Stranded

Peter scribbled down his answer for the next problem, eyes flicking over the page in a quick once over to check that he’d finished them all up to standard. He nodded, self satisfied with his work despite how his handwriting was practically chicken scratch. It’d do.

Habitually, he turned the page over to check the back, and he groaned when he realized that there was another full set of Calculus problems laid out there, blank and ready to be completed.

It wasn’t that they were difficult, really - just time consuming. Very, very annoyingly frustratingly time consuming.

He knew the team - sans Bruce, who was either somewhere in Canada or off world - had already gathered in the common room, waiting for Peter so they could start up the movie.

It was Steve’s turn, and he’d chosen Star Wars: A New Hope, so Peter was excited, to say the least. God, he could already picture Ned's face when he'd tell him.

He plucked his phone out of his pocket and swiped it on, typing out a quick message to Tony saying he’d be a while longer and that they could start without him. 

He received a little ding in reply before he’d even finished setting the phone back down, and he checked to see a flippant dismissal, that they’d just wait for him and set up some snacks in the meantime. 

He grinned and picked his pencil back up, setting to work.

A shrill blare of an alarm wiped the smile right off his face, and he jumped to his feet, bolting to his door. He grasped the handle and twisted, only to find it locked in place.

“FRIDAY,” he called, uselessly jiggling at the stiff knob.

‘Intruder,’ FRIDAY replied tensely, voice crackling slightly. ‘ Unknown substances released. Vents closed. Do not leave the room,’ she instructed.

Peter’s throat threatened to close up with his panic, and his eyes flickered to his vents as he heard the faint snap of them sealing closed. “What about the others?” he asked tersely. 

There was only a faint crackle of static in reply.

Peter strained to hear over the alarms still blaring pointlessly in the halls, making out several faint thuds and thumps and the low murmur of voices. One raised, and he made out, “We can’t leave, either!” 

It sounded like Steve.

There were more thuds and crashes, and the sounds of the alarms dimmed to a low thrum, almost like the vibration of a base with barely any sound behind it.

Footsteps approached his door, coming to a stop on the other side.

“Hello?” Peter called breathlessly.

“Peter,” Tony said. He sounded strained.

“What’s happening Mr. Stark, the door’s still locked and the vents are closed and-”

“I know you’re probably trying to talk if you can hear me, which I’m just gonna have to trust that you can, but sound’s blocked out from my end, bud. No super hearing here.” Peter wilted, and Tony continued on. “I don’t have a lot of time, kid. FRIDAY’s been shut down - I had to bury her deep so the fu- the hack couldn’t corrupt her. Just. Stay in there, okay? Do not. Come out. We’re still trying to figure out whatever’s been put into the air, but we can all tell it’s doing something, and we can’t risk it doing it to you too, okay, Pete? We’re working on filtering it back out as we speak, but it’s gonna take a while.” There was a pause, then a faint tap that was either Tony’s head or hand resting against the door between them. “Please. Stay safe, Peter. I’ll see you soon.”

Then he was gone, darting away to rejoin the others.

Peter’s limbs felt weak, and he took a few stuttering steps back to his bed, collapsing onto it. His hands shook faintly, and he clasped them together, trying to dispel it. He rose back to his feet, ignoring how he momentarily listed to the side and making his way to his desk, fumbling for his phone. He tapped the screen, and it lit up to the background image of him, Tony, and May in his Queen’s apartment, each holding up a plate full of Shawarma; in the background, Ned made a funny face and MJ stared deadpan at the screen.

He took a shuddering breath, pressing in his passcode. 

He scrolled rapidly through his contacts, momentarily pausing over Tony’s before clicking on May’s.

It didn’t ring a single time, not even letting an attempt of a call go through. He checked his service. No bars.

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and exhaling just the same.

It’ll be alright, he told himself. They’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.

He wished he could believe it, but the slow, creeping sense of foreboding dread that raised the hairs on the back of his neck suggested otherwise. 

He moved to his closet, opening the doors with a grim set over his countenance.

He pulled forward the top drawer, and took out his suit.

A enraged roar, heavily muted by thick layers of walls and levels of floors, sounded. 

Peter slipped on his mask, then hesitated. He reached back in the closet, coming out with his back up web shooters - they were running on near empty, but, he shrugged tersely, strapped them on, and stepped into his suit. 

‘Filt’rt’n Suc-ss’ FRIDAY managed to get out, garbled and glitchy, before falling silent once more.

The vents reopened with a hiss, and his door unlocked with a faint snick.