you think that we connect
Peter Parker was beginning to come to the startling conclusion that he wasn't as strong as he had initially thought.
Perhaps he was never strong, and was deluded enough to believe that his impact mattered in this battle, tailing that spaceship when he really should’ve stayed on that bus… ugh.
There was a deep pit of anxiety and existential dread resting in his chest as he gazed at the expanse of TItan. A no-man's land of debris, floating by the off-kilter gravity that seemed to affect objects sporadically, carried by a smell of rot and impending doom in its smoggy atmosphere making Peter's lungs feel heavy.
As morbid as it was, Peter somehow knew that this battle's outcome would not go how he wanted. He knew Earth was not safe, its inhabitants were not safe on the planet they called home. There was no basis for these thoughts, perhaps it was his sensitive nerves screaming at him, or maybe the way Dr. Strange had turned somber when gazing at Peter after he had given his ultimatum that out of fourteen million instances, they would only win in one.
Peter blew a shaky breath out, even now, he could feel Strange's pitiful gaze on Peter, he had figured it was because he was a child playing pretend in his fancy suit on an alien planet, but there was so much weight behind his frosty gaze that he was starting to doubt his initial thoughts.
Peter really should've stayed on that bus.
He wondered what Aunt May was doing now. Cooking a mildly burnt dinner? Or watching crappy reality TV that she swears is idiotic and scripted? Maybe Ned was covering for his absence now, texting her about a last-minute sleepover and erasing his unexcused absence from the field trip and school in general (he'd been covering for Peter a lot lately, and he felt guilty that there was a chance he could never say sorry).
MJ was likely walking through the halls of the MoMA, eyes burning into each artwork, admiring some, scrutinizing other - mainly modern - works he knew she didn't particularly enjoy ("Ah yes, a banana taped to a canvas, the pinnacle of art.") he smiled at the thought.
Harry and Gwen were likely giggling and messing with Flash, even if Harry didn’t go to the same school as them, he was no doubt tagging along on their little field trip.
Johnny he knew was doing a press tour at the moment, and even invited Peter along like he always did, it was in Boston this time, he thought, and he wondered if instead of being on Titan he could be in Boston with Johnny skipping out on talking to reporters to stay holed up in a hotel room watching shitty pay-per-view while eating unnecessarily expensive room service.
Peter's focus shifted from his Peter Parker identity to his Spider-Man alter ego. Matt likely had a case today, in court defending somebody who carried a grievance against heroes, and if it were a normal day where Peter would stray away from his usual patrol routes and pop into Hell's Kitchen, he knew that Matt - and maybe Wade - would be there ready to gossip and giggle like they were teenage girls (Wade’s exact description, and yeah, maybe it was sorta true - but none of were going to admit it)
Frank probably wouldn't show up nor would Jessica (they had their own lives) but this is Peter's delusional little anxiety-induced spiral, he can think what he wants. The two would throw some snarky comments Peter's way, concern veiled with disinterest, mainly chiding him for being out late on a school night, and then they'd send him off with a promise he'd go straight home and to bed ("Don't need to save every kitten stuck on a tree or catch every mugger, Queens can tough out one 8 hour nap for its resident insect -" "Arachnid!”) Peter smiled softly at the thought of his friends - even though most would adamantly refuse to be called that except for Wade who claimed himself as an annoying younger brother despite being 30-ish years old and Peter being 16.
“Mr. Parker.” Peter broke from his musings by the sound of Dr. Strange’s (almost) choked-up voice calling to him. The teen stood from his perch and walked his way over to the older man.
“Do you mind holding on to something for me? Just until this whole thing is over.”
“Uh, sure.” Peter agreed, and Strange nodded, making a gesture with his hands glowing orange sparks spouted from a fixed spot between the two heroes, it was honestly entrancing to watch how the sparks swirled until finally a fancy watch was pulled from thin air.
“Good luck charm, I feel like you should have it.” Peter blinked, a little shocked to say the least, he and Strange had just met, and they weren’t close (though it seemed like he wasn’t exactly close with anybody as far as Peter could tell) so to say Peter was skeptical was an understatement, but if Strange had an intent to harm or trick him he would’ve already known.
“Woah, Thanks?” There was a brief consideration that this was just pity, he was just a teenager playing dress up being where he’s not supposed to be after all. Peter brushed that aside, this is a dire situation, and he’s not going to get rid of a good luck charm from a skilled wizard.
“Of course Mr. Parker, I am sorry though, truly.” Peter cocked his head to the side with a curious etch to his eyebrows while he examined the watch. It was broken, a slight radioactive green flashed through the face of the watch that he didn’t seem to notice, but maybe that’s where the luck came from. Like a reverse of the ‘Break a mirror and you’ll get 7 years of bad luck’ superstition,
“Huh, um alright anytime Dr. Strange,” Peter responded, watching the wizard walk away in mild confusion, he quickly had the watch strapped to his wrist, the nanotech of his suit covering it up, the watch itself melting into the details of his gauntlet like web-shooters.
Peter turned and sat on his perch of rubble, thinking fondly of his life on earth while Tony and Quill argued in the background for ways to take Thanos down.
◇◇◇
Thanos is a formidable opponent, more so than Peter had predicted, he would be a fool not to acknowledge the fact.
The others are in similar bouts, struggling against the one man, had Tony known what they were getting into? Had Strange? He seemed reluctant to share any information he had foresaw with everyone else - especially Peter (and that totally wasn’t grating on his nerves).
Peter pivots his body and all but claws off the gauntlet from Thanos’ arm. His grip is iron-clad and in the back of his mind he registers the small sound and feel of a crack from under his hold, but the only thing he can focus on now is the rush of adrenaline coursing through his body and the blood thumping in his ears.
Quill drops in from the sky and Peter’s stomach lurches, everything goes wrong.
◇◇◇
Thanos is gone, consumed by a cloud of vapor, and there's a pit of anxiety over his sternum, settling like an uncomfortable weight reminding him of his failure.
Peter sways in place, the gauntlet was in his hands, just past purple fingers. He failed, and Tony was bleeding out, having been impaled, the time stone is gone. Humanity is in danger, that much he knows.
Mantis' head shoots up, and a distressed look crosses her features as Peter lends a hand to Tony, carefully making sure not to jostle his wounds.
"Something is happening." Quill tries to place a hand on Mantis’ shoulder, but she dissipates into ash before he can make contact - his arm swiping uselessly through the air.
