Chapter Text
Ow.
Concrete floors were really not the best beds, if you asked him. And look, Peter wasn’t particularly picky when it came to sleeping accommodations. He’s slept on everything you could think of. From warm beds with luxury 600 thread-count sheets to a little alcove under a bridge, his back has felt it all. Even a dumpster on one quite memorable occasion. But the floor of his own apartment was truly one of the worst places to sleep.
The issue wasn’t just the discomfort itself, though it certainly played a big part. The main issue was that at least when you slept on a random park bench, you expected it to feel terrible and had time to mentally prepare yourself to feel like shit the next morning.
Still, his floor was becoming a more and more frequent fixture in his sleeping life.
He’d swing home after a hard patrol, exhausted, ready to fall into a near comatose state until either a nightmare or an alarm forced him into consciousness once again. And then his knees would buckle. And he’d fall like a marionette with its strings cut, straight into the waiting arms of his floor. Just a pathetic foot or so away from the pullout couch.
These were his thoughts as he once again lay sprawled out on the ground.
It was a hard day today, he should have expected this to happen. Well, to be fair, every day has been a hard day for him lately.
He was so tired. It had been a while since the whole forgetting thing happened. Two or three years at least, he stopped trying to keep track of time long ago as well.
What would he do that for? Every day was the same. Wake up in pain, go to his first job, go to his second job, if he had one right then, go home, change into the Spider-man suit, go on patrol, get home, pass out, repeat. Plus visit May at least once a week. Over and over and over and over again. An infinite loop.
His life as Spider-man was famously hectic and often left its marks on him. However Peter’s life outside his persona was even more of a precarious one.
Pretty soon after … everything went down, he found out that it was in fact rather hard to find a job with no ID, no proof of education and just generally no proof of his existence at all. After weeks of searching, he managed to find a gig as a worker at a warehouse. Did it pay well? No. But it was a job and minimum wage was still money, so who was he to complain. Plus his manager was nice.
He had a second job whenever he could. However, as he already mentioned, it was pretty damn hard to get one, and to keep it long term was another can of worms entirely. No place wanted an employee who consistently showed up looking like he just got caught up in a gang fight. His warehouse manager, Marlene, didn't mind, because he wasn’t interacting with any customers, so there was no one to scare away with his matching black eyes. And she probably also just felt bad for him. It made him feel like an asshole taking advantage of that fact, but he really needed that money.
Currently, he also had a position as a cashier at a corner shop, but he suspected they might fire him soon. Today was the third time this month he came in looking like he had lost a fight with a particularly angry rabid dog, and he could tell customers were starting to be unsettled. Honestly, Peter couldn't blame them, he would be weirded out too.
Financially, he wasn’t doing the best either. On top of the bare living costs, which he tried to minimise as much as he could, which led him to his current floor predicament among other things, but more on that later, being Spider-man was ridiculously expensive.
The worst thing about being stabbed at this point was the damage done to the suit.
He was eternally grateful to MJ for being so paranoid and making him keep a part of his inheritance from his parents, Ben and Mr. Stark, in cash. Because, as he found out, his bank account also fell victim to the spell. He vowed that he would thank her for that someday. Even if it was wishful thinking.
Anyways, given his measly earnings, Peter tried to save on what he could. His apartment had a leak in the ceiling and smelled of asbestos. His diet consisted of instant noodles and energy drinks when he could afford it. Not the best for his heightened super metabolism, but he could deal.
When he did eat, that is. Which was not the case today, he realised, far too late to fix anything. Which in turn led him to his current position, lying on the floor.
A long-building headache pulsing under his slowly closing blood-shot eyes, losing the fight to keep awake. Finally, they closed and sleep kindly took him.
---
It's been a few hours from when Matt first left for patrol. And he was just about ready to go home.
He's been tailing a trafficking ring for a couple of days now, he had to admit they were slippery. Now he was staking their base of operations, waiting for the moment their leader came back to claim his share of money, so he could get them all in one sweep. But truthfully, he was more than ready to end this. The sooner they sat behind bars the better. They disgusted him.
Still, he was sitting here, patiently biding his time to strike.
It could have been about three in the morning or so at this point.
Suddenly he heard a noise.
A rustle… a heartbeat. And it wasn't coming from the safehouse. It was coming from the roof. The roof which he was standing on.
Cursing his singular focus on the ring members, Matt whipped around sharply. Ready to face whoever decided to complicate his night.
And… it was this thing. Just standing there. Completely still. Looking at him. Or it at least felt like it was, given that he suddenly felt like defenseless prey. His legs were frozen to the ground.
He couldn't really tell what it was exactly. It had a human-like heartbeat, but it was just slightly wrong.
Too fast for how still it was, too steady for that to be a result of panic. Save for this sound of rushing blood and nearly undetectably small breaths, it didn't make a single noise.
The shape of it was also strange. Humanoid but not really. Like a person, but suspended in the air by a spindly structure growing from its back, feet hanging limply just above the ground.
Then the scent hit him. Sharp and metallic and oh so familiar.
Blood was always easy to spot. The smell of it was like a bright red blaring warning sign. For Matt, it almost always meant an incoming headache.
The creature was at least partially covered in blood. It wasn't human though. For a second, Matt thought that maybe it was its own, but he couldn't sense any injuries, so it was unlikely. What the hell?
It was like they were locked in a standstill. Matt measured his breathing carefully.
Then it happened, shouting sounded from below them and Matt remembered why he was here in the first place. A million thoughts ran through his head so fast it made him almost dizzy, calculating the risk of each option.
Turn around and complete the mission he'd dedicated many nights to or remain here and find out what the fuck this creature was.
He remained unmoving, an odd overwhelming feeling that if he were to, he'd disturb it, chaining him down.
The creature appeared to have no such qualms though, because as soon as the noise had started, it slowly began to move. The legs began to shift as it moved backwards, farther away from the source of the commotion. The main body was still limp as if unattached to the legs holding it up. It was still facing Matt. Watching.
Fear wasn't something that he experienced often nowadays, yet it took every effort to keep his heartbeat steady.
The whole ordeal couldn't have lasted more than two minutes, but even while beating up the traffickers, restraining them and for the whole rest of the night, he couldn't stop thinking about it.
---
Peter woke up slowly. His eyelids felt leaden, in fact, his whole body did.
Wasn't surprising considering he passed out on the floor. He sat up with a groan.
Sunlight filtered through the skylight right into his eyes, which certainly didn't help with his massive headache.
Oh, shit. Sunlight.
What time was it? Quickly he looked over at the clock on his nightstand. He found it dumpster diving a few months ago, one of his favourite lost treasures to date.
It read 6:40. Fuck, he was gonna be late!
Ignoring his spinning head, he leapt up, went to take a step and immediately stumbled and almost went down in a heap once again.
Okay, so it was one of those days, he thought to himself as he found his footing again. For a guy who spends half his time doing glorified aerobics, his balance sure was shit lately.
While he ran down the stairs, another thing occurred to him. He wasn't hungry anymore, despite not eating anything since two days ago.
Huh, weird. Maybe his body finally accepted that help was nowhere in sight. Now only if it could get on the same level as him with the lack of sleep too, that would be great. He really didn't feel like sleeping on the floor again.