Another Day

Peter awoke in his room the next morning. That's nearly all he could remember because last night was eventful as hell. Everything happened yesterday. Nothing good happened, but just about everything did. Yesterday was a test of many things Peter failed to consider in his life. He didn't think about dying. He never thought about losing. Perhaps he did, but not so seriously. It was never anything to ponder over. But it was done now. He was safe . . . as far as he was concerned.

The fact that they settled all of this in one day still astonished him. He and Natasha managed to get dozens of HYDRA agents off their asses. Maybe he still underestimated Natasha's abilities as a spy. As an Avenger. It was a matter of fate that led him to trusting her at this point. A matter of circumstances. He had to thank her. He may not remember if he did already or not, but he still had to. It was the least he could do for her.

Peter at first looked for his phone, and then realized it was sitting right in his pocket. He hadn't even bothered to change his clothes last night because he was that exhausted. The only thing he changed out of was his suit, which lied sloppily in his closet where he always keeps it hidden, not even bothering to fold it up this time. He called Natasha from searching up the recent call logs he received, hers being an 'Unknown' caller, and hit the call button. The phone started dialing.

He got up from his bed and made his way downstairs and he kept the phone pressed against his ear. Still dialing. He looked around to see if Aunt May was home, which she usually was, but couldn't seem to find her anywhere. Then Natasha's voicemail came through instead. He found that to be strange. Maybe she was very tired as well, which was why she didn't make it to the phone in time or something. Oh well. He'd try again later, or wait until she called him, which is what normally happens.

In regard to Aunt May, Peter then saw that on his call logs she called him twice last night, leaving a message the second time. Peter played the message.

"Hey Peter. I'm staying a few extra hours at work because someone else couldn't make it to their shift, so I'll get home a little later than usual. Just wanted to let you know for when you wake up and wonder where I am. Love you. Bye."

"Wow," Peter said to himself.

She was going to be just as tired as well when she got back. At least his worry was over. She was safe, too. He didn't need to panic over whether HYDRA was done with his family now. She was all he had to really even be considered family. At least after Uncle Ben. The two of them were all that mattered to him . . . and then Gwen.

He remembered the anger he felt when the agent before tried to provoke him by threatening his aunt. All Peter could remember was wanting to absolutely rip him apart. Wipe him out from the face of the earth. Obliterate him. He never felt so much hatred against another human being in his life. Not since Harry. He was glad Natasha was there to stop him before he nearly crossed the line. Yesterday was a test.

Peter found himself in the kitchen. He fixed himself what he always did every morning for the past few weeks. A bowl of a cereal. It may not be as enjoyable since he's so used to the taste at this point from eating it so much, but at least it wasn't terrible. A little sunlight seeped through the windows this morning, offering some sort of sunny weather. It wouldn't last for long of course, but at least it came at some point. Peter wasn't really a morning person for a number of reasons, but for once it didn't feel bad to experience a nice normal traditional morning where the house bathed in sunlight.

He got a bowl from the cabinet and began reaching for the box of cereal sitting on top of the refrigerator when he was suddenly halted. A familiar sensation coursed through his body once again. An uncomfortable feeling he didn't wish to feel again after yesterday. The receptors in his body went off yet again. He stopped reaching for the box, and put his hands down flat on the counter. He just stared at the space in front of him, under the cabinet and next to the fridge. Before he had time to turn around, he was too late.

He jerked himself around to find a few men standing with their weapons aimed at him. They just stood and watched as Peter desperately attempted to fight the drug that entered his blood stream from the dart that penetrated the back of his neck. He grabbed and pulled it from his neck and just focused on standing. Keep standing. But his legs grew weak. The effects of the drug kicked in crazy fast. It was gradually drowning over him as he helplessly watched the world in front of him fade away, calling to him. It started from his legs and to the waist up. His right leg was the first to give out, while his left leg tried holding itself up more. Peter grabbed hold of the counter and flailed his hands about trying to maintain himself, knocking down his bowl and spoon in the act. It was no use. He fell completely down on his bottom, his head hitting against the counter and cabinets as he slid down. With only a few more moments to see the waking world in front of him, Peter stared at his attackers; his eyes stretched open with surprise, and fear. There was nothing he could do. They got him. He lost. His eyes closed slowly, and the scene of his kitchen and the men who invaded his home turned to blackness.