Drax is next, a confused look on his face before the wind carries his ash away. Then Quill, whose teary-eyed defeated look burns into Peter's mind, his ash joining his teammates.
"There was no other way." Strange, in all his cryptic glory says while his eyes train on Peter, not Tony, slumping to the side and up into the air of ash, joining the others.
"I-I don't feel so good," Peter mumbles, staggering towards Tony. He trips and catches himself against the man, his spider senses are howling and making his vision go splotchy, and that unsettling weight on his sternum digs into his soul trying to keep the parts pulling apart together "I don't know what's - I don’t-"
Dully, in the back of his mind, there are other voices he can hear, but he doesn't want to listen to them, he wants May, he wants to be at home in her arms as she's cradling him while he weeps reassuring him he's fine, not to be on this strange planet dying in his mentor's arms.
"Not dying kid." That's Strange's voice.
"You're okay, You're okay," Tony reassures, but neither of them seems to believe it, as he's laying Peter down against the rubble of the ship.
"He’s not going as fast" That's... Bucky? He wasn't even on Titan, is Peter in the afterlife so soon?
"He's golden, it's beautiful if not morbid." That's Wanda, she sounds weepy like she's been crying, he doesn't blame her.
"I don't wanna go, I don't wanna go." He mumbles over and over again, his senses are screaming, and that damn weight —
"Sleep." Mantis' soft voice soothes, and he can feel her hands carding through his curls - isn't that weird? This death-induced hallucination feels terrifyingly real.
He wants to be on Earth with his friends, with Harry, with Johnny - hell he’d take Black Cat over where he is.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles.
The last thing he sees is Tony's wide-shot eyes and grief-filled face before he allows himself to fully join the rest of the golden ash surrounding him and fade into the black blip of semi-consciousness.
◇◇◇
It doesn’t last long.
The afterlife is rather anti-climatic, he was with an assorted amount of heroes standing over him, arguing, all directed towards Strange. He notices Loki looming over him, with a flash of his green eyes and a not quite gentle smush of his cheeks Peter is lulled back into the warmth hug of unconsciousness (just before Loki begins to yell at Strange, funny)
When Peter opens his eyes he’s no longer surrounded by his kinda co-workers, he’s cold, and the frigid-ness is such a major whiplash that he jolts from the sludge he’s in and tries to claw at the glass in front of him.
He’s never been one to be scared of drowning or water, he can hold his breath for over an hour, and he’s a decent swimmer, he’s pretty much only been ‘drowned’ 3 times and he came out relatively okay!
“Jesus Christ.” Mr Barnes grumbled in his head.
The green sludge he’s in attacks his airways when Peter makes the grave mistake of opening his mouth to yell, it’s a vile-tasting acidic substance that reminds him of those spicy mountain dew’s that Flash cherishes and has the consistency of goop, it’s overstimulating and makes him want to gag.
He’s never felt more unsafe, even when a building crushed on top of him and he had to hold it up — “What.” —the haze that the goop casts over him makes him feel more in danger than anything he’s ever experienced (save for the recent encounter with Thanos)
Peter begins to pound on the glass, he’s deduced that he’s in a tube like some sort of fucked-up science project. He can’t quite see what’s going on beyond the glass, besides the scrambling of whoever is on the outside to leave, but when a spider's web of cracking expands on the tube, the inhuman screeching starts with the faint outline of people fleeing and destroying things around him.
Finally, with a harsh push, the glass comes raining down, and Peter sways as the chilled air blows around him, he fails to get a description of his captors before he stumbles out of the tube, trying his hardest not to step on any glass. Peter finds himself draped over a medical table (an autopsy table, his mind dutifully notes) heaving harshly. Ragged breaths tearing his lungs with each shaky inhale.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there on the autopsy table, curled up into a ball shaking, trying to drink the warmth of the room back into his body. The voices are blessedly quiet, allowing him belated moments to think.
He has no clue what is happening, where he is, why he isn’t on Titan, and it’s frankly one of the most unsettling things he’s experienced in a long time. He was dusted, dead in all senses of the word, and now suddenly he’s tied up to a gaggle of test tubes and dunked in spicy green goop water.
Peter shakes, he doesn’t get it, and it’s frustrating, for all his intelligence Peter dislikes not knowing things, it’s one of the traits he inherited from his Father, a scientist's mindset.
The rising bile of pure green slips into his view, unaware of his heaving on the side of the table as his mind focuses back onto everyone on Titan, had they died? Had Peter left them and somehow selfishly ended up on Earth??
“You’re not dead kid.” Peter flinched, that was Dr. Strange’s voice, which is a weird thing to hallucinate, maybe because it was one of the last people he spoke to before drifting off, or maybe because of that bizarre limbo he was in.
“He’s not getting it.”
“Well, he just witnessed the ‘death’ of multiple teammates and essentially died himself, let the boy breathe.”
“Parker.” Peter lolled his head to the side, allowing himself to squint past the green momentarily to focus on the voices that felt too close for comfort. Nick Fury stood looming over him, he was fuzzy like static as the green took over his vision again. He wanted to be angry right now, wanted to be able to have an excuse to punch the wall and throw a fit, but he couldn’t the ever-consuming grief of the situation had Peter choking on his tears with a hollow feeling in his gut.
Fury stays there looming over him, he’s saying something, but it slips through the cracks of Peter’s dazed consciousness, the low murmurs and sound of his heartbeat are comforting in the moment, there’s something warm on top of him and he burrows into it seeping all the heat he can.
He counts the tiles on the ceiling, the buzz of the lingering voices and the static fuzzy silhouettes lulling him into comfort, leading him away from the green-twinged anger that seeped into his very person.
The smell of rot and iron assaults his nose when he comes to, Peter jolts up, shoving aside an obscenely large lab coat (which he’s not quite sure how it ended up on him). The room is dusty, he knows there were people (or people-looking creatures) here moments before, he saw it (maybe, the legitimacy of what he’s seeing is somewhat questionable) so it’s odd that everything, except a few machines that lead to Peter’s tube, has undisturbed dust.
Peter stands up on shaky feet, wincing at the pinprick feeling of glass crushing into his feet, and examines the room further.
It’s a pretty standard lab, the equipment is a bit dated, and everything is clunky and old school, even by pre-Stark Industries standards. But it’s mismatched, there are some nicer pieces of tech mixed with the annoyingly subpar 90s creamy box junk, and Peter cringes at the fact that he was hooked up to something like that.
