The Waterspout

In Which Everyone's Domestic and Stepping on Legos Hurts

The building screams.

Maybe he does, too.

There are pillars around him, pillars of concrete slowly, painfully turning to sand one grain at a time. And he can't move. He has to run, has to get out, but he can't move--

The structure groans again. It's a final groan, a promise groan.

The building falls. He's watching it tumble towards him, aware of each grain as it falls to crush him, to drown him.

And then someone is taking his hand, grabbing him in a determined hold and pulling him out of the way. And he finds his legs do work, that he can run, run behind a smartly dressed figure leading him forward. Away from death. Away from darkness.

The building falls, but not on him. And he turns with the figure to watch it tumble, squeezing his eyes shut against the dust, but opening them again to light. And life.

And safety.

Peter opened his eyes to an unfamiliar room. His whole body hurt, so he didn't try to get out of his bed.

His memory from last night was fuzzy. He remembered being saved.

By Tony.

Mr. Stark had pulled him out of something. Multiple things. That much was clear, though all that came after the lizard-guy and the building was a blur. He vaguely remembered Aunt May's anxious tone, mixed with forced calm from Tony.

Peter rubbed his eyes and observed his surroundings. The walls in the room were plastered with posters of old movies from the 80's. Ghostbusters, Indiana Jones, and Doctor Who were only a few of the brightly colored sheets that were absolutely everywhere.

Along with posters, a solitary bookshelf held a numerous amount of Star Wars memorabilia, an impressive collection of comic books, and... was that a chrome molecular bonding set? Peter grinned. This place might be alien, but it was a bedroom he felt at home in.

After gazing around the room for what must have been ten minutes, Peter tried sitting up. His ribs groaned, but other than that, nothing felt horribly painful. He said a silent thanks to his fast spider healing.

At the end of the bed, a fresh pair of clothes had been laid out--a clean pair of jeans and a cerulean t-shirt.

Upon closer examination, the t-shirt said;

PLAN

(P+L) (A+N)

PA+PN+LA+LN

Your plan has been foiled.

Again, Peter grinned. He had a hunch as to where he was.

He stood up carefully, relieved when no headache assaulted him, and pulled on the clothes. He then walked to the door and pulled it open, stepping into a streamlined living room that could only belong to one person. One thing did seem unexpected, however; the anxious face of May Parker.

May rushed to him. "Oh Peter, hon, why aren't you in bed?"

"I'm fine May, really." He hugged her in assurance. "I'm a fast healer."

She smiled, and he could feel her relief at his well-being almost bleeding from her form. He made haste to inform her again that he was fine.

"Alright, alright. You can't blame me for worrying, though."

Peter nodded, feeling a little guilty for causing so much trouble. "Where are we?"

May laughed. "Right, sorry! We're in the Avengers compound."