darkest before the dawn

August 3rd, 2016

11:03 AM

Peter hadn’t known about the warrant until he woke up the next morning and checked his phone.

It had been blown up with texts from Ned.

Are you okay??

Plz text me

Should I get someone??

Peter text me

Peter they're saying you did it

Holy shit the fbi is after you

Peter r u ok

Peter sent back a yeah and his phone immediately lit up again.

Thank god

But dude

They think you did it

What are you gonna do

Peter bit his lip. What was he going to do? His suit was ripped to shreds. He could repair it, but it would take too much time. He needed to find this thing now. But each small movement of his body told him why that was a bad idea. And he was now a wanted criminal. Everyone thought he was the one that killed those people. If it was hard before to be Spider-Man, it was going to be extremely difficult to even put on the mask. His heart plunged at the thought of not being able to patrol like did before. What if someone needed his help? What if he wasn’t there?

But he needed to find it. And that was that.

I’m going to go find it

His phone dinged.

Cool.

How?

He hadn’t quite figured it out yet.

I have a plan. 

Also if my aunt asks we were hanging out

Ok?

The screen lit up.

Ok.

Peter tossed the phone in the mess of his bed, and limped his way into the kitchen. His ankle was still jammed and swollen, so he relied on his left leg to put his weight on. Which was the same one the still-healing gashes were on. 

Yay.

He wasn’t able to do much for first-aid. He could only wrap bandages around his torso and hope for the best. The glass was still in his body and he hoped it would just push out like it usually did. He had burns and gashes all along his body, so he was wearing one of Ben’s giant hoodies. The black one with grey lines. It was big and soft.

May was in the kitchen and Peter’s heart leaped before he mentally cursed himself. Of course May’s home. Today she’s got the night shift. Summer’s awkward cause Peter’s not at school, so May’s schedule goes out of whack and she’s gone at weird times. 

Peter shuffles into the kitchen. “Hey, May.”

May flashes Peter a warm smile. “Good morning, my little gentleman. And how did you sleep?”

Waking up every two hours in constant agony, reading and memorizing the names of people he couldn’t save, reading the news as they named him as a murderer and effectively put a price on his head.

“Pretty good,” Peter takes a seat at the counter, not even daring to breathe as his ribs grate against each other. He lets out a sigh of relief. 

May snorts from where she’s getting Peter a bowl of Lucky Charms. “You bind for too long again?”

“Nah,” Peter taps a finger on the table, quickly retracting it when he sees the purple and blue knuckle. “Just really sore.”

May turns around, setting the bowl of cereal down on the counter. “Well, I wouldn’t understand the need to do-Jesus fucking christ, Peter. What the hell happened to your face?”

Peter spoons a mouthful of cereal into his face. His completely fucked-up and bruised face. “All faces are beautiful, May.”

“Now when they look like they’ve stomped on by a boot,” May mutters, digging around in the freezer for a bag of frozen peas. She tosses them to Peter, who catches them and immediately hisses at the cold contact. May rolls her eyes. “What was it this time?”

Peter flashes her a smile, split lip and all. “Me and the wall had a little disagreement. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” May doesn’t seem convinced before a split-second moment of panic washes over her face. “You weren’t in Hell’s Kitchen, right? You stayed over here for the afternoon, right? I didn’t see you when I came in, but you were there when I went to bed, so-”

“I was with Ned,” Peter blurts out.

May’s eyebrows crease. “Ned?”

“He’s a friend,” Peter explains, crossing his legs, “We built legos yesterday.”

May’s panic quickly turns to happiness and she ruffles Peter’s hair affectionately. “Attaboy. Those bruises from bullies?”

Peter smiles. It feels heavy with the weight of all the lies. “Yup.”

May smiles at him before returning to her cup of decaf coffee. Peter wolfs down his cereal. “Hey, May?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“That thing that attacked Metro Gen yesterday...It didn’t attack-”

“Oh no, honey,” May’s quick to reassure him. Quick to make known that she’s good.“We got placed on lockdown and had to evacuate, but nothing attacked. We were fine.”

Peter breathes in, long and sharp. “Good.”

Because if May got hurt……

“Does make you wonder though,” May muses, “How the hell did it manage to escape? Why did it go after a hospital?”

“Do you think Spider-Man did it?”

Peter wants to retract the question as soon as it comes out of his mouth. That seems to be the

question on everyone’s mind, from what he’s seen online. Everyone wants to know if the vigilante did it and people are extremely divided over it.

