Chapter Text
A strangled scream tore from Peter’s throat as his body jerked side to side before completely falling over to the side, right out of the bed.
His body landed on his side, crushing his arm against the floor while his head hit the corner of the nightstand.
Peter tried to catch his breath as best as he could. His chest burned, and now his arm and head hurt. He scrambled up into a sitting position and leaned against the side of his bed, cradling his arm to his chest, hoping it would help him breathe better.
It did, only some, but it was better then hyperventilating on the floor like he was just a second ago.
It had happened again. That stupid dream - nightmare was more accurate. He remembered the entire thing with such clarity that he knew it would be ingrained into his head forever, just as the last one had.
He need to figure what the heck was going on with him now. He did not want to have another one of those nightmares again, ever. It was time to start The Plan™️, it was officially on.
“Friday? Can I see the road?” He looked to the ceiling for her response.
“You’re legally blind, Peter,” she replied calmly.
Peter pumped the arm that wasn’t hurt into the air, his left arm, and cheered. The protocol had worked, with Friday responding ‘You’re legally blind,’ it meant he was now off the grid and not being actively recorded.
Peter jumped up, but immediately regretted it as the blood rushed to his head and he immediately crashed back down again, where he tried to use his arms to hold himself up, and regret flashing through him in an instant as he hissed through his teeth. Damn, what had he done to his arm? Or his head, for that matter?
He raised his left hand to touch his head, and realized when he pulled it back down, that his head was bleeding lightly.
He groaned in despair before sighing and slowly getting up this time, making sure to avoid moving his head or right arm too much and headed towards the bathroom in his room.
He flicked on the light, and winced at the bright light, before looking into the mirror to asses the damage. Peter’s hair was sticky and tainted with red, covering a section of his head, he tried to gently move some of it away, and saw a gash with a steady flow of blood coming from it.
“Could’ve been worse,” He muttered to himself, “head wounds typically bleed a lot, even if it’s not that big of a deal. I’m fine,” he convinced himself. He grabbed a wash rag and attempted to wipe away the blood some.
“What did my health teacher say…? Head wounds, not too much pressure, warm water? Ice? Ugh, I don’t remember,” which was odd, considering he remembered most things.
Once enough blood was cleaned away and the gash could be clearly seen, Peter opened two or three drawers before finding some gauze to wrap his head with, and he made sure to do it lightly. His right arm ached while wrapping his head, but he powered through the pain. His head was more vulnerable than his arm at this point.
But when he was finally done with his head, he let his arm sag onto the counter. The amount of effort he put into keeping it up in the first place was worrying, too.
He poked it a few times, examining the bruising patterns and pain-level, along with his ability to move it easily, and conclude he had probably just fractured it, a closed fracture at that, seeing as there was no break of his skin.
If he put it in a splint and didn’t bother it, his healing would help out and it would be gone within two/three hours, at most.
Meaning he was most likely good. Knowing Peter though, you could never be sure. He had only woken up yesterday and yet so far managed to damage his head, maybe give himself a minor concussion if he was honest with himself, and possibly fracture his arm. And he hadn’t even left his room, too!
Peter grumbled at the unfairness of life, but he caught something out of the corner of his eye just as he was about to leave the bathroom.
He looked into the mirror, leaning closer, and what he saw made his blood run cold. Two red, jagged lines, going down from the top of his chin to his collarbone on each side of his face. Stark against his now pale-white complexion.
It wasn’t just a nightmare anymore.
-
After two panic attacks, and nearly passing out, Peter eventually resolves that a) he’s never sleeping again, b) he needs to figure out what’s going on with him c) also figure out what Hydra has to do with it and d) that he’s very, very hungry. But he can’t go out to the kitchen and get anything for at least two hours. It had been only an hour away before, but then he had accidentally undid any progress it had made during his freak-out.
So that was great.
During those two hours though, he realized he could accomplish at least a few things.
Peter grabbed his backpack again before leaning over to pull out a pin that stuck out on the side of the bag, which opened the secret pocket he had there. This was where he kept his top-secret-spy-Spider-Man stuff, and Peter always felt ten times more sneaky when he opens it.
He pulled out a thick, black laptop and his burner phone, leaving the other items that were in his secret pocket alone, for now.
After opening the computer, he set out onto one of the chat logs after it had started up. The chat was empty, so he sent out;
Hombre De Arañas : Anyone on?
. . .
Dios De Las Travesuras : You’ve been missing for days.
Princesa De [REDACTED] : Dude!!! Where have you been? You’ve missed out in so much. Not to mention the memes , { AUTOMATIC DELETE }
Princesa De [REDACTED] : Whoops, forgot we couldn’t use names
Hombre De Arañas : Why are you guys on anyway?
Dios De Las Travesuras : What other reason?
Hombre De Arañas : Aww, were you guys worried about me? I’m flattered~
Princesa De [REDACTED] : Don’t let it go to your head, polla
Princesa De [REDACTED] : You know, I still don’t understand why we have to use Spanish for nicknames. You’d think it would be some forgotten language or one we made up ourselves. But no, we go with Spanish, one of the most common languages.
