Holding on

Glass fell around him, green smoke blurring his vision ahead, and then he was inside a snowglobe, scrabbling for some kind of reality as buildings rose around him. The disorientation was dizzying, his heart was pounding, his breath was hitching.

As he fell from a great height for what felt like the 20th time, with no idea when impact would come, he was suddenly awake, eyes opening with a start.

The last thing he remembered was a train carriage. This was not a train carriage. And holy crap, did he feel rough.

He noticed he was not alone and looked to his left, and was met with a painted face carrying a warm smile. There was so much orange.

“Hey,” said the man.

“W-w-where am I?” Peter said, quietly.

Another smiling face appeared. “Municipal holding facility.”

This was so confusing.

The first man spoke again. “They said they found you unconscious in the train depot, very dangerous.”

Another voice came in from his right, how many orange people were there? “We gave you the shirt because, you seemed a bit cold,” said the man, with a knowing and concerned smile. He looked...worried.

“Oh thanks,” Peter said, not knowing what else to say. He didn’t realise he needed the smiles, or the shirt, until that moment and shivered slightly. He was still wary though, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be sure of anything ever again, though. “You guys are nice. You speak really good English.”

“Welcome to The Netherlands.”

Wait, what?

“I’m in the Netherlands right now?”

The men nodded.

Shit. He had to get out of there. “Guard!!” he shouted as he stood up, a lightning rod of pain going through his right leg reminding him all too well what had happened before. He yelped in pain.

“The guard is on a break,” said the man. Their conversation about a baby went over Peter’s head. He had to get out. Putting his hand through the railings, he reached for the padlock holding them in and broke it with ease. Now was not the time to hide what he could do.

Forgetting to thank the men in the cell, he stumbled out, stopping only to note the guard was wearing his stealth suit.

As he left the facility he felt like he’d stepped into another world. Everything was so… rustic, like some weird theme park. Was this real or Beck’s work, or some fever dream?

He anchored himself with the only thing he knew to be true, the pain. Everything hurt so much, every step was worse than the one before. He wondered if he’d fractured his femur, or if it was just severe bruising. Either way, this wasn’t an injury he was going to be able to heal from quickly. He grit his teeth, put the shirt back on despite the sweat now pouring from him as he fought for consciousness and tried to find a way out, or some kind of help.

The only thing he could think to do was get hold of Happy. Since the events at the compound, since Tony, Happy had taken every call Peter had made. Gone were the days of leaving endless voicemails about churros and texts on his availability. He’d go back to that in a heartbeat if it meant he still had Mr Stark in his life and some sense of normality.

He spotted an older man on a phone in the village market, and limped heavily towards him. He couldn’t contain the yelps of pain with each step, and didn’t care if anyone noticed.

“Ah…” he winced. “Excuse me sir, can I borrow your phone?”

“Here take it,” said the man - another one with excellent English.

“Everyone is so nice,” Peter pondered out loud. The man just smiled.

Peter looked at the phone, and the time. It was 6.30am, not 24 hours since the events of Berlin. Happy was in America, the time difference was about 6 hours. Would Happy even be awake? And even with the supersonic jet he’d not be able to get here for about hours… still, he had to try. He could rest while he waited, he supposed.

The phone rang, and then connected. “Hey, hey… I messed up… I need a ride.”

Happy’s voice on the other end responded calmly. “Ok Pete, where are you?”

“Where am I?” Peter looked to the friendly man, who responded with something he did not understand. In the end, he put Happy onto the man who told him where he was.

“You got that?” Peter asked.

“I’ve pulled up a map, there’s a tulip farm just outside the village, just head there OK and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Ok Happy… thanks.”

He ended the call and handed the phone back to the man, thanking him.

“Keep it,” said the kindly man. “You look lost, are you OK?”

“Uh…” he said, wincing as pain shot through his leg and ribcage. “Not really, I just need to lay low until my friend gets here.”

“Sure thing,” the man side without a hint of judgement. “Well take the phone. It’s basic but you can check the time and call your friend if you need.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.” Peter couldn’t believe the man’s generosity. Too good to be true, he thought. It could be another trick, he feared. Perhaps he would just use it for time and not for anything else...

Now he had to find somewhere to hide, else he’d end up back in the holding facility, or worse. Stumbling through the market and to the edge of the village, he saw an old barn on the corner of a farm. He could hide there for a while.

The barn inside was warm and dry, hay bales stacked high on either side. The best thing to have done would have been to climb to the top, out of sight, but he didn’t have the energy or ability right now.

Instead, he found a lone bale at the back of the barn and gingerly sat upon it. He looked at the phone, went through the settings and disabled the location services, cleared the cache, deleted everything on it except his last call, so as not to implicate the kind man should the phone be found. He pulled off the back cover, and the battery, and inspected it for bugs, grateful to find that it had not been fitted with a tracker or any kind of Beck tech. The man had been genuine, and Peter allowed a tear to fall in gratitude that not everything was a trick.

He text Happy. Have phone, send message when near.

The phone pinged back. Sure thing. ETA 3 hrs.