May thinks about it and then shakes her head. “Nah.”

Peter’s relief is so great, he’s practically melting through his socks. 

“Doesn’t make any sense,” May points out, sipping her coffee, “Dude spends months protecting New York, and then he goes and attacks a hospital? No way. Complete and utter bullshit.”

Peter laughs, a little lump in his throat. “May.”

May holds her hands up. “I’m just saying!”

May finishes her coffee as Peter finishes scooping out the remaining bits of cereal, the milk now a light green color. May places her mug in the sink. “You doing anything today?”

Tracking down the thing that did this.

“I’m going to go hang out with Ned,” Peter lies through his teeth, “He’s got Mario Kart.”

May walks over and gives Peter a hug. Peter tries not to hiss in pain, fabric rubbing against the burns and cuts. He succeeds, because May hugs are the best hugs and no injury is going to get in the way of that. “All right. I’ll see you later today?”

Peter nods. “I’ve got my phone.”

“Text me if you’re not back by six. I’m going to the store and then I’m going to go take a nap.”

Peter makes his way to his room, socked feet padding against the floor. May calls out to him right before he enters his room. “Peter?”

Peter leans back. “Yeah?”

“Don’t go to Hell’s Kitchen,” May’s staring at her fingers. “Just..just stay out of there for a few days, alright?”

There’s a taste like sour pennies in his mouth. He never went to Hell’s Kitchen. Only if it was for Spider-Man stuff. Never as Peter Parker. 

But Spider-Man’s being hunted so that means Peter Parker needs to pull his own weight.

Peter smiles and lies. Something that he hates doing, but has learned to do ever since he woke up that one morning and found out that the first person that ever loved him was gone.

“Sure. I’ll just stay in Queens.”

❁

Ross Andru.

Bill Everett.

Hannah Brady.

John Denmark.

Rosa Briggs.

Isabelle Reilly.

David Normandy.

James Tudor.

William Carillo.

Arthur Bianchi.

Martha Meyers.

Michael Trent.

Loui Hart.

Niko Tovar.

Jaelle Price.

Arlen Tipron.

Nathan O’Ryan.

Tyler Andrews.

Those were the names of the people who had died in the hospital. The ones that thing had attacked, bitten, left to bleed out. They had families, people who cared about them. People who wouldn’t ever see them again. People who would have to leave flowers on graves instead of warm hugs and kisses. People who would have to see names written on stone instead of seeing a face everyday. People who would have to rely on their memory to hear a voice, instead of just calling a number and waiting for the soft click of the phone.

Seventeen people. With even more injured.

There’s a sickening guilt in his gut, a molten lead covering his stomach and making it feel so heavy. What if he could’ve stopped that thing? Stopped it at the docks, before it had decided on a rampage through Metro Gen. He knows that he’s lucky that he escaped with his life that night, but the headlines and muttered whispers on the subway don’t make the guilt go away.

Seventeen people.

Peter’s on his way to Hell’s Kitchen, on his way back to the docks to see if he can find anything that would give any sort of clue to what or where the thing is. He knows that he promised May, but this takes place before any sort of promise. What if May had been transferred to Metro Gen that day? What if it had been her in that ICU? He knows that May swears she’ll never go back to Hell’s Kitchen, but there’s an irrational fear that’s taking over.

Peter’s taking the subway, wearing Ben’s hoodie and jeans with his converse. He can’t wear the suit. He’s not an idiot. He knows that if he swings back into Hell’s Kitchen right after the attack, he's going to be shot. So it’s back to hoodie and jeans, with a frayed bandanna hidden in his pocket. Just in case.

The hoodie and jeans offer about the same amount of protection, anyway.

He’s not planning on fighting, ‘cause his body’s busted to shit. Gashes haven’t healed, neither have ribs, jammed ankle, bruises and cuts, glass that he’s going to get to still stuck in his body and burns running all over the sides of his body. He can’t wear his binder, so it’s another reason why he’s wearing the hoodie.

He gets a few concerned looks on the subway, most likely due to the bruises on his face. Peter ignores them and gets off at his stop, slightly limping as he walks up the stairs. Honestly, Peter believes he’s running on pure fear, adrenaline, and caffeine right now. The healing factor is going into overdrive, numbing his nerves down so he can still function. He’s going to crash, but he’s still got some time left. 

