Chapter Text
An overwhelming smell of rotting food and damp mildew. That was the pleasant wake up call that greeted Peter on this fine morning. His bed felt more lumpy than normal…and oddly sharp? What? No, that can’t be right. He should check on that, but his eyes are so heavy, and sleep calls to him. It can wait another five minutes, right? Yea, another five minutes, then he’ll check on his sharp bed. And the garbage smell. And the sticky feeling on his side. Fuck, he has to get up, doesn’t he? It takes a tremendous amount of effort, but he eventually manages to open his eyes. He gives his immediate surroundings a quick once over. Metal walls, bed of trash, no blanket.
Uhhh. So, this is definitely not his bedroom.
Unless he’s turning into Daredevil. Ha. No, focus Peter.
Okay, so he’s in a dumpster, that’s for sure. Well, not the first time. Okay, next is that stickiness on his side. He lifts a hand towards it, but stops when a jolting pain travels through him at the movement. This might be slightly more serious than previously believed.
‘It’s alright Parker, you got this. Take a few deep breaths, then try again.’
After a few breaths, he slowly moves his arm towards his side. The pain is still there, but this time he was ready for it. His hand reached the sticky spot, and it was pretty clear that it was not dumpster juice like he had been hoping. Yea, no it was definitely blood, and he’s guessing that it's almost certainly his. Fuck. That’s not good. You know what, he’s gonna ignore that for now. He will deal with that later. Maybe he can make Matt deal with it? Nah, it’s fine. He just needs to get back to his apartment, and hide it from Aunt May.
Wait.
Aunt May…
…Was he forgetting something important? What did he last remember? There was a spell, a…breach? And other hims? And the other Peter’s bad guys.
There was…his apartment building had…No there’s no way that…Aunt May was fine. She had to be, Peter was sure of it. He just needed to get home. He couldn’t be too far from it right? Aunt May was fine, their home was fine, and he would…he would…what? What would he do? Aunt May was dead. She was killed. And he didn’t even do anything about it. How could he just…he let it happen again. He’s the worst nephew ever. After everything that Aunt May did for him, he couldn’t even save her. Couldn’t avenge her…no Peter, stop. That’s not what she would have wanted. She wouldn’t have wanted you to hurt someone for her. He hadn’t even realized he was crying until he noticed his cheeks were weirdly cold. It was enough to snap him out of his self-deprecating thoughts though. He needed to figure out where the hell he was before he could…he just needed to do this first. He should find Dr. Strange too, shouldn’t he? Yea, he can do that. He’s got this! Okay, time to make a plan, Parker. What do you currently have?
He gives himself a quick lookover. He’s wearing his suit, that’s a good sign; his mask is still on, that’s an even better sign. But his web shooters are missing. Fuck.
“Karen?” He croaked out. Damn, he sounded like shit. He should probably get some water. There was no response from his favourite digital friend. “Karen? You there? Please tell me you can hear me.” Yea, he didn’t think that Karen was going to respond any time soon. He should probably take a look at that later. Cool, suit’s down but at least he still has it. Next, he gives himself a quick pat down. In his secret suit pocket, the one he installed underneath his left armpit, right against the side of his chest, He found a small and beat up leather wallet. He felt a small spark of hope in his chest at the sight of it. Eagerly, he ripped it open, anxious to find something, anything, of value. He was slightly disappointed. In the wallet was about a hundred bucks cash, and a battered up drivers license with his information on it. Which was really weird, because he doesn’t even know how to drive. The only off thing about the license was that it listed him as eighteen instead of seventeen.
Huh, weird. Whatever, that’s a problem for future Peter.
Okay, so he’s got a broken suit, a hundred bucks cash, a weird drivers license, and a throbbing wound in his side. Perfect, the infamous Parker Luck strikes again. He should just trademark it at this point. He needs to get up, and figure out which back alley he landed in. God, sometimes he fucking hates New York and its disgustingness. He doesn’t really mean that, he’s just slightly delirious. He loves New York, he really does, disgustingness and all. But you wouldn’t catch him complaining if they cleaned up the streets a bit.
Focus! You need to get up, Parker, you need to move.
He grits his teeth and raises both hands to the sides of the dumpster, and braces himself both mentally and physically. He slowly starts to pull himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the burning, fiery pain that he feels all over. Wow, he had no clue how much pain he was in…maybe he should just lay back down? No! No he really shouldn’t. Stop being lazy and get up Peter, you’ve felt worse. Just a little bit further, you’re almost there. With that final thought, he finally managed to get himself into a sitting position.
With his new viewpoint, he could see…nothing new. Of all the dumpsters he could have ended up in, he had to end up in the one with the least garbage. He can’t tell if he was glad for less garbage or upset for less cushioning.
…What does it say about his life that these are the types of conversations he has with himself?
Whatever, he doesn’t have the time to self-pity. He needs to get out of this fucking garbage pit. It takes even longer to draw himself into a standing position. By the end, he is panting and sweaty, and only standing due to his hands braced on the dumpster walls.
‘Breathe, Parker. In and out. Take a couple seconds and then get moving again.’
He takes a second to breath, and to wipe the sweat off of his face. Once he deems himself okay enough, he hauls himself out of the dumpster. It takes a lot of willpower, but he manages to do it fairly quickly and he didn’t even scream! Total win in his book. Suck on that, little voice in his head that said he couldn’t. It’s finally starting to go Peter’s way.
Covering the wound on his side with his hand, he slowly started to make his way towards the entrance of the alleyway, limping slightly. Hopefully he would be able to figure out which street he was on, and find his way to Dr. Strange’s base from there.
As he got closer to the entrance, he noticed that the city didn't sound how it normally did. For some reason there were a lot more sirens, shouting, and…distant gunshots? That can’t be right. He sped up, and finally reached the street. When he looked around, he saw nothing that he recognized. The buildings looked completely different than he was used to. They looked older, and grimier, than anything he was used to. Was he somehow in Europe? Was it even possible to travel that far and not know it? The streets here also seemed to be way dirtier than he was used to. He looked around, trying to find a street sign or something else to help him figure out where the hell he was. He zeroed in on a large sign just up the road. It was kinda difficult to read, on behalf of all the graffiti. He could barely make out the words Park Row, underneath all of the spray paint. The most visible of it was bright red fat lines, and said something about bewaring of Crime Alley? Weird, wonder what that’s about.
Peter went through his mental list, trying to see if he could place where the hell he was. But he had never heard of a street or neighbourhood in New York called Park Row or Crime Alley. This was starting to freak him out. Between being born and raised in New York, and all of his Spider-manning, he knew the city like the back of his hand. He liked to think that he knew every nook and cranny there was to know. So the fact that he had no clue where he was, was very concerning to him. It took all of his willpower to not have a breakdown right where he was. Breathe, Parker. Fucking. Breathe.
‘Okay Peter, you’re not in New York.
So…where the hell are you?’