Black Star: HYDRA War

丅𝔥เ︎я︎𝐓︎𝓔︎𝓔︎𝓷

FOR one wild moment, you wonder if you're dead. How the hell did you get from an underground secret HYDRA base that was being destroyed by a bogey to a brightly lit bedroom covered in football posters?

You pinch yourself. It hurts, which probably means you're not dead. A door to your right creaks open, and Peter walks out of it. He's wearing a new outfit and rubbing his hair with a fluffy white towel, though he freezes when he sees you.

"You're awake."

"And alive, I'm guessing? Like, this isn't some bizarre version of heaven?"

"Nope, this is real."

You push yourself up into a sitting position and motion to the foot of the bed. He sits down, tossing the towel onto a chair in the corner of the room. Your 1989 backpack is on the chair as well, and you feel a rush of gratitude towards whoever remembered to grab it.

"Where are we?"

"Mr. Rogers's friend Mr. Wilson's house, back in D.C. He said it would be safe here."

"What about...?"

"Everyone's okay, we got out of there before S.H.I.E.L.D. found us. That was yesterday. It's like 8 in the morning now."

"Yesterday?" you repeat.

"Uh-huh. We spent the night here." He points to a red sleeping bag lying on the floor to the left of the bed.

"This bed is a full, y'know. You could've used it, too."

Peter's face flushes as he glances down and mutters something about not wanting to disturb you.

"You wouldn't have been disturbing me. I was unconscious. I doubt I would've noticed."

He doesn't reply, causing an awkward silence to flood into the space between you. You decide to swim through it by bringing up a new subject.

"So, uh... is there any way for me to get cleaned up?"

Peter looks up again, and you see a little bit of what looks like relief in his eyes over the fact you've changed the subject. "Y– yeah. Sorry. The bathroom's in there." He jerks his head towards the door he walked out of. "Ms. Romanoff cleaned up your wounds last night, but there's first-aid supplies under the sink if you want to change the bandages or whatever. And since our clothes got damaged by the blast, Mr. Wilson bought us new ones." He walks over to a corner of the room, grabbing a Target bag and handing it to you.

"Thanks."

You stand up, wobbling only slightly, and go to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. It's small, but it has all the necessities. After a quick but hot shower, you replace the bandages and brush your teeth (there was a hot pink toothbrush in the Target bag). Then you change into the clothes Mr. Wilson bought you, which ends up being a plain white crop top, black athletic leggings, and dark blue Converse. Lastly, there was a small pack of hairbands in the bag, so you grab one and tie your hair into a genie ponytail. When you walk out of the bathroom, Peter is spread out on the bed, analyzing the damage the explosion did to his phone. It's not as bad as you would've expected, but the screen protector is pretty thoroughly cracked.

"Sorry about your phone," you say, wincing. "I can pay for the repairs on it if you need."

"Oh." He blinks a couple times. "Uh, thanks."

You shrug. "I brought you along, so it's kinda my fault."

"It's not your fault. You had no idea about the missile. Did you?" He does a big, overdramatic single-eyebrow raise. You laugh.