Walking down the streets like a normal human being instead of parkouring or swinging like a wanted vigilante, Peter goes to the docks. There’s got to be something that can help, maybe a stray piece of that burning webbing, or maybe there’s some blood that belonged to the creature or maybe he can find something that might help-

Nevermind. There’s cops.

New York’s Finest.

More specifically, Detectives Mahoney, Maynard and Costa, examining the place where Peter had first  seen the thing. There’s yellow tape everywhere and crime scene photographers taking pictures of anything that might be of value. The van the arm dealers used is there, but it’s been cleaned out. 

Well. This was a bust.

Peter’s about to turn around and go cry himself to sleep, when Mahoney’s head snaps up and he looks at Peter, who’s glaring at the yellow tape in front of him. His eyebrows crease in confusion. “Parker?”

Costa and Maynard give him strange looks, but Mahoney waves them off as he walks over to Peter. Peter doesn’t know Costa or Maynard, but Ben used to talk about them and Peter’s heard their names over various police radios he’s stolen. Good cops. “Parker, what are you doing here?”

Quick, what's a good excuse?

“Lost my dog,” Peter blurts out, completely aware of how this lie was going to fall apart in five seconds, “Just trying to find him.”

Mahoney does not seem convinced by this lie and his lips purse. “What’s his name?”

Peter tries to look completely innocent. There’s a cop eating a gyro over by a cruiser. “...Sandwich.”

Mahoney’s eyes scan Peter’s face, which is covered with bruises. His head tilts and he adopts the attitude of yeah, I know you’re full of bullshit. May’s an excellent user of that attitude. “What happened to your face? Looks like you had a fistfight with Captain America.”

Peter glares. Mahoney’s lip twitches.

“And lost.”

Peter huffs and shoves his hands into his pocket. He starts to back away. “Yeah, yeah. It was nice to see you too, Detective Mahoney. I’ll be back next week to get insulted again. Just you wait.”

“Wait, Parker. Seriously,” Mahoney’s got his hands on his hips. “What are you doing here?”

Gonna go down with this ship.

“Told you. Dog.”

“But don’t you live in Queens?” Goddnammit Mahoney. Why did you have to care about Ben and May? Why couldn’t you not know anything about Peter’s life? This makes Peter’s investigating abilities very difficult. “With your Aunt? Does she know where you are?”

Oh shit, he’s gonna call May.

“I went to go see Ben,” Peter blurts and Mahoney’s hands fall from his hips and his face goes from being suspicious to sympathetic.

Crisis averted.

“I went to go see Ben with Sandwich, and then he got away from me so I went to look for him and then I found you guys,” Peter shoves his hands tighter in his pockets. He feels cold. Ben’s hoodie isn’t helping. 

Mahoney’s silent. “You bring flowers?”

“Daffodils.”

Mahoney sighs. Peter’s known Mahoney as long as he’s lived with May and Ben. Ben had liked Mahoney and always made a point to seek him out. Peter had spent a year and a half seeing him when Ben sometimes brought him to the precinct. And then Ben had died, and May had packed up their remaining family and moved to Queens and they left everything behind.

Mahoney had been at Ben’s funeral.

Peter hadn’t. He’d still been in a coma.

Mahoney’s tapping his foot on the ground. “You shouldn’t be here kid. Bunch of shi-crap is going down and I doubt your aunt wants you in the middle of that.”

Yeah. He knows.

“I’m just tryin’ to find my dog, Detective,” Peter spreads his arms, “Not tryin’ to interfere with all of-is that a Ultron head?”

That is indeed an Ultron head and Peter’s never seen anything more like a Terminator movie in his life. Mahoney, immediately realizing that Costa was giving him strange looks for talking to the boy in the black hoodie, tried to shoo Peter off in a direction that didn’t involve bits of stolen tech and a giant stain of brown-red on the asphalt. “Okay, that’s enough; go find your dog and leave me alone.”

He’s too late as Maynard, overcome with curiosity, jogs up to the pair and ducks under the yellow tape. She raises her eyebrows at Mahoney. “Who’s this?”

Mahoney waves a hand. “Peter. He’s just leaving.”

Maynard turns to face Peter and he gives her his best smile. “Hi, ma’am.”

Maynard gives Mahoney a look. He raises his hands in defense. “He says he’s looking for his dog.”

“His name is Sandwich,” Peter supplies helpfully, still running with the lie. He’s not going to admit it to Mahoney. Never. Not in his life.