After patting down his feet from glass shards that he’s stepped on, he moves on to look at the other room attached, it’s a storage closet with a hefty lock. Peter grips the knob and pulls, knocking the door partially out of its hinges and making a hand-gripped shape on the knob.
Peter nearly gags at what he sees, sure, it’s a storage room (less so a closet and more so a glorified locker room) but the smell of death is so potent his eyes water as he investigates further.
The bodies of teenagers are vaguely his age and appearance, each is dressed in what he can assume was their underwear. They’re all 14-16 years old with brown wavy hair, racially ambiguous, a mixed number of boys and girls, they’re around his height and weight, with their eyes each a haunting dull brown where they lay dead on the floor.
Peter looks away out of respect, there are lockers and backpacks strewn across the room, on a bench a bag is spilled and there are some notebooks and a textbook on art history, he can only assume the implications of personal items strewn about.
These people were kidnapped.
Something in the back of his mind tickles, and he turns to an inconspicuous locker, it’s no different on the outside as all the other long gray cubbies, but he reaches out anyway and pulls the door away like it’s brittle.
!!!
Inside are his things.
He can clearly see a metal spider device, which he recognizes as the nano-tech iron spider suit Tony gave him before they went off to space, on top of a shelf, and his beat-up red Hightop Converse that he was wearing on the bus before dipping out of his field trip.
Next to the chucks is his phone, it’s a bit beat up and on low battery mode with 24 percent left on the excessive charge that Tony put into his deep red StarkPhone, he flicks it on to see the faces of MJ, Harry (arm wrapped around Peter), Ned, and Gwen (blond hair and face barely peeking over Harry’s shoulder on her tiptoes) all smiling and laughing, it feels like he’s being taunted, no service.
That’s extremely weird, usually if you have a StarkPhone they usually rope you into their cell service plan and if you get a basic package you get assurance that if you’re in a dead zone with no towers a satellite will pick up your call and transfer you, it’s not an amazingly clear recording of your voice when you try to call someone, but it’s for emergencies anyway. So it’s weird that he can’t get any service, tower, or satellite, at all.
Peter ignores the oddity that is his phone at the moment and sighs in relief when he picks up his suit, placing the iron spider over his chest, praying the tech works. In no more than 10 seconds he’s completely engulfed in his suit.
It carries a sense of relief and security and he nearly sobs when it’s on him.
“Hello, Peter,” Karen says, her soothing voice putting the green at ease, the shadow he didn’t know was there retreating from his vision.
“Hey Karen…” He’s choked up, which is embarrassing, but he just woke up in a test tube after seeing everyone die and then ‘die’ himself, so he gave himself the benefit of the doubt.
“Your heart rate is elevated and you seem to have lacerations littering your legs, would you like me to call…” Karen pauses and lets out a confused hum, which Peter didn’t think was possible for an AI to be confused. “Sorry Peter, my systems are malfunctioning, I’m no longer connected to FRIDAY, and I can’t quite connect to any local satellites, they’re foreign to me, give me just a moment.”
Peter sniffles, again with the satellite problem “That’s alright, do you know what happened?” Karen is silent.
“I don’t know Peter, there’s a blank in my systems from when you were on Titan to now.” She consoles, and Peter sighs.
“What do you think I should do now?” He asks, a little resigned. The room has a small window he can slip out of, while the lab seems abandoned the bodies in the corner are no older than 2 days so he’s not confident the building is empty.
“There’s some clothing on the floor by your feet, if you feel the need to venture out, I managed to get onto the local internet of a nearby convenience store,” Peter focuses on listening to the outside, he’s in a busy street, which is an odd location for this almost abandoned lab. “It’s currently 74°F and pouring outside, your best bet is to get as many resources as you can before trying to contact Tony, we’re in uncharted waters.”
Peter looks down at the backpacks and clothing, does he need to? It feels wrong to steal from the dead, he’s always been mildly superstitious since his parents died, and his mother was the one to pass on the unfortunate trait, along with her family's patented ‘Parker Luck’ like some sort of twisted version of Murpheys Law.
And sometimes it really does feel like a curse is looming over him killing off everyone he loves, or just putting him in bad situations.
The voices in his head groan protests in unison, and Peter can imagine what Natasha would say if she saw him not putting her survival lessons to use, she wouldn’t be mad but she would definitely scold him for being ‘too nice’ and that the real world would chew him up and spit him back out.
“Nice doesn’t survive very long little spider.” He shivers from how close her voice sounds to the shell of his ear, he squeezes his eyes shut and digs the heel of his palms into them. Grounding himself for a few moments he lets go with a deep breath and begins sifting through the alarmingly large stack of clothing littered around the room.
He grabs a baggy T-shirt that says ‘tummy ache survivor’, it’s silly and exactly the sort of thing Gwen would buy and give as a gag gift. Peter just slips it on with a small gasp, muscles sore and ribs no doubt bruised.
Finding pants is harder, he wants something durable that doesn’t make him stand out too badly, considering most of these pants are either too small for his posterior or covered in questionable liquids, that's a tall order.
He ends up putting on a pair of baggy jeans, tying the slightly too-big waistband with a black belt, and he hopes they’re distressed enough that its state looks intentionally skater-chic young teenager rather than homeless hobo couture. None of the dead body's clothes are particularly bad per se, but he doesn’t want to go out in jeans with bodily fluids staining its legs, or the jeans with the bedazzled behind he was seriously considering.
Peter pauses over a black hoodie with a red symbol on it, on instinct he grabs it, he feels bad taking more than he needs, but he’ll gladly return the clothing to the deceased’s family when he gets in contact with Tony, or any other Avenger for that matter, the distance between Titan and Earth is likely scrambling Karen’s connections to FRIDAY and therefore satellites.
Right?
He can distinctly hear Loki scoff and could imagine him rolling his eyes ‘elegantly’.
“Oh, he is hilarious.” Quill.
Peter really needs to check himself for a concussion or something, these hallucinations are getting annoying.
“Ouch…”Also Quill.
“You deserved that one,” Mantis seethes pure venom in her words.
Peter finds himself a nice big red Jansport, it’s obviously a school backpack from the notebooks and other miscellaneous items in the pockets. Finding a lanyard in one of the outer pockets he recognizes it as the backpack of a 15-year-old girl whose slack face was currently making eye contact with him.
