So, there's four random guys gathered around a marble countertop island in the kitchen of Parker's studio apartment. Only one of which that Parker actually knows and that one is himself. Only it's super trippy because it's less than thirty degrees, the heating unit's blown out, and these other dudes are trying to say they're also him but they're not and they need his help. He feels the kind of help they need is at the hospital, on the psych floor.
"There's no way." The short Peter is seemingly very frustrated to be here. His face is mostly indifferent with occasional angry brows that furrow over his eyes of dark brown and he's made several statements this morning about how somethings off or they just need to jump back into the book and that there's no possible way, "This guy? This dude with the freaking fake botanical forest in his open concept home and all this paper everywhere. This guy with the sad eyes and the sad words and the sad cloud that keeps swallowing all the warmth in the world is supposed to be an alternate universe Spider Man. Someone, somewhere is lying."
"Agreed." Said Parker, "I need to get to work. You all need to get out of my home and find your way back wherever you came from. The drugs your taking seem to be really nifty, but I'll pass. I've got to shower and put on some clothes so if you'll excuse me. Stay out of my fridge, don't read anything that's not already copywritten, and if you're still in my apartment when I get out, I'm dropping you off at the clinic and you're all getting banana bags."
An hour later the commode is flushing and the tall one in the tailored suit is washing his hands in the bathroom sink and then drying his hands on the hanging towel before stepping out into the living area of the apartment. Sitting at the small table next to the third and final window in the apartment with his skintight red and black latex suit he wears underneath his hazmat suit dangling his keys is Parker and the other two dudes are kind of just sitting on the couch facing the blue tinted fish tank next to the door in silence.
"If it's just you living here, why do you have so many toothbrushes?" Asked the tall Peter.
Parker stands and walks towards the front door pulling it open and shutting off the lights to his home ushering them out into the cold metal staircase because the elevator stopped working three days ago due to the impending storm that just hasn't quit. He says as he's locking the door behind him, "I use a different color depending on how I want to address the day. Blue for working on my connections with other people, green for when I'm going out on adventures and I want to be braver than I usually am, pink for days post trauma and I'm trying to work on breathing and self-healing, and the purple for days when I want to a little selfish."
The short Peter is the first one to start walking away with a frustrated, "What the fuck?"
Then Parker is brushing past the other two with a final statement before they all fall back into awkward silence, "As a writer I've learned you have to do things to remind yourself you are real when you spend so much time living in a fabrication."
Down on the busy holiday streets Parker is on his hands and knees wrapping one of his tires in a chain on the travel van he takes back and forth to work. A few taxis roll by and the occasional bus but due to the weather most people are walking so commute shouldn't be horrible today. There's smoke in the distance in the direction of the highway nearest the hospital so that means a lot of incoming traumas. More trauma, more trash. He has the job of disposing contaminated materials and this includes everything from a used hypodermic needle to a chunk of metal that was inside someone's body. Once he even had to properly dispose of a glowing worm toy a little girl held onto because it was laced in a highly hallucinogenic chemical, and he felt very disappointed as to how devastated it made her.
The hairy Peter and the tall Peter helped him do the other three chains. Then they're all in the van headed towards the hospital. Short Peter and tall Peter in the back on the scattered blankets and pillows while Hairy Peter sits in the passenger seat. The speakers are blue toothing Sabrina Carpenter radio on pandora soft and almost muffled by the sound of traveling hums. No one's talking. It's very strange. Then, after twisting and turning through the dark misty town they pull into a parallel spot outside a coffee shop three blocks away from the hospital.
"I have to park here because I'm the garbage man and people aren't allowed to know my identity." Says Parker as he steps out, pulls out the key to power down the engine and rests his spectacles on the dangling chain there on the rear-view mirror.
"That's sad as Hell." Says the hairy Peter.
Parker nods, "Yeah... it's a living."
"I thought you were a famous author." Says short Peter as he and tall Peter climb out of the back two doors of the van and shut it behind them, "Why is your apartment shitty, and your job so shitty, and your van-"
"Watch it." Sneers Parker, "Don't you dare come for Barb. She is a classic."
"Whatever. Why are you so sad? Where are your aunt and uncle?" The short Peter cries.
He looks up at them as he grabs his book bag from behind the passenger seat and throws it over his shoulder, "Why?"
"Their names are May and Ben, right?" Asks the tall Peter.
He cocks a brow, "So you do know who I am. The clinic is right there." he points over about two blocks from their street corner as they all start walking, "Leave me alone. I'm trying to finish a really important project and I don't have time."
Short Peter goes to say something smart assy and sarcastic but hairy Peter stops him. The three of them change their rout to the opposite of Parker and head towards the clinic because garbage men have to go in secretly. Through the unused tunnels of the early days of the hospital. Back in those days it was called, "Seattle Grace." since then its name has changed from that to, "Seattle Grace/ Mercy West" and now exists as, "Grey/Sloan memorial." The names changed but the underground secrets have not...