Maynard freezes. “Is he black? Pit bull? Often found eating dumpster food?”

Mahoney chokes. So he hadn’t believed Peter. Hah.

Peter squints his eyes. “....Yes.”

“Wait here.” And then Maynard’s off, jogging around the corner and out of sight. Costa throws his hands up and stalks off toward a cruiser, absolutely done with his companions. Mahoney watches him with a slight amusement and sheepishness.

“I thought it was two detectives to a case,” Peter notes, “But there’s three of you.”

Mahoney turns his head back to Peter. “This was a special case. We just got assigned to a new one and Costa’s been investigating the guy who got murdered here. So it made sense to come check it out together.”

“Is it about Spider-Man?”

Mahoney chokes and turns around to see if anyone else is listening. Thankfully, no one is. Peter made sure of that before he asked. Hey, if cops are going to investigate the same crime scene as him, Peter’s going to ask questions. Also, it’s not like Mahoney’s new to this. Everytime Peter sees him, there’s always a little bit of questioning going on. 

Mahoney points a finger at him. “Don’t.”

“So you are.” Peter muses, eyes transfixed on some object just behind Mahoney. His eyes snap back to Mahoney. “But something’s not adding up.”

“Parker, I swear-”

“They’re not letting you into the hospital,” Peter guessed, “So you’re looking for anything you can get your hands on.”

The look on Mahoney’s face confirms it.

“And why does this concern you?” Suspicious Mahoney is back in full force. “Why do you need to ask questions?”

Peter shrugs, reverting back to a careless teenager. “‘Cause.”

Mahoney swears. “I swear, if it wasn’t for the fact you’re Ben’s kid, someone would’ve punted you over the Hudson by now. Come round here, asking questions, and then something gets magically resolved.”

Peter shrugs, pain lancing through his shoulder at the movements. “You don’t exactly tell me much. It’s more of ‘Get out of here before I call your Aunt’ and ‘No, you can’t ask the Russian Mafia if they know any spies.’ Very boring.”

“By Spider-Man.”

Peter doesn’t flinch. It’s how it works; don’t show emotion, just roll with how they expect you to act. Mahoney’s smart. He knows something is up everytime Peter asks him questions. Peter’s able to gain alot from a little, but it’s still suspicious. “Must be a coincidence.”

Mahoney squints at him. “Sure. By the way, if I somehow had a channel of communication to him, I would tell him to turn himself in, ‘cause if he doesn’t and if the Feds catch him, it’s a shoot-first warrant.”

Peter’s fingers clench.

“Doesn’t matter if he’s innocent.” Mahoney adds. His eyes search Peter’s. “Okay?”

Peter smiles, hair falling into his eyes. “Yes, Detective.”

Then Maynard comes around the corner, beaming ear to ear and Peter’s about to nominate for best cop ever, which isn’t really a hard competition, because there’s something fluffy and adorable behind her and-

It’s freakin’ adorable.

The dog barks and wags their tail and Costa peeks his head around the cruiser, sees the dog, sees Maynard and Mahoney, rolls his eyes, and goes back to the cruiser.

Mahoney stares at the dog. “That’s a bear.”

“Nope,” Maynard looks immensely pleased with herself, “Saw this guy when we were on the way here and the kid reminded me of him. He yours, kid?”

No. No. There is no way this fluffy baby does not have an owner.

Best. Cop. Ever.

“Yup,” Peter says and immediately calls to the puppy, “Sandwich! Here boy!”

The dog, who most likely assumes that Peter has a sandwich, barks happily and trots over to Peter, putting his nose into Peter’s hand. It’s cold and wet and ticklish.

Peter giggles.

Maynard is officially the best cop ever. Right after Ben. Mahoney takes third, but only because he’s not a pretentious asshole.

Mahoney coughs. “I guess I’ll see you later then, Parker? That’s a lie, please don’t come back.”

Peter laughs and coughs. As he breathes in, he smells dog and dumpster and Mahoney’s cologne and Maynard’s deodorant and that beat cop’s second gyro and that horrible smell of-

Oh.

Oh.

Maybe this wasn’t a waste of time after all.

Digging his hand into the dog’s fur, Peter waves a hand to Mahoney and Maynard. “Bye, Mahoney. Thank you for helping me find Sandwich, Detective Maynard.”

Sandwich, a temporary name for the puppy, barks his agreement.

Maynard waves a hand. “No problem, kid. Try not to stumble upon crime scenes.”