Peter takes out the AP world and AP chemistry textbooks and puts them down in an open locker with no door. What he leaves is one mostly blank notebook (just in case) with dates dating back to May of 2014, which is mildly alarming, to say the least, he ignores that tidbit of info and leaves the girl's hygiene bag which has a bunch of makeup, pads, deodorant, perfumes, and other miscellaneous items you would find in most teen girls carrying.
He also leaves what he assumes are gym clothes, a navy ‘Gotham Heights sweatshirt (Was that a band? Or movie he hasn’t heard of?), basketball shorts, a matching Gotham Heights T-shirt that looks like they could fit Peter, and a nice Gatorade water bottle he doesn’t trust the sterility of.
“Karen, is there a way you can shrink down in size at all? Or make the Nano-tech do anything to look inconspicuous? I don’t feel like revealing my identity to the public.” Peter asks standing up from his kneeled position, already feeling better from before, although the lingering guilt is still there.
“You’re just surviving kid.” Sam reminds him in his head, and Peter frowns. Surviving? That was an odd way to put things.
“Are you being intentionally obtuse or are you that much of an imbecile.” Loki seethes, Peter pushes away these constructs of his imagination and begins to open the small window in the back of the room.
“I can fuse with Dr. Strange’s watch if you’d like.” Peter pauses in his efforts, already half hanging out of the impossibly small window (which he suspects he wouldn’t even be able to fit through if it weren’t for the way he’s exceptionally bendy), and looks down to the watch on his wrist which nanotech is slowly condensing to wrap a thin layer over the leather watch band.
He didn’t even realize he had it on him when he stepped out of the tube.
“So much for luck,” he grumbles and continues to shimmy out of the window, grasping a ledge and hopping to land lightly on top of a garbage bin.
“Karen, could you make the com in my ear look more like a Bluetooth earbud so I don’t look like a lunatic talking to himself.” Karen complies with a light ‘Of course’.
Peter hops off the garbage bin and walks out of the Alley into the crowd of commuters, examining the building he just walked out of, it appears to be boarded up and mildly decrepit, there's nothing indicating life in ‘Athena’s Laundromat’. Peter frowns and walks with the crowd, wandering and examining where he is.
At first, he thought New York, but when the smell of gunpowder and blood that lingered over the city punched him in the nose, it wasn’t hard to deduce that this was definitely not New York.
The architecture on most of the buildings was gorgeous, the gargoyles were shockingly well-maintained and matched with the aesthetic doom and gloom of the city. However, some of the other buildings were not as well maintained and held a sheen of grime.
Peter bit the inside of his cheek, he’s been to a lot of cities before, His parents, Harry, and later Johnny, really liked to take him along on simple trips. His parents if there wasn’t a lot of work to do in the city they were in, Harry so he wouldn’t get bored at long galas and meetings his dad would drag him to, and Johnny for their weird last-minute makeshift dates where he would completely bail on dealing with the press to go hang out with Peter and sightsee pretending they were normal teens and not superheroes with more responsibilities a 16-year-old should shoulder.
But this is a city he can’t quite place. The skyline kind of reminds him of Chicago, but from the salty ocean breeze he can smell in the distance Peter can say with confidence that he’s still on the East Coast, the people remind him of New Yorkers in the worst of crime-ridden areas, or even a good chunk of Philly and Atlanta, their wariness familiar but more extreme than what should be possible, and the weather is pure Seattle depressing muggy rain.
His spider-sense is buzzing as he walks by, a constant hum in the back of his head to be wary as he continues.
“Any read of where we are now Karen?” She’s been slowly trying to gather as much information she can with the distance he’s putting between the internet connection she had and the lack of FRIDAY/satellites in general.
“We’re in Gotham City, New Jersey, If you take two lefts and a right there should be a large public library still open, I can connect to their internet and establish a potential connection with FRIDAY from there.” Peter nods, even though she can't see it, and tries to avoid the shifty-eyed glances he’s being given.
“Urgh, Jersey.” He mumbles, “Why did it have to be Jersey?” though Peter isn’t quite sure he’s heard of Gotham before, it seems like a pretty big city if the vast towers and imposing buildings are any indication. Besides he would think he would’ve heard of a city with such a rotten demeanor before.
Peter does as instructed and follows the directions buzzing in his ear to a large beige building with, again, gorgeous architecture, and nice stony gargoyles that he finds charming and massive pillars. Taking a deep breath he opens the door and immediately is hit with the relief of the air conditioning, the muggy rain outside that seeped into his clothing long forgotten as he sighs in contentment.
The library is pretty big, though not as populated as he’d expect on a mid-afternoon weekday (well, he thinks it’s a weekday, dates are pretty fuzzy for him at the moment.). Peter scans the library, an unconscious assessment of every little thing happening in the building, from the body language of the few in the library to the general structural integrity of the building. There’s a gaggle of young kids in the corner being read a storybook by a handsome man, a pre-teen scowling at his computer and occasionally thumping its side like a constipated grandpa, a few teens in an alcove napping, a woman with red hair in a wheelchair stapling and stamping papers together behind the front desk.
Peter spots the red-headed woman and walks closer to the front desk, patiently waiting for her to get finished with her paperwork. It’s funny how his spider-sense perceives some of the people in the library, or rather in this city in general, it’s a little whisper that they have the potential to be dangerous but aren’t unless provoked. Peter hasn’t felt such a unique feeling in a while.
Clearing his throat after a moment he speaks up. “Excuse me?” The woman smiles without looking at him and starts putting away her papers.
“You already done reading to the kiddies Dick?” Peter blinks a little taken off guard, did she just call him a…dick? Peter scrunches up his nose, well he knew he was a New Yorker in Jersey but that’s just vulgar.
“What..?” The woman looks up and raises her brows in mild shock.
“Oh my gosh, sorry I thought you were my friend, I wasn’t calling you a dick it’s just that’s his name…” She sends him an apologetic smile, “What can I do for you sweetie?”
Peter finds himself smiling unconsciously, Barbara’s (her name tag reads) smile is very infectious, “Oh, uh, is it possible for me to use the computers without a library card?” Her face practically melts and nods (must have a soft spot for kids, he notes).
