Food Might Be Nice
He was in a small, hectic looking restaurant, sitting in a booth in the corner. It took him a moment to shake the grogginess from his eyes, blinking multiple times as he tried to remember how he got here. He had been in his apartment, well, the apartment at least. And he had gone to sleep and then….
Oh. This was another dream. Another strangely real dream, but a dream nonetheless. Sighing slightly Peter turned to get up from his strange corner booth. And paused. There was a lot to take in, first and foremost was the table in front of him, loaded up with food and in great disarray, just like the rest of this place. More importantly, there were people at this table. And not just any people, it was the Avengers. The original Avengers that is. Sat around the table were six incredibly disheveled superheroes. On one side, Captain America, Thor, and Black Widow. On the other, Tony, Banner, and Hawkeye. Peter nearly gasped as he took the sight in. They were battered and bruised, more so than he thought possible. Cuts and wounds slowly dripped blood from half-formed scabs, dust and debris still lingered on their clothes, in their hair. He could even see some of their breath as it expelled from their mouths, clouds of dust moving with it.
He did gasp when he took a closer look at Tony. This man who he had looked up to nearly all his life. The same man who he had been taken in by, who he had hoped in secret might one day adopt him, though he was perhaps growing too old to be adopted at this point. He was hardly recognizable. He looked so incredibly young, and yet there was a harrowed look in his eyes. His skin was pale and clammy, his Iron Man suit nowhere to be found, likely left outside. And here he sat, leaning back in his chair, slowly eating whatever it was they had ordered as his arc reactor hummed. Dear god, his arc reactor. He still had his old arc reactor sitting in his chest. It was so bulky compared to modern tech, but it was infinitely more important than the ones they used now. It was still holding back that shrapnel that had once threatened Tony’s life.
Peter nearly began to break down then, the whole scene too much for him. He wondered how the Avengers could sit there and not hear him. Not notice him. But when he looked down to turn his eyes away from it all he saw nothing. Or more accurately, he saw the broken floor of the restaurant, and not his own body like he had intended. He wasn’t really there, was he? It was just a dream after all, and even being his own dream, he was but a visitor here. Turning away from the table he couldn’t bear to look at he found himself looking out the front windows of the restaurant. The city was in tatters. Buildings were broken down or had chunks missing from them. Some were gone completely, removed so thoroughly that one could hardly believe they had ever been there in the first place. And while they were missing from where they should be, there were plenty of things here that shouldn’t be. Not 30 feet from the door laid the corpse of some giant whale-like alien, clad in armor.
Even Peter knew what this was, the aftermath of the battle for New York. God, he had been 3 at the time. Somewhere out there was a tiny little Peter, crying for help as his parents lay buried in rubble. He had lost them. Both of them. True dad was first to go, dying that very day. But all the hospitalization in the world couldn’t have saved his mother.
It hadn’t saved her. The doctors kept her alive, sure, but it only lasted a month. And it could barely be called living.
Now wasn’t the time to think about that. He wasn’t quite sure what it was the time for really, but he knew he couldn’t keep thinking about the past. As much as he seemed to be living in it. Turning away from the windows he found his gaze once more on the heroes. And now he saw in them something new, something hidden beneath the surface.
Happy.
His spider sense told him, whispered to him even. Like it too was on the fine line between a meltdown and a panic attack.
But it was right. Beneath the wounds, the tears, the blood, the sheer exhaustion, the grief for all they had lost, beneath it all. They were happy. They had won. It was a bittersweet victory, there was no denying that, but there was still something to be proud of, and a gratitude to have survived it all.
They deserved at least that much.
—————
He woke up in a cold sweat, a slight smile on his face betraying his shaking form on the makeshift bed. It was cold, he was injured, and with the strangeness of that dream he really didn’t feel like he had gotten much rest. In short, he was in no condition to try and get back to New York. Usually he’d be more than happy to just wait out the few days here in this hideout of his, but he was going to have to eat at some point. (Honestly he could probably get away with not eating for far longer than your average person, but that would also mean his injuries stop healing at some point as his regenerative capacity lessens. He wasn’t that keen on leaving these particular wounds open.)
Alright, so he had to go get food then, easy enough. That is, it would be if he had money on him. Peter cursed under his breath. He never kept his wallet or phone on him when he was doing Spider-Business (trademarked). At best he used a little earpiece to stay in touch with Tony, but easily lost items and high flying stunts didn’t tend to go well together. Which meant now he was stuck here, with no phone, no wallet, and no earpiece (whether he had lost it in the fall and subsequent kidnapping or just hadn’t had it on him in the first place, he was not sure). Oh, and he only had one pair of clothes, which were suspiciously torn up and off-white now. Plus he should probably get new bandages at some point.
Don’t look at it. Don’t think of it.
And he had to fix the Spider-Man suit at some point. But frankly he did not want to dive into the vast psychological issues that must be causing the dread it brought right now.
All of this added up to one simple solution. It was time to hit the streets. First stop? The library.
—————
The Gotham public library, like most buildings he had seen in his short time here, looked utterly unkempt. Huge stone pillars erupted from the ground where their bases were cracked and rose into the air to hold up the overhanging stone roof that had its own fair share of cracks. Occasionally small bits of gravel would flutter down from between them.
On each corner of the roof there sat an intricately carved gargoyle, leering over the edge as if watching every person who dared enter the building. Carved into the width of the roof were the words “Gotham Library” and just above the space between these words was a large clock, showing that it was nearly 8 in the evening already.
