitude takes place. “Thank you, Mr. Hogan. I’ll send the exact address.”
“Don’t bother, Stark has it already. Be ready for a landing.” The line cuts and Stella puts the phone down on the receiver with a feeling of accomplishment.
Not her problem.
The boy is staring at her again, but she makes sure she doesn’t make eye contact with him for the remaining two hours it takes for the Avengers to get here. This is going to be awkward.