“Of course, just write your name down on the log and I can get you set up with a guest login, you just won’t be able to check out a book - unless you’d like to apply for a library card?” Peter considers this for a moment, he could, and it’d be helpful if he were to stay here longer than expected to have the source on hand of free internet access as well as a place to go to instead of wandering between alleyways. During the brief stint of poverty, he and Aunt May were hit with after Ben died, the funeral leaching them dry to put Ben at rest, left them in soup kitchens and shelters for a month before Harry found out and forced them to stay with him so May could get back on her feet, Peter spent his time making friends with some other kids in his boat and spending his day at the local library.
“Sure.” Barbara smiled and pulled a paper from a stack next to her and handed it to him along with a blue ballpoint pen. Peter reads over the info he has to put down and panics. He needs to put down an address, phone number, and proof of identity. Last time in New York, although homeless, he would put down the number of his old apartment building and his aunt's phone number. He was also practically a baby at 13/14 years old and the librarians excused him of showing off his I.D.
“...Miss. Barbara I don’t have any I.D., I haven't gotten around to getting my permit and I just moved here so I don't really have a school I.D. yet.” Barbara nods, her inquisitive green eyes almost seeing right through him.
“Don't worry then honey, Just put in anything else, you’re a minor so you don’t have to.” Peter contains a sigh of relief and begins filling out everything.
He pauses where he should put his name down, should he go by Peter Parker? He’s already written his first name so there’s no going back from completely flipping an identity. Stark? No, Tony probably would tease him for it and it’d be awkward. Osborn? (Awkward situationship’s father would not appreciate that) Jones? Stacy? Leeds? Storm? (Johnny would probably combust, negative or positive he's not sure) Rodgers? Romanov? Barnes? Wilson? Lokison? (“Do NOT sully my name spider, I’m still cross with you!”) Fitzpatrick? He’d feel bad connecting Aunt May with his mild identity fraud.
What could he use?… Peter perks up and quickly writes down his father's surname and some BS address Karen relayed off to him.
Peter Grayson.
That would’ve been his surname if his father hadn’t taken the Parker name, it has a nice ring to it, he thinks mildly, sliding the paper back over to Barbara who hopefully didn’t notice his mini freak-out.
There must’ve been something wrong with his information as she types it because all she gives is a hum, Peter waits anxiously to see if she’ll kick him out before she rolls over to the printer and immediately begins to laminate something.
“Here you go, Peter.” Barbara hands him another one of her smiles along with a navy blue library card, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. “You come back here anytime you need to, okay?”
“Of course Miss Barbara.”
She coos at him, “You’re so sweet, none of that ‘MIss’ stuff now, just Barbara.” Peter nods and makes his way over to the computers, choosing the one farthest from the pissed-off little kid, and getting his notebook out of his borrowed bag.
The notebook is a normal spiral book you’d find in any dollar store, unsuspecting, but opening it and leafing through the lined pages, he can feel his face drain of color.
The notes themselves are nice and all, but the dates, they span from late 2013 to May of 2014, and nothing is particularly off about them except for his spider-sense telling him otherwise.
investigate. investigate, investigate.
It hums. Peter gulps and turns to a fresh page in the notebook and flips the clunky computer in front of him on. It takes a moment before it boots up and he’s able to log in, when he does and is able to take a peak at the date he rubs a hand over his face.
“Shit.”
August 1, 2014
The kid a few computers down from his gives him the foulest side-eye he’s encountered since he ended up pissing MJ off for eating sardines on pizza (A ‘cardinal sin’ in her words) Peter frowns at him and begins to scribble in his notebook.
Time Travel?
It’s a fairly easy solution… maybe. With all the theories and advancements in science that had existed nearly a decade in the future (his timeline) for someone like Peter, it should be simple to figure out a prototype to present to Stark Industries.
Peter clicks the sparkly purple gel pen in his hands in thought, there are also several other factors at play, why he’s hallucinating, why he woke up in a tube, why he’s in a city he’s never heard of in a state he’d rather not be in.
Sighing Peter gets to work to see what Tony is doing currently to decipher where in the timeline he’s at, he can’t remember a day-by-day of the events happening in New York right now, unfortunately, he was too busy being a kid.
Tony Stark|
Results not found.
Huh, that’s funny.
Stark Industries|
Results not found.
Okay, not so funny.
Iron Man|
Results not found.
Peter’s breathing was beginning to become heavy, he needed to level his head before the green haze encroaching in his vision took over, his head was fuzzy in that horrid locker room when he was stuck in that panic attack on steroids.
Rubbing his eyes trying to soothe his nerves, Peter turned back to the screen with bleary eyes and a set determination on his face.
“Karen, do you have a read on FRIDAY?”
Then, pause, “No, we may need to consider the worst-case scenario.” Karen said through the earbud.
He was going to figure out what was happening.
◇◇◇
As it turns out, he may be in an alternate dimension, or universe, whatever it’s called. Unfortunately for Peter, he doesn’t know the semantics of multiversal travel very well.. or at all for that matter.
While he considers himself well versed in many scientific fields, which comes from being a Stark intern as well as the son of two renowned scientists (and, yeah, being best friends with the heir to one of the biggest STEM companies in the United States) There was just never enough credible information out there for him on the Multiverse to sink his claws into like the way he did with engineering or biology.
It was something his universe severely lacked, all they had were magical-based theories (which he had determined to be fairytales), and although he enjoyed magic (“You say that now, but…” “Quit it!” “OW! Hey, how’d even you hit me!??”) and believed it to be true since he knew multiple magical users, Peter did not have the time to study it the way he would with things he could apply himself or things he enjoyed between hero-ing, interning (because he just had to make himself an actual intern; note the sarcasm) and schooling.
The bottom line is, that Peter had a lot on his plate and did not have any time to study the magical properties of the multiverse besides simple scientific theory that was clearly lacking.
And with no SI in this universe to help him out… he’s kinda in a slump.
The powerhouse of this universe just so happens to be Wayne Enterprises, which is fortunately in the horrid city he’s in, hopefully, he can land himself an internship to use their resources…as a homeless teenager… who doesn’t go to school… and doesn’t legally exist…
“It is not looking up for you, very depressing.” Drax intones.
“Quit it!”
“How do you keep hitting people!?”
A plus side that he’s found is that Oscorp exists, though it’s not based in the East Coast which is a major downside. The company is based in Silicon Valley but has buildings all over the country (In cities he’s never heard of before, and really needs to brush up on if he wants to blend in) Oscorp seems to be fairly sketchy, which is fair since a good chunk of his villains and himself stem from the company, and are affiliated with Lexcorp another company which a (supposed) villain notoriously runs.
