Flower Child (Peter Parker, MCU)

A Very Happy Reunion

Back in Black — AC/DC

Peter awoke stationary. Actually, he was moving a bit, whoever he was resting on was breathing softly. And he was jolted into consciousness fully when his head rolled off the stranger's shoulder. Looking around, he was draped in an orange shirt, and was propped upright on a bench. The room was not large, and he was behind bars.

He was sitting between three people, and looking over to his left, two people were staring back at him, wide grins on their faces. They both had flags of some sort painted on their face, and one had orange paint on their torso imitating a shirt. The one closer to Peter thankfully had a shirt on, and was wearing a matching orange bowler hat with an orange flower to accompany him.

"Hi," the man with the hat said.

Peter just stared, "Where am I?"

The man with the paint all over his upper body answered, "Municipal holding facility."

"They said they found you unconscious in the train yard?" The other man added, looking over Peter with a mixture of confusion and concern. Or maybe it was judgment. "Very dangerous."

"And we gave you the shirt because you seemed a bit cold," Peter nearly jumped out of his seat when the man to his right spoke. He was taller than the rest of them, sporting a matching orange jersey and painted face; however, his hat, which read Nederland under a Nike logo, had bull horns protruding from the top and plastic fringe imitating hair.

Peter nodded, "Thanks," He smiled politely between them, "You guys are nice. And you guys speak really good English."

"Welcome to the Netherlands."

Peter clutched the shirt to him a little tighter, "I'm in the Netherlands right now?" The slow nods from his fellow cell mates seemed to do the trick in jogging his memory. Why Peter was in the Netherlands, and why he was found in the train yard became crystal clear again, and he knew he had to get moving. His friends were in danger. "Bye!"

He nearly buckled from the hot pain in his leg, but luckily he could prop himself up on the cell door. "Guard!" He shouted, only to receive no response.

"The guard is on a break," The bowler hat man replied from behind him.

His orange-torso friend nodded, "Probably talking to his wife. She's pregnant."

"Oh yeah?" The stranger with the bull horns asked, an excited smile on his face. They started conversing in Dutch when Peter turned back to the lock on the cell door and yanked it loose. He threw open the cell door and left, but not before staring into the guard's office. To his bewilderment, the guard was wearing his stealth suit's mask, talking on the phone. Peter left the building, the words Night Monkey trailing behind him.

He threw on the orange jersey he still held as a way to disguise the stealth suit as he walked outside. The square Peter limped into was small and half-covered in hay. As he waded through the goats (and goat droppings), he glanced around at the people in the square. To his left stood a few vendors, and an older gentleman caught his eye immediately. "Excuse me, sir," Peter limped over to him and smiled politely. "Can I borrow your phone?"

The man didn't even question it, placing the phone squarely in Peter's hand. The lack of skepticism or abrasion had Peter, a native New Yorker, on the fritz. "Everyone is so nice here," He mumbled, staring down at the phone in question. But his plan stopped there. The number he itched to dial would be no use, he'd just be endangering her even more. And as much as he knew she would try, Lila couldn't help him from where she was.

He didn't know Nick Fury's personal number either, and he was too afraid to call anyone in Europe. It felt like doing so would just be lighting a beacon for Beck and E.D.I.T.H. to find. And when that thought formed, so did his answer. He dialed the number, and prayed to everything they would pick up.