A New Hero - Peter Parker (BOOK 1) | Spider-Man: Far From Home

Chapter Twenty-Seven - The Train Yard

Clara carried herself down from the aeroplane onto the tarmac, holding her new backpack on with her hands on both straps. She stopped at the bottom of the steps, looking over to Amsterdam airport a short walk away, and the expanse of runways spread out around her with floodlights baring down on her. People knocked into Clara as she stood still, looking around for the obstacle but seeing nothing but an empty space.

She made her way inside, moving through customs without a baggage check or body scan, and she found the train station hidden within the airport. She had managed to convince Edith to take her to Berlin's airport, but now Clara would need to find her own way to the last stop on the train Peter was on. 

Clara had made up her mind now; Peter was on that train.

Even if he wasn't - he was on that train because she didn't know what she would do if he wasn't.

A bustle of people moved around the platforms, and Clara was dragged along by the currents every now and then until she eventually got to where she needed to be. She had to take one more train to get to the Heerhugowaard, and to get to Peter.

She stayed standing on the train, even though the carriage was empty; apparently Heerhugowaard wasn't a very popular destination. Her foot tapped against the vibrating floor and her hand griped the upright railing, a dull ache spreading in her forearm as the painkillers she had taken began to wear off.

Soon enough the train arrived at the same station Peter should have arrived at just a few hours before. It was dark out, the air cool and crisp on the platform. It was late enough that there were only a few stragglers left stumbling their way home. Clara guessed it was early in the morning, but her body clock had been completely thrown out of whack from the past few days.

Clara scanned each platform meticulously but there was no sign of Night-Monkey. She felt a sense of hopelessness returning and her heart sunk in her chest, the air tasting bitter with her shallow breaths. Even if he had gotten off here, he could be anywhere by now. Besides, maybe she had been wrong. Maybe Peter hadn't latched onto the side of the train in a desperate attempt to cling to life. Or maybe...

Clara looked down the rails that continued away from the final destination on the route. "Or maybe he never got off." With out a second thought, Clara dropped down on to the tracks, the few feet distance feeling further than she had expected, and her stomach lurched at the sensation of falling.

Starting a jog down the railway, the track splitting of into more parking spaces for the trains, she picked up her pace, beginning to sprint as the first trains became closer. She ran from car to car, reading the nameplates next to each door to find the ones labelled 'Heerhugowaard'.

Eventually she came to a line of cars, all with the last stop listed as 'Heerhugowaard' and she heaved on the door handle for it to pop open. She was surprised when it did without much resistance, she had been expecting it to be locked. I guess not many people try to steal trains, she thought idly.

She walked from the back of the train, checking each seat, foot well, and any toilet she passed. Clara forced herself not to call out Peter's name, knowing there may be security roaming the area. It wasn't until she was halfway down the abundance of carriages that she came across the seats Peter had been resting on.

Of course, Clara didn't know that when she arrived, but she had seen the red mark smeared against the top of the seats. She moved closer, finding a torch she had stashed in the bag on her back and used it to search the area. 

On the seat was a stain of dark, dried blood. It didn't appear to be anywhere near the amount Clara had bled from her arm, let alone the amount someone would bleed after being hit by a speeding train.

Still, Clara felt a feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she knew it was from Peter. Peter had been here. Where was he now? Clara lowered herself to the aisle seat, switching her torch off, looking forward at the smear of blood on the seats in front of her, then to her left at the darkened patch.

Ten hours; that was how long it had been. Watching the shadows crossing the chair beside her as torch light passed the window, Clara could almost see Peter slumped in the seat, his body still. The image in her mind forced her eyes to mist over and she blinked away the blur.

With a light gasp, she snapped her head towards the window. Torch light – someone was outside. She ran to the exit of the train car, sliding the door across and dropping the few feet to the ground with a thump. "Who's there?" A man called out in German. She felt the light shine on her and she waited until he turned it away from her to appear.

"Entschuldigen sie!" She called back, continuing to speak in the native tongue. "I'm looking for my friend. Have you seen anyone here?"

"You're not supposed to be here." He told her.

"I know- I'm sorry, but have you seen him?" Clara stepped towards the man, stopping when he reached for something on his belt. "He's about this tall, has brown eyes, really cute, short, curly brown hair. He was wearing black."

"Ja, we found him; he was in one of the carriages."

"Is he okay?" Clara held her breath.

"He is okay - Yes." The man nodded.

A smile broke across her face, relief flooding through her. He was okay – Peter is okay. "Where is he?"

The man frowned, this situation a little bizarre to him. He shone the torch directly into the girl face, watching her shield her eyes with a bandaged arm, and squinting against the light. She didn't seem to be any harm. "Broek Op Langedijk's municipal holding facility."

With his words, she turned to leave, slipping away from view before turning invisible and heading towards the nearest streets. "Hey, wait!" She heard the man call after her. "You have to come with me – you're trespassing!"

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