This means there's a Harry and Norman in this universe!
But Peter is nonexistent in this universe, so he’d just be a random street kid to them, and while Harry and Uncle Norman were always nice to him, (up until Norman's death (Which he will guiltily admit he caused) and the whole villainy stint that Harry did briefly when he was injected with G-serum and tried to kill Peter, but realized it as Peter and hung up the green mask.) but that shady Lex Luthor guy is giving him bad vibes, no spider-sense is needed to recognize that this Harry and Norman might be cruel.
“How fucked up is your life, man?” Can Quill just shut up, Peter doesn’t need his subconscious to create his grating whiny voice right now, he might punch something, and Peter actually likes this library and would rather not have Miss. Barbara ban him.
“See!”
“Mantis stop smacking me! How are you even able to do that!?”
“Older sister privileges.”
Another thing Peter has noted is there are no Avengers, but there are so many heroes littering the world. The Justice League and its affiliates are massive, with aliens, meta-humans (which must be this world's word for enhanced), and magical beings.
it brings a smile to his face that he won't just be (for lack of a better word) raw-dogging heroism as the only freak beating up criminals, if he decides to make an appearance as Spiderman, he won't be burned at the stake at least.
Kind of.
Ish.
With his infamous Parker luck, he managed to find himself in the one city where meta-humans (or enhanced) aren’t welcome, all because the local hero (Batman, is he a bat? Ridiculous name, at least Peter earned his name, he’s a humanoid spider!) dislikes them.
That’s probably some sort of racism.. or abelism..okay, it’s an ism.
At least Peter isn't running around in leather and bat ears like some sort of kinky furry.
Peter mulls over what he’s learned with a tap of his pen against his notebook. “Karen, how difficult do you think it would be to fabricate a whole identity in between the 2 hours until this library closes?”
“With my help? It’ll be a piece of cake.” Grateful he has the means of succeeding in identity fraud Peter discretely has the small robotic spider Karen produced from the tech of his suit hook up with the outdated library computers.
While Karen hacks a government agency in order to secure a solid social security number and build a life for him that matches the backstory he was scribbling down in his notebook, Peter goes to peruse the shelves of the non-fiction section.
“Do you need any help, Peter?” Miss. Barbara says from where she’s putting some books away, he tries not to think about how he didn’t realize she was there, he’s stuck in a haze of green and his thoughts.
“Yes actually, do you have any books on Quantum Mechanics and the Multiverse?” Barbara just smiles and gives him a fascinating look over the rims of her tortoiseshell glasses.
“Don’t see why you would need a book from the library when you have two Quantum Physicists in your head.” Why is Ant-Man’s scary father-in-law in his head? He’s never even met the guy!
“Those are some pretty complicated subjects, are you studying for the Gotham Academy’s entrance exam?”
“Nope, just some light reading,” Peter says as they both walk down the aisle until they make a stop at one of the shelves. “Here, two books on Quantum Mechanics and one book on the Multiverse theory, not a whole lot on that last one, sorry.”
Peter nodded and made his way over to her desk where she could check the books out in his name. He was stumped, he needed resources, and there was a bigger chance of getting them by parading around as Spiderman, but he could also be putting a target on his back. Batman doesn’t like metas and as far as they would know he’s an unknown that popped up in his territory.
Peter is very aware of how territorial vigilantes could be, honestly even he got a little pissed when his new spiderling came swinging into Queens after venturing out of his borough in Brooklyn without informing Peter first.
That was another thing he needed to figure out, he needed a lab, desperately, he knew he couldn’t survive with the number of webs he had in his slingers, while he could produce webs of his own, the silk he weaved was purely for nesting purposes.
Peter bit his bottom lip in thought and glanced to the side where a rack of pamphlets sat. Many were for homeless shelters, which Peter really should’ve reached for given his predicament but he couldn’t bring himself to steal resources when others needed it more than he did, no he slid right past and to a bright trifold advertising an entrance exam for some private school with different well-funded courses.
His eyes snagged on the mentions of STEM and scholarship in the same sentence.
Peter hummed in thought for a moment before shoving the pamphlet in his zip-up hoodie’s pocket and looked up to take his books from Miss. Barbara’s hands.
“Thanks a bunch, Miss. Barbara.” He smiled politely and walked back to his corner to see how far Karen was, knowing her she’d already crafted a foolproof identity, he already spent the better part of an hour perusing the library to find what he needed, and the library closes at 6 on Fridays, either time ran too quickly in this universe or he’s been getting stupidly distracted like earlier with the green haze tinting his vision and making his head foggy.
Slumping down into his chair Peter opened the Gotham Academy pamphlet and continued to read further into their ‘Wayne-funded STEM research labs’, that’s got to be just as good as their internship R&D labs right?
Okay, so he needed,
- Resources to tinker in a lab (preferably Wayne Enterprises, Oscorp a solid maybe)
- More webs
- Arc reactor
- Vibranium
- Money for lab experiments
- School (MAYBE)
“Very ambitious for someone who has forgotten the most important thing.” Princess Shuri commented in a wry tone.
What did he forget? Safety precautions and patents are given if he wants to be sponsored by Wayne Enterprises, and he’s already checked and there’s no vibranium in this universe, meaning he has to go out of his way to create a whole new element the same way Tony had —
“Kid. She means shelter, food, water, clothing.” Sam stresses that last one, Peter has made some questionable fashion choices but he quite liked his Hello Kitty pj pants, even if Harry and Johnny keep stealing it from him and conspire to burn them (the only time in the history of ever they’ve agreed on one thing)
“I think he was referring to the blood on the ankle of your left pantleg, not your admittedly atrocious fashion sense,” Bucky said, making Peter scowl a little bit.
“You’re from the 1940s, I don’t think you have room to talk Mr. ‘Back in my day’.” Peter quipped back, making Sam laugh and - Oh gods, did he seriously just talk to the voices in his head out loud?? He straightened in his seat and looked around to see if anyone noticed, he had been talking to Karen for a while now but he steadily was growing in volume as he snapped to Bucky.
The pre-teen gave him another vicious side-eye and this time Peter retaliated by baring his teeth a bit, people usually leave you alone when you do that on the street, and by the way the boy reciprocated and scooted away from Peter with little discretion he guessed it worked.
Peter flushed with shame until the computer blinked in front of him, Karen was done with half an hour to spare.