Peter hoped he wouldn’t fall asleep, wouldn’t pass out again. All he had to do was wait. He tried to lay down but found any pressure on his ribs intolerable, so resting against the wall behind was the best he could get. His leg was throbbing, he daren’t look at the damage the train had caused.

He inspected the now healing cuts on his arms and hands, but felt sharper pain on his shoulders. He gently felt along his shirt, and pulling his hand away saw fresh blood - clearly he had deeper slashes that hadn’t healed. Maybe Happy could help with that.

He felt his eyes start to strain, exhaustion beginning to take over. If I could just get some sleep maybe I’ll feel better , he thought. He set an alarm on the phone for two hours’ time, and closed his eyes, sleep enveloping almost immediately.

When the alarm went off he woke with a start, his fight or flight instinct truly kicking in as he leaped to his feet, just as he’d done in the holding cell. The pain of standing sent him tumbling to the ground, yelping out in agony, eyes scrunched in concentration as he tried to cope.

After several laboured breaths he pushed himself onto hi hands and knees. “Ok Peter, come on you can do this,” he said to himself, coughing as painlessly as he could. Deep breaths were impossible right now, but he knew he had to take them or a chest infection would set in pretty fast. Come on Peter...come on Spider-Man

Slowly, he rose to his feet and made his way out of the barn and into the harsh light. His stomach rumbled in protest, his mouth dry and tasting of blood and nausea.

As luck would have it - and by heck did he need some luck right now - the tulip fields were in the neighbouring farm, a riot of gorgeous colours that he’d appreciate more if he didn’t feel so awful. He thought MJ might have liked it, it would have made a nice place to give her the necklace. That gesture felt like a distant dream now.

His phone pinged - With you soon Pete.

Even though he’d rested, tiredness was gripping at Peter. He was beyond exhausted - mentally and physically. Pain laced every step as he staggered down one of the paths threading through the field, waiting for Happy to arrive. Suddenly, a gust of wind almost blew him off his feet and looked up to see the blessed sight and sound of the jet.

As the jet parked, Peter began to feel the black dots clouding his vision, exhaustion becoming too much for him. He’d not eaten or drunk anything for hours, and the pain only seemed to be increasing. He could feel his blood pressure dropping, his fingers tingling, the colour draining from his face.

“Peter are you OK?” said a voice from the jet. It sounded like Happy.

“Happy is that you?”

-------------

Happy had enjoyed a nice meal out with May that night and was driving home when he got the call.

“Hey, hey… I messed up… I need a ride” Peter said through the line. He sounded panicked, weary, different. Something dropped to the pit of Happy’s stomach.

“Where are you Pete?”

The teen sounded confused, then he heard the voice of another man, speaking a language he didn’t know.

“You got that?”

Happy’s phone had instantly understood the destination and pulled a map on his car sat nav.

“I’ve pulled up a map, there’s a tulip farm just outside the village, just head there OK and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Ok Happy, thanks,” the boy said, his tone still worrying.

Happy ended the calls, turned off the highway and towards the airport. Instinct told him he didn’t have much time.

It was such a good job Happy had gained his pilot’s licence a year earlier. During the blip he’d been made head of asset management just as he’d hoped, but that involved a lot of travel between the many Stark Industries bases globally. Being able to fly the Stark jet was the natural solution - he didn’t need to worry about anyone else’s availability.

He pushed the jet to go as fast as it could, wondering how the kid was, replaying the conversation in his head, analysing Peter’s frightened tone.

He’d taken many calls from Peter, but none as worrying as that last one.

He could see the tulip fields from some miles away, the strips of vivid colour a huge contrast to the green and yellowing fields surrounding them. As he went into land he saw the tiny shock of orange in the middle, and hoped it was Peter. Then again, seeing the figure was staggering, limping…he also hoped it wasn’t.

But it was him. And not only was it him but it looked like the broken shell of him. He looked dreadful. His face was deathly pale and littered with drying cuts, lips a tinge of blue as if he’d not had enough oxygen, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, limping heavily and seemingly unable to stand straight, gangly arms reaching out for nothing, as if to try to find something to steady him.

What worried him most though was the kid’s expression. This happy-go-lucky eager teenager with more energy and enthusiasm than the Duracell Bunny that Happy knew, looked terrified. And for the first time really, like the child he actually was.

“Peter, are you ok?” He called out as he came down the steps.

“Happy is that you?” The boy responded, panic lacing his voice.

“Of course it is,” he replied, stepping forward before Peter called a halt.

“STOP!” He shouted. Happy was stunned...what on earth made Peter say that?

“Tell me something only you would know.” Peter’s voice broke as he said it.

Happy looked at the boy with deep concern. The first thing popped into his head, and he explained about Peter’s venture into adult movies while in Berlin. He hoped it’d be enough.

“Okay okay stop!“ Peter said, hand reaching in front of him defensively. Then, without warning and with his head down, he staggered towards him, throwing his arms round him tightly, like someone swept out to sea clinging to a buoy. “It’s so good to see you”, Peter mumbled into Happy’s chest.

Happy tentatively reciprocated the hug, scared to touch the boy for fear of hurting him further. “Pete you gotta tell me what’s going on.”