Chapter Text
Peter couldn’t stop coughing up dust.
Which, honestly, was not the best thing to happen to you when you wake up in an alleyway.
It wasn’t even, like, normal dust like that time he got buried alive under a building and he threw up dusty vomit. It was straight up gray dust that he’s like 87% sure used to be his internal organs. The whole snap and dust that Thanos had done seemed to have some real weird side effects.
Like the alleyway. This looked like Earth, it smelled like Earth, it sounded like Jersey for some reason, but it was definitely not Earth because why the hell would he get beamed up only to get snapped back?
Peter coughed again, a small cloud of what he’s pretty sure is his currently restructuring small intestine came floating out in front of his face. Damn, that looked like the world’s crunchiest vape hit.
Okay: situation check.
Body? Mostly regenerated, still missing a few fingernails and half his ear.
Dust? Covered in it and still coughing it up.
Suit? More than a little raggedy, but intact and with nanites patching it up.
Senses? Mildly haywire, telling him there is danger everywhere, but then again, he was in space ten minutes ago.
Overall? Actively improving with every dusty exhale.
“What the fuck?” He said, remarkably not that hysterical considering his current situation. “What the fuck ?!”
Aunt May would absolutely be telling him off right now if she heard him swear, but that isn’t his priority, even if he really wished it were. His priority was…
What was it that Happy had drilled into him? Water, shelter, fire, food. Wait, no: shelter, water, food, then fire. Rule of threes: 3 hours in bad weather, 3 days with no water, 3 weeks with no food. Then multiply that by three because Parker Luck meant that Peter’s metabolism burned through everything three times as fast.
“Okay,” He said, exhaling a bit of dusted kidney. “Okay. Get shelter.”
Peter shakily stood up, using his stickiness and the graffiti-covered wall as leverage. Ugh, his legs feel like they’ve been torn apart molecule by molecule and then put back together– oh wait.
“I should’ve stayed on that bus.” Lie, Peter should have been faster and stronger and actually gotten the glove off of Thanos’ hand, but being lazy was the other option. “Should’ve let Ned hand me the blue switch controller. But nooo, I had to get myself abducted.”
His legs nearly collapsed under him when he tried to walk, so Peter made the executive decision to climb instead. Climbing sheer surfaces was easier than walking nowadays, thanks to the corrupted super soldier serum running through his veins.
Thanks, Dad, for hiding that little science experiment in your toddler son’s pet tarantula. Sure, it definitely did hide the finished serum from the HYDRA agents who hunted his dad down, but it meant that Peter had a really bad weekend between his pet spider, Jam, biting him and giving him superpowers, and Jam escaping his tank and running away. Jam, a superpowered tarantula, was out there, somewhere, wandering New York, and maybe, actually, Peter should have told someone about him.
Peter collapsed on the roof of a random building in the random state of Jersey and thought about that for a second.
Shit. He probably should have told Mr Stark or Aunt May that the radioactive spider he said gave him his powers is still on the loose. Hmm, a problem for when he got home. Somehow.
Roof. He is on the roof. Is this shelter?
…Did he hit his head?
He coughed again, and another crunchy gray cloud of dust floated out of him. Or maybe that is his brain regenerating. There is a pounding in his head right now.
Holy shit, what if his superhealing was stronger than the snap and the dust just floated around forever until Peter rebuilt himself? Maybe that’s why he’s in Jersey!
A horn blared from below, furious shouting fired back at the impatient driver with a road rage that made New Yorker Peter Parker flinch.
Or maybe this is just hell.
Oh my god, hell is in Jersey.
He’d connected the two dots!
Gunshots went off below, almost like the road rage drivers had escalated into attempted murder.
He nodded solemnly, feeling a little bit drunk like that time MJ dared him to drink hand sanitizer. He connected the dots.
What was he doing? Oh! Shelter, yes.
Peter squinted at the starless night sky. A roof isn’t shelter.
He should probably try another roof, or an empty building. Those usually have shelter. Peter needed shelter and a nap, and hopefully some water soon, because coughing up dust for half an hour straight was absolutely killing his throat.
Eventually, with only six more coughing fits and the slow recalibration of his brain, Peter did manage to make it to the next rooftop over. Then again, and again, and again.
He had no idea why Jersey’s rooftops are so easy to hop between. Or why they had so many gargoyles and grotesques, and other stone statues. He felt like they were about to come to life and send him spiraling to a random point in history.
He squinted at one statue. Exaggeratedly slow, he blinked. The gargoyle didn’t move.
Okay, he’s safe, the statue wasn’t secretly a weeping angel.
On his eleventh rooftop, he struck gold. He also struck his funny bone on the landing, and he briefly considered making this his thirteenth reason before logic won out. If fighting a purple alien on a different planet didn’t count as his thirteenth reason, then his entire arm buzzing with invisible ants in his bones shouldn’t either.
The building was abandoned, more or less. It was definitely dilapidated, and there was no sound from any water running through the pipes, and he couldn’t even hear the buzz of latent electricity. However, Peter’s pretty sure there are a few homeless guys on the third floor, based on the sound of shuffling and muttering.
Jackpot.
Using just a little bit of his enhanced strength, Peter yanked the rooftop access door open and slunk inside.
It was dark, musty, moldy, and also crumbly. Still, it was shelter, and Peter would reluctantly trust that his healing factor wouldn’t let him get mold in his lungs alongside the dust.
It’s cold, but still somewhat warmer than outside, which had been freezing, but Peter’s body hadn’t recovered enough to actually feel it. Now that he had found a corner of an abandoned building to curl up in, and his brain seemed to have mostly returned, his body remembered the concept of shivering.
Teeth chattering, Peter curled up in what used to be someone’s bedroom. It was all trashed, but it was like nobody had ever come back. Like everyone had abandoned the building in a hurry overnight.
He wondered if that was what happened when you got dusted on Earth.
Was he in the bed of someone who had died because of him?
He didn’t know, and as much as he did care, it was just too cold for him to continue caring.
He just needed to sleep. Just a quick nap, just until he had ten fingernails and two full ears back.
Peter could care again in the morning, but right now, it was time to recover.