“What do you have for me, Karen?” Karen laughed softly and booted up a slideshow of Peter’s new life, like the mission reports Natasha would give him during the times they worked together for recon. While Tony was his mentor and like a fun (if not unreliable) uncle, Natasha was the one who taught him everything he knew about fighting when he was first starting out with little allies besides the divided Avengers (which he has suspicions were purely brought back together again because they didn’t want the younger heroes to feel like children of divorce) and while Peter adored his mother when she was alive, there’s a connection between the two spiders that even Tony can’t quite match.
He misses Nat, he didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.
Hallucination Natasha bit back a sound he couldn’t quite place while Maria Hill consoled her, “I hate being fated to this plane.”
“You don’t know it yet, but when your time comes you’ll be grateful to be bonded with your little паук.”
“I know, I just wish his life didn’t have to be uprooted, I wish I had time to say goodbye as I am not as I will be.”
Peter shivered, again, and brushed that weird hallucination (because he was getting steadily more concerned that it was not, and he didn’t know what he’d do if he had ghosts following him around) and looked over the presentation.
“You are Peter Benjamin Grayson, 16 years old, and a long-time foster kid. Your parents died when you were a child leaving you in the care of your aunt and uncle. When your Uncle died and soon after your Aunt, you ended up in the system, jumping from home to home, now you are simply living your life with Natasha Romanov and Maria Hill as your foster mothers, you live in an average middle-class neighborhood in Burnley, you just moved to Gotham from New York due to Maria’s work life.” He hopes Nat and Maria mind him using their relationship as his foster parents, he knows they’d probably be the most understanding given the situation that he needed a good solid identity, they’re also the only names that he could physically force himself to put down, not wanting to pair one adult in his life with another that would rather keel over than be together romantically let alone with a foster son, a safe bet to put down a real couple, and also not wanting to awkwardly tie any of his real family with his identity fraud.
Now all he needed to do was figure out money. At the moment all he has is 13 dollars stuffed haphazardly into his phone case. Great. Why did he let Wade ‘IOU’ Wilson talk him into spending his emergency money on smoothies at one of those shitty overpriced kombucha places that spread from LA to their borough of New York?
“Because you’re too trusting, and because he’s a menace to society who spends all his money on weapons like it’s water.” Matt quips.
Peter pauses and nods his head gravely, that guy really needs a babysitter, and with Peter gone, he hopes his spiderling doesn’t find himself trying to fill his spot with that menace (whom he loves, but doesn’t want imprinting on a 13-year-old) and take his responsibilities while he’s gone, Miles would gladly do it with zero hesitation and Peter is a little more than concerned by his lack of self-preservation skills and work-life balance.
“I don’t think you’re one to talk.”
Yeah… the voices in his head are right, he’ll grudgingly admit.
Sighing, and deciding to continue his research tomorrow, Peter picks up his things, erases all traces of Karen and his search history from the computer, and leaves as silently as he can.
Someone is watching him, but he can’t tell from where, definitely inside, maybe it was Barbara concerned as to why a kid went through the stages of grief in her library and then proceeded to start talking to himself like a tweaker, or maybe —
woah! hey! hey! look!
Peter glances, and low and behold, almost entirely shrouded by darkness is a camera, looking directly at him. Peter is a naturally suspicious shifty person, which comes with the territory of being a spider. Still, his spider-sense is annoyingly a lot like Navi from the Legend of Zelda games. Unfortunately, his bootleg Navi is very reliable, which means something is watching him with undetermined means, therefore he needs to dip before the camera looks too closely into him and somehow finds out all his secrets from 1 glance.
He begins wandering around the street, hood pulled up and hands in his pockets like he’s holding something important so people won't bug him, turning at random points till the feeling of pinpricks goes away and the sound of his stomach growling rumbles in the quiet walkways.
Flushing and looking around Peter spots a nice mercado, the scent of cooking meat and produce draws him in, and resigning himself to picking up odd jobs tomorrow along with research, he spends 8 dollars on a fat torta with a pineapple zesti (which are energy drinks loaded with so much caffine it even gives him and his fast metabolism a buzz.)
Clutching his food to his chest protectively, he glances around for a place to hole up in. Hopefully somewhere dark and with a roof because the dampness from the earlier rain is making Peter uncomfortable to find a park bench and snooze.
Eventually, Peter finds himself close to where Athena’s Laundraumat is located, he definitely doesn’t want to hole up with dead bodies, so he looks at the other admittedly run-down buildings. The sign when he entered this part of town didn’t give him much hope of finding something nice, or even empty, the words ‘Crime Alley’ spray painted over Park Row is pretty discouraging.
Along with the constant ‘hey! hey! hey! Don’t go there!’ as the inner monologue his spider-sense has taken a liking to when he finds himself drifting in between alleyways making it hard to explore and properly get used to his surroundings.
“Why would you want to explore this place?”
“Well back in my day—” Bucky starts, causing the hallucinations to groan in tandem.
“Here he goes again..”
Peter snorts lightly and stops in front of an abandoned building. It looks like it was once a cute bookstore called Book Nook, the sign just barely peaking out from under the excessive wooden panels bolted over the windows and doors.
The teeny tiny side window seemed like it would fit him if he shimmied and contorted enough (a plus side to not having any bones)
“To not having any what??”
And the fire escape seemed like a solid foothold if he were to climb the side of the abandoned apartments next to the Book Nook.
Which is what he’s doing now, putting his drink and torta into his pockets he scales the side of the building, a little slippery, but once he made it to the top it was a decent view. The sun was nearly set, painting the buildings an orange-red scarlet hue from through the clouds. He could see and hear all sorts of things happening in the city that almost felt like the constant cacophony of New York nightlife.
Peter took a big bite of his torta and promptly started crying.
He was a big mess of emotions, and this stupid green haze wasn't helping him whatsoever, it’s quietly muting out his spider-sense in favor of acting out through emotions rather than animal instinct.
He misses his friends, Harry, Ned, MJ, Gwen, Johnny, and Black Cat (although that can be written off of as a weird game of cat and mouse and a series of ‘will they won't they’ encounters) Wade and Matt. And his family, Aunt May of course, and in dark times like this Uncle Ben and his parents whom he tries to emotionally repress their existence (or lack thereof) as best as he can, but also his chosen family, the Avengers, Tony, whose mentorship has bloomed into something akin to Uncle status, or Natasha who claims him as her spiderling the same way he claims Miles as his.
woah, hey! hello!