As Maynard leaves, Mahoney says his goodbyes. “I mean it Parker. Every last word. Don’t you dare forget.”

Peter starts to walk away, pulling his hood over his face. Sandwich walks beside him. “Yes sir.”

“Also,” Mahoney hesitates, “Tell your Aunt we’ve got some of Ben’s old stuff in the precinct. I don’t know if she’ll want it or not.”

His chest tightening, Peter nods. “Will do.”

“Now scatter.”

Peter does just that, limping his way out of the docks with the large puppy by his side. As soon as they’re out of sight, Peter kneels down next to Sandwich and checks for a collar. There isn’t any. Sandwich licks Peter’s face and his face scrunches up as he tries not to smile.

He’s so pretty and so fluffy, but May would never let him keep a dog in their apartment.

“Okay,” He compromises, “We find the thing, call the police, I find you a good shelter and we part ways. Everytime Mahoney asks about my dog, I make a confused face so that he thinks that he’s going crazy. Good plan?”

Sandwich looks sad. He’s gorgeous, with a black coat and white parts peeking out of his legs and face. He's so cute and really big, but Peter’s worked with enough big dogs to know he’s not done growing. He's gonna be huge.

“Sandwich isn’t a good name,” Peter decides, the dog nosing at the bandages, “You know what? I’m going to call you Max. I had a book about this guy named Max. You’ll like it.”

Max barks, laying his head on his legs.

Peter gives him a head scratch. “I know. I wanna keep you too.”

But he can’t.

The scent of rotting flesh and bitter acid in his nose, Peter stands up and starts to track down the thing, his loyal companion beside him.

❁

There’s a warehouse on fire and two kids screaming for their parents and Peter can barely get off the ground.

He can hear Max outside, barking up a storm, but this part of Manhattan is completely abandoned. There’s no one here to help them. Just Peter in his hoodie and frayed bandanna, whimpering in pain as the fire burns his legs and completely destroys his jeans.

The last few days have been very weird for him because he’s never been this injured before.

There’s a cut on his head and his vision is doubled as he crawls off the ground and desperately tries to pat out the flames on his jeans. His nails dig into the gravel as he tries to push himself to a standing position. He succeeds and stumbles as quickly as he can to where the kids are screaming and-

You can’t catch me! I’m faster than you!

That’s not fair! Mom, tell her she’s cheating.

Voices pounding through his head, he focuses on the kids. He needs to get them out. They’re both doused in gasoline and it singes Peter’s senses, his nostrils burning. 

“Hey,” Peter croaks, “I’m going to get you out, okay? Just hold on.”

There’s two of them, siblings most likely. A boy, maybe around the age of nine, and a girl who’s either eleven or twelve. They’ve both been bound and gagged, tossed in the middle of the warehouse and left to burn.

Peter, is it okay if I copy your homework?

Mom, Lisa’s cheating!

You asked him to do yours!

Peter breaks the bonds easily, pulling the gags from their mouths. He drags them to their feet, the small boy clutching the side of the girl. They both stare at him fearfully, but they need to move. Peter can hear the warehouse creaking and groaning and it’s going to fall apart any minute.

“C’mon,” He rasps out, barely standing up at this point. The kids are still staring at him, the boy crying. “We need to go.”

The girl starts to pull the boy after her, and Peter grabs her hand, pulling them along. They stumble through the smoke filled room, stinging their eyes. The kids’ heartbeats are out of control and Peter is relying on his sense of hearing, following Max’s barking as they try to escape.

Who’s your favorite Avenger, Lisa?

Obviously, it’s me, but since they haven’t noticed me, my favorite is the Black Widow.

But what about Thor?!

Black Widow’s a girl, Frankie! She’s the best.

Peter’s senses flare and he’s shoving the kids in front of him as the ceiling crumbles and the kids scream and Peter catches it, tossing it to the side and-

He shouldn’t be able to do that.

He shouldn’t have known that was going to happen.

The kids are staring at him and Peter can only drag them along as they finally reached the door, but-

It’s webbed shut with that strange reddish-silvery webbing and the girl starts sobbing, her little brother already doing so.

We’re not going to die.

His ankle is jammed and his other leg is a raging pit of agony, but he musters the strength and kicks the solid iron door open, sending the trio scattering on the pavement. 

The kids are still sobbing and Max is nosing at his neck, making these sad noises, but Peter is still in overdrive, and he stands up and pulls the two kids to their feet. He starts walking them at a brisk pace down the street, and the kids are still crying, still covered in gasoline because that thing was going to burn them alive.

