Breaking and Entering
Peter blinked, holding up a hand to shield his eyes from the blaring sunlight streaming in through the fire station's dusty windows.
He sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes groggily and stretching to get all the kinks and cricks out of his back.
That couch really wasn't comfortable to sleep on, but to be fair, most of the uncomfortableness was from the remnants of that awfully strange dream he had last night.
If only he could remember what that guy was saying properly. Something about this timeline's Peter Parker? And his records?
Peter smacked his dry lips, heading towards the tap and turning it on. Surprisingly, it still worked, which was a good thing.
He splashed the water on his face, before cupping his hands and letting it gather so he could drink some.
His throat didn't hurt so bad now.
Peter splashed some under his armpits for good measure. He didn't even wanna know how badly he stunk.
After he'd woken up properly, he leaned on the counter, trying to think of what he should get done today.
Cartridges, his brain supplied, you should check your web cartridges.
Peter sniffed, rolling up his sleeves and meandering over to the circular, cracked table and releasing the latch on his web-shooters.
They clunked to the table, and Peter set to clicking the cartridges out gingerly.
When he finally got the two cartridges out, he held them up to the light and almost immediately came to the realisation he had barely any left. There was enough for a couple more shots, max.
He'd need to make new web fluid.
But where?
He'd usually make it in Tony's lab, but that was out of the question.
He used to make it at Midtown, but only cause he is (was? Was it was now? Peter didn't know) a student.
Though Peter supposed he could just break in... It was the weekend, after all. Who was going to be there?
Peter clicked the cartridges back into the web-shooters and quickly latched them back around his wrist before making his way out of the break room and towards the shattered window.
He propelled himself out of it, landing with a thud on the tarmac on the other side.
Peter began to walk down the streets. There was only one place he knew currently where he could search crap up for free.
A public library.
He just hoped the computers were up to scratch.
Peter noted every thrift store he walked past, looked at their opening times. He was fed up of wearing the same clothes every day. And he wanted a blanket to sleep with.
He had about $15 to spend thanks to Delmar. His stomach growled unhappily at him, but he would have to wait until he could get a sandwich at Delmar's tomorrow.
He'd check out the thrift stores on his way back.
Peter finally made it to Queens' public library, a big red-bricked building with a fading notice board outside.
He pulled one of the doors open, stepping inside and trying to ignore the concerned looks the librarian kept giving him at the counter as he scurried past and made his way over to the computers.
They definitely were not as technologically advanced as they were in 2018. Damn.
Peter settled down at the seat of the computer to the very back, before logging on and clicking on Google.
It was a little slower loading up than he was used to, but not a marginal difference.
Peter sighed, before typing out Midtown School of Science and Technology into the search bar.
The computer buffered a bit before presenting him with plenty of results.
Peter scrolled through them, clicking on Midtown's website and checking out the facilities.
It seemed... Pretty much the same.
So maybe he could use their labs to make his web fluid.
Peter grinned faintly, logging off and heading back out of the library, eager to get to the school.
It took him a while to get there, but Peter eventually got to the school.
The door was shut.
It was a Saturday, after all.
But that wasn't a bother for Peter.
He raced over to the science block, webbing a camera on his way with the remaining web fluid.
He skidded to a stop, before checking the windows over to see if any of them were loose.
When he found that they were not, he took a minute to think about how else he could get in.
Peter remembered the vent cover on the roof from his many patrols and school roof landings and quickly stuck himself to the wall and creeped up onto the roof, pulling himself up and over easily.
He slowly made his way over to the vent covering, before pulling it off with ease and slipping inside.
It was a tight fit, but he could make it.
A good while of scooching through a vent system later, Peter pushed out a vent covering and slipped down into one of the labs.
Looking around, Peter spotted the cupboards that stored the chemicals and hurried over.
He stared at the lock for a moment before jimmying it and getting it to unlock. Pulling the lock off and setting it aside, Peter opened the cupboards and scanned them over.
Huh. Everything he required to make the web fluid was there, like it had always been. Salicylic acid, toluene, methanol, carbon tetrachloride, potassium carbonate and the ethyl acetate.
He gathered what he needed, pulling out the equipment, and immediately started to making the web fluid.
It took him longer than he'd have liked, considering he didn't have the use of Tony's top-of-the-line lab any more, but soon, he had more web fluid.
He clicked the cartridges out of his web-shooters and set to transferring the fluid into the little storage containers, before clicking them back into his web-shooters.
He'd also made some excess fluid, but he'd have to find some sort of tube to store it in for now.
Once he had, he quickly tidied everything away, brute forcing the lock back into place on the chemical cupboard and jumping up and into the vent system again.
He quickly webbed the vent cover to him and put it back into place before shuffling his way back through the vent system and onto the rooftop.
The cool, outside air was welcoming after being in the vents for so long.
He shifted the external vent cover back into place and slowly made his way off the roof, dropping onto the ground once he was a safe distance from it.
Now he had more web fluid, Peter moved onto his next task: check out those thrift stores he saw on his way there.
Though he'd have to be a bit quicker walking back if he were to make it before they closed. It was already past 7:00 pm, if the clocks in the science labs were right.
He was soon back on familiar streets, the sky darkening into a dusty cerulean as he arrived at the thrift store that had piqued his interest the most.
He pushed open the door and ignored the bell as it jingled. Peter immediately headed for the clothes section, searching for his size on the hangers as he looked.
He soon pulled out a maroon sweater, an unopened pack of boxers, a new-ish pair of black jeans (dirt would show up less, Peter figured) and a faded Star Wars t-shirt.
His total racked up to about $7.
Peter made his way over to the counter, setting the clothes down.
The old lady behind it eyed him, then the clothes, and then him again. "Will that be all, young man?" She questioned as she pulled the clothes over and typed in the ID codes, ringing it up.
Peter was about to say yes before he spotted the gray, woven blanket folded up amidst a pile of duvets that were definitely out of his current price range.
He leaned over, snatching it and giving it to the lady. "...This too, please, if you don't mind." Peter smiled awkwardly.
She shrugged, pulling it towards her like she had done the clothes and ringing it up.
She pushed the clothes and blanket back towards him.
"That'll be $9, kiddo."
Peter fished out the envelope from his pocket, opening it and counting the money. He handed it over and took his items. "Thank you, have a nice evening, bye!" He said quickly, before exiting the shop with his stuff.
Peter hurried back over to the fire station, conscious of the fading sun, slipping through the window and landing with a less graceful thud this time.
He made his way into the break room, throwing the blanket on the red couch and putting his new(-ish) clothes on the table.
Tomorrow, he'd go back to Delmar's. Tomorrow, he'd fix his suit up a bit.
But tonight, Peter was crashing out on the crappy sofa.
The really. Crappy. Sofa.