Tensing up slightly at the sound of footsteps pattering behind him, and his spider-sense doing that stupid Navi thing, Peter breaks out of his haze to turn and see who’s approaching him.
The man - NightHawk or something - smiles gently at him and raises his hands like he’s calming down a feral animal. To be fair Peter could be considered either of those things on a good day.
“Hey Bud, mind stepping away from the ledge for me?” Night something says, putting Peter immediately on edge and at ease at the same time. He probably looks ridiculous right now, his cheeks all puffed up from eating his massive torta (that Mrs. Martinez at the mercado stuffed so fat after fussing how skinny he was) wavy hair crusty and frizzy from the goop he was dunked in, and in dead people’s clothes - not that Night-whatever knew that.
“ ‘m fine.” He said through his food, covering his mouth with his hand while he spoke as to not seem more impolite than he already was being.
“Well you’re on the ledge of a pretty high building sobbing your eyes out, could you just lean back a little to put my mind at ease?” Peter nodded and swallowed his massive bite of food, throwing his legs back over the edge so his feet touched the solid roof.
“This is the best fucking sandwich I’ve ever had.” Peter offered as an explanation, sipping on his Zesti-Cola red hot with shame and embarrassment by being caught by a vigilante crying while eating.
“Ah, Martinez’s on the corner and fourth?” Peter nodded.
“Mhm.” Peter hummed noncommittally, waiting/begging the universe for this vigilante to leave him alone so he could nest in the corner of that bookstore.
“Do your parents know you’re out here?” Night-whatever asked, concern lacing his features from what Peter could see, his body language said he was genuinely worried as he sat down at arm's length away from Peter, this man was not a threat to him specifically, Peter nodded at his question and sighed in relief, these heroes aren't going to hunt him for sport because they don’t know of his vaguely enhanced history, that one Reddit user he saw saying the bats and birds could read minds was sorely mistaken, they would’ve done something already if that was the case.
“My moms are busy right now and I felt the need to explore.” He responded simply, keeping up with his faux backstory, Natasha taught him better than to deviate from the story even if he wasn’t going to interact with this guy again.
This did not seem to reassure Nightbird (what was this dude's name?..) at all, “Do you live around here?” he asked, strained.
“Mhm.”
“Really?” he asked incredulously.
“Yup, so you can go and do your hero..ing thingy, swing with a grappling hook or fly, or whatever it is you guys do here.” The vigilante quirked a brow, a tilt of his head letting his inky black hair settle to the side as he smiled bright and full with dimples.
Peter squinted, it was like looking at a very bright light, or the sun itself.
“You’re not from around here are you?”
Peter copied his smile, “I’m from Queens, my Mom moved us out here for some job opportunity, truthfully I wasn't paying much attention to what she was saying. You’re Night-something, right?”
“Nightwing.” Peter scrunched his nose up in an obvious joking manner, “I coulda sworn it was Nighthawk, that sounds way cooler.”
Nightwing’s smile was positively radiant, and his laugh was like hearing bells chime, it oddly put Peter at ease. “I’ll keep that in mind..?” the hero prompted.
“Peter.” Thankfully Nightwing didn't prod any further for a surname, Peter was a good actor but his resolve will break under scrutiny.
Nightwing opens his mouth start speaking again, but is cut off by the buzzing from his comm link.
‘Nightwing, Riddler is potentially poised by the docks, need you for backup, Spoiler and Robin are benched and RR is alone - you're the closest not doing anything.’
The voice tickles something in the back of Peter’s mind that he can’t quite place. Nightwing for his part pretends he didn’t hear his associates’ modulated voice at all save for the mild grimace tracing his features, Peter sighs and gestures to his own ear.
“Maybe you should take that Nighthawk.” Peter jokes, finding it very hard to keep the smile on his face all of a sudden, Nightwing’s grimace dissipates for a moment before flashing a soft smile at him.
“Thanks for the heads up O, Red shouldn’t even be out alone tonight, let alone in Spoilers route.” Nightwing murmurs as he stands up, probably intending for Peter not to catch their private conversation, but as always Peter listens anyway.
He glances over at the skyline, biting his lip in thought, his plan is to establish himself as Spiderman to find better opportunities in his multiversal efforts, he’s not exactly the most charismatic out of costume, but if you put on a mask and a shitty New York accent people find you endearing enough to trade information and hand you things you have use for.
He wonders if he’d be left alone if he did start plastering criminals to lampposts, or if the big bad bat would catch him and kick him out for operating in his city.
It seems as the Bats and Birds have a claim over certain spots in the city, he wonders if there is even any room for a small time spider to weave his web and make a difference.
Peter pointedly looks around at ‘Crime Alley’ and grimaces, it seems where he’s at is dangerously neglected by the way he can hear 3 drug deals happening with a 4 block radius, and the heavy scent of gunpowder, blood, and sex radiating from the alleys.
“Hey Bud, seems like a little bird got caught in a cage and I have to bail him out.” Nightwing snaps him out of his daze, looking genuinely apologetic, it throws him a little off guard honestly. “Really would love to continue hearing about your pointed thoughts on my hero name.” He jests sarcastically, “But I’m needed, will you be all right? Want help down?”
“No thanks, I’ll just use the fire escape.”
Nightwing’s face twitches, “Great, just stay off of roofs and go home, your family is probably worried sick, by Petey” The hero gives a two finger salute and flips off the roof and into the night using a grappling hook he procured from god knows where on that uncomfortably skin tight suit.
Peter lets out a big sigh of relief and slumps onto his back, watching the smog drift in place of stars, and a bright beam of light reflecting off of the polluted clouds shaping up to be a bat signal. He snorts at the very idea, this cities ridiculous.
The tears run down his face almost unconsciously as he reflects about Nightwing’s words, does him family really miss him? Has he been noticed as gone yet? Sighing, he turns to his side and looks down at the bookshop, he really needs to build a nest or else he’ll crawl up in some dark damp cave and never come back out until someone physically retrieves him.
“Your family is probably worried sick.” Peter repeats.
Funny.
◇◇◇
Distantly, across the country, 3 teens wake with a start, green thrumming through their blood and very being, like a second skin, with the amber of dust haunting them.
Their premature deaths were telegraphed not long before their re-awakening.
And their memory scrounged up in desperate last breaths.
These two facts are definitely not related.