He really needed to fix his sleep schedule, though it was nice to see he woke up a little earlier than he had the night before. Doubly so considering it had taken nearly an hour to find the place, though a quick hop on the subway system and over the turnstile (you can take the spider out of New York, but you can’t take New York out of the spider) soon got him to the diamond district, and a helpful map on the wall of the filthy subway station had him headed the right direction.
Unfortunately, something he had not considered was that the library might be closed. Mentally he mocked himself, begrudgingly walking up to the door as he saw no one inside. Still, since he had come all this way, and since the doors didn’t have the hours listed anywhere on them, he took the handle and pulled. Much to his surprise the old wooden door drifted open silently.
The inside of the building was much more inviting than the outside. Dark wooden walls spanned down the length of the hall in front of him, a hall that opened up into a small reception area. More halls spanned off from there, the gentle orange glow of the lights shining against what must have been mahogany, or some equally expensive seeming wood. An old but clean desk was set up at the corner of the reception area, papers strewn about it, with a computer monitor on one side. Behind the desk Peter noticed a door just slightly ajar. As he approached the desk he heard the sudden sound of footsteps, and even startled a moment before realizing they were his own. Right at the threshold between the hall and reception area the floor went from plush carpet to marble, and the clack-clack of his shoes on the marble echoed down the halls.
Approaching. Friend?
His spider sense told him, shaking Peter out of his flightiness as he heard something rolling towards him. The door behind the reception desk suddenly opened, and out rolled a young woman in a wheelchair.
The woman in question seemed a bit surprised to see him standing there, her red hair settling at her shoulders as she looked up at him. For a moment Peter could feel her eyes analyzing him, an unusual level of scrutiny as they lingered on the places his clothes were most torn. Then she flashed a smile and he could almost believe he had imagined the strange intensity in her eyes. Almost.
“Hi there! Can’t say we get many visitors this late at night.”
“Ah well, um-“ Peter stammered, unsure what to say in what was clearly an abnormal situation. He couldn’t blame her for her hesitation though, even having cleaned the clothes as best he could he looked, well, he looked homeless. Like someone who lived out of an abandoned apartment building.
“If you’re closed then I can just get going?”
“Oh no, not at all! Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you away. Is there anything you need help with?”
“Just a computer actually, if you have like… guest accounts or something?”
“Absolutely, just give me a moment to grab a temp card for you.” And with that she wheeled back into the room behind the reception desk.
Taking another moment to look around the room while he waited, Peter saw a few signs pointing down different halls. ‘Archives’, ‘New Releases’, ’MicroFiche Collection’, ‘Computer Lab’. Ah, that answered one question at least. Still, the sheer opulence of the library was throwing him off. Sure this may be an old, old building, but to maintain that old style of dignity for this long? Though this question too was answered by a plaque he found on the wall behind him. Hanging above the door, it read: “This collection of knowledge made possible through the donations of Bruce Wayne.”
Just then he heard the subtle sound of wheels once more as the door opened behind him and the lady rolled up to the desk. Still looking at the plaque, he turned halfway to face her.
“Who’s Bruce Wayne?”
There was a beat of silence. When Peter finally turned back fully to face the receptionist she seemed slightly shocked, though she tried her best to hide it. After clearing her throat for a moment, she responded.
“Billionaire playboy? Prince of Gotham? Bit of an airhead but tries his best to support the city if you ask me.”
“Huh, sounds like he’d get along with Tony. Not sure Tony would get along with him though.” He mumbled to himself.
“Who?”
“Hm? Nothing, no one. Just talking to myself.”
The last thing he wanted was people realizing he had ties to Iron Man while in this seedy city. He was lucky his face wasn’t already common knowledge, but Tony and Pepper tried their best to keep him out of the spotlight. Tony had been raised in it, thrived in it, but that meant he knew more than most just how much it can mess with you. That wasn’t something he thought Peter should have to deal with.
Remember.
His spider sense flared up, to an almost painful degree. He froze on the spot, wincing as dots started to appear in his vision. He was fighting something, someone. Then he was falling again, falling from the sky, beaten and bruised. He could feel the wind on his face and the cutting of not-quite-glass. It was tearing him apart. His head was pounding, the dots were changing into rapid streaks of light chasing past his eyes. He couldn’t breathe. He was getting close to something. He could see it ahead of him, coming closer and closer as he fell. His spider sense was screaming.
“Are you alright?”
He was back. His breath was caught in his throat, his knees weak. Tears stuck in the corner of his eyes. He looked at the woman in front of him. Who was she? Where was he? The sky. The rooftop. The cave. The forest. The apartment. Then…?
Ah, right, the library.
He needed a moment to collect himself. He needed to remember why he was here. He needed to realize that he had never really left. But most importantly he needed her not to question him.
“Yeah sorry, just, zoned out for a moment.”
He gave a sheepish grin as he struggled to control all those minute signs of terror, his hand going to the back of his neck as the lady scrutinized him a moment more, before handing over a little business card.
“Right. Well then, this is the guest login info, and I don’t mean to rush you but we do close in a little under an hour.”
“Right, thanks.”
Peter took the card from her before slowly walking over to the hall where the computer lab was. Turning the corner he made sure he was out of the lady’s sight before breaking into a jog. He needed to get what he came for and leave, as soon as possible. He could figure out what the hell just happened to him once he was back at the apartment but for now he just needed to make sure it didn’t happen again. Whether it was some sort of panic attack, hallucination, strange spider-strength migraine, that didn’t matter, it just couldn’t happen again, not here. And the best way to prevent that was to not waste any time.