And they really need to be quiet.

He stops walking and faces them, pulling down the bandanna and revealing his face. Their eyes widen and Peter starts talking, his voice in a hushed whisper. “You guys need to be quiet. That thing; it could come back and you guys need to be quiet.”

With a few stifled sobs, they nod. The boy clings to his sister. Peter looks at them. “What are your names?”

“M-my name’s Leo,” the girl answers, tears streaming down her face, “My brother, he-he’s Zach.”

Zach’s crying too. Sandwich noses at him, and a small hand reaches out to grip onto her fur,

“My name’s Peter,” he tells them, and then starts to drag them away again, “We gotta get you guys somewhere safe.”

Leo literally drags him back. She’s hysterical. “No, no. You can’t. He’ll kill us, he’ll kill our parents if he knows we escaped. He said he would.”

Peter doesn’t doubt it.

On a scale from one to ten, how mad do you think dad would be if I ate the rest of the oreos?

A six. Let’s split ‘em.

“Okay, okay,” and Leo relaxes, brown hair still wet from the gasoline. “But we have to leave.”

They stick to back roads and alleys.  Zach doesn’t say a word, just clings to Max, who seems to understand to be a good boy. Leo holds Peter’s hand, her grip like a vise. She holds her brother’s hand, too. 

Sometimes I wish I had a sibling.

I’ll trade you. Frankie for your pokemon cards.

He’s not worth that. My Charmander is worth more than that.

Be nice to Frankie, kids. 

Peter’s lungs rattle and he can barely move. Every step feels like glass shredding his skin, which is extremely accurate to what’s happening to his torso. His eyes are falling shut, but he needs to stay awake. Leo gives him concerned glances, but he pushes forward.

That thing, that thing.

It had set a trap. And Peter had fallen for it.

This wasn’t like the hospital, where the attacks were random. This was intentional. It targeted Leo and Zach. This was pointed and targeted.

Peter looks up ahead and he can see a brown-haired woman talking to a dark-haired girl with a pink jacket. 

They look at Peter and they smile.

Peter jerks back. No. No. They’re supposed to be getting better. The hallucinations should’ve stopped. 

Leo says something to him, but it’s all mush and static. Peter closes his eyes and keeps pulling them forward. They’re near a church. Peter can smell incense and holy water.

Words spill out of his mouth like molasses,  each one slower than the last.

“ There will come soft rain and the smell of the ground,

And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night,

And wild plum trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire

Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one

Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,

If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn

Would scarcely know that we were gone.”

He opens his eyes again and the girl and the lady are gone. He breathes a sigh of relief. Leo’s staring at him, but he continues on. Gotta keep them safe, gotta keep going. Gotta get out of range.

Max whines and Peter finally collapses.

He hits the ground. Hard. He can’t really make out what’s going on, but Lisa Leo’s shaking him and Frankie Zach is panicking and he wants to tell them not to worry and to leave him behind when sound stops and their heartbeats calm a little bit, with an exclamation of surprise. He thinks that Leo put her jacket on top of his injuries a little before now, but it fell off. Max’s nose leaves Peter, the gray backpack on Max’s back brushing softly by his body. Peter can’t move a single bone in his body, but he manages to crane his head to see what they’re looking at and he’s met with the sight of a nun and a priest helping Zach and Leo and Max up and into a building.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. We can take care of him.”

The nun comes closer to him, leaning down and gently pushing a lock of bloodstained hair off his forehead. “You did a very brave thing. Idiotic, but very brave.”

Peter closes his eyes exhaustedly. The nun is safe. She isn’t going to hurt him.

“Matthew,” the nun calls, “Come help me with the child. Bring him into the orphanage.”

Peter’s lifted up, carried in a set of strong arms that he thinks belongs to a face with blank, lost eyes and he’s set down on a bed, and he thrashes a little bit, because the bed is soft, but springy and so was his bed at Richard’s apartment and that bed is bad and a pair of callused hands grips his wrists and there’s a rough, soft voice telling him that they’re just healing his injuries and he’s crying in pain and the voice is telling him to pass out, but he can’t, ‘cause he needs to protect the kids and-

There’s a finger on the side of his neck and it’s pressing down on a nerve and Peter succumbs to unconsciousness, but not before he hears the voice again.

“Sleep. You’re safe here.”