Peter sighed, this question had come up in every single conversation.
Hombre De Arañas : I’ve explained this too many times. It’s the only language we all know other than sign language. Though El Embaucador does have a large advantage with his hablan a todos
Hombre De Arañas : Speaking of languages, does anyone know Russian? It was one of the languages I didn’t think I’d need to learn
Princesa De [REDACTED] : Nah, sorry bro
Dios De Las Travesuras : I know all languages
Hombre De Arañas : Yeah but you don’t actually speak it, do you?
Dios De Las Travesuras : Correct. Lo siento, araña pequeño. I only bothered to learn and be fluent in three Midgardian languages
Princesa De [REDACTED] : Why do you need to know Russian anyway?
Peter briefly considered telling them the truth, but that thought was gone in a near instant.
Hombre De Arañas : No reason. Just want to learn
Princesa De [REDACTED] : Really, you’re gonna lie to us like that
Peter felt a flash of guilt bloom in his stomach.
Hombre De Arañas : Look, it’s classified. I can’t even explain over text, I just need to learn Russian
Dios De Las Travesuras : The entire language?
Hombre De Arañas : Well I only need to translate a certain phrase but I figured why not learn the whole language, you know? It could come in handy. Plus I don’t trust google translate
Not to mention the fact that Hydra spoke using Russian, too.
Hombre De Arañas : So none of you know Russian….what about Piscina?
Princesa De [REDACTED] : Puh-lease, that dufus? He only knows sign language and Spanish like the rest of us. The plebeian
Hombre De Arañas : The amount of sass in that reply. I can’t
Princesa De [REDACTED] : Hush, niño. Anyway, I used [REDACTED] ’s database and algorithms and found a reputable source for under the table Russian websites so you can learn
Princesa De [REDACTED] : Damn, can’t even say my country’s name
Hombre De Arañas : You know why. Where did you find it? Send it over por favor?
Princesa De [REDACTED] : Done
FILE RECIEVED
OPEN?
Hombre De Arañas : GRACIÁS!
Peter grinned as he clicked on ‘OPEN’, waiting patiently as it started to load. Often, any files they sent over were analyzed and put through a system to ensure no information is harmful and/or hiding anything. It makes the page load longer, but in the long run it was necessary.
“Oh thank the heavens. I owe you one, Shuri,” he mumbled as it finally opened.
Learning languages had never been hard for him, given his near perfect visual memory, but it was difficult finding places to learn languages reliably. Once he learns something incorrect, it was in his memory and it’s hard for him to replace it with the correct information.
The top of the page showed the Russian alphabet and their pronunciations, thankfully.
He could go ahead and translate the phrase from his dream/nightmare. If his auditory memory was right, and he sounded it out, the phrase had sounded something like: potamoosh-toe-ve-buyeetsa-smiertyo-ile-stradayete-svoim-neproizvol-nym-umom.
He was so screwed.
He ignored that thought and instead grabbed a small, spare notebook he spotted on the bookshelf by the wall and set out to translate the phrase, however, he ran into a bump almost immediately.
He knew what the phrase had sounded like. He really did. But one thing he did not know was the difference between an ‘o’, ‘oo’, and ‘yoo,’ sound in Russian.
All he had written was; П (у/ё/Ю?? All sound like o...or was it an a??). Which, was in fact, completely useless.
What was he going to do now? Peter couldn’t remember how certain parts were phrased together or pronounced. He would have to hear each part over again.
His blood ran cold at the thought. If he continued having the same nightmare, no matter how terrifying, he needed to pay attention to what the thing was saying. Peter didn’t know if he had the mental stability to do that, however. Or what about the physical stability, now as well. Somehow, whatever was happening in his nightmare was now transcending into reality.
Peter’s breath picked up. What would would happen if he fell asleep in front of Tony or the others? What if the thing straight-up ripped off his arm in the nightmare? How would that be implemented into real life? What if one day he falls asleep and he never wakes u -
A loud, sharp ringing interrupted his panicking spiral. His burner phone? Why was it going off? Peter tried to get his breath under control, before frowning.
He clicked the answer button, and brought it up to his ear.
“....Hello?” He hesitantly answered, pitching his voice lower just in case.
“Baby boy!!” The most annoying voice in the world exclaimed over the phone.
“Wade,” Peter sighed in a mix of relief and annoyance, “Why did you call me?”
“What? I can’t just call my fav Spider?”
Peter could practically hear his pout over the phone.
“No. You can’t,” he said bluntly, “Not so soon after I typed in the chat.”
“Okayyy, fiiiine ,” He heard Wade sigh in fake despair.
“Why did you really call me?” Peter tapped his foot on the floor next to his bed.
“Before I tell you, why were you looking to learn Russian?”
“Why should I tell you?” He challenged Wade.
“Mmmm~, just know that whatever I say will be worth your tiiiiiime!” Wade sang out the sentence.
“Always you and your stupid deals,” Peter muttered, “Alright. Whatever, you win.”
As soon as he heard Wade’s voice over the phone, Peter knew he would eventually end up telling him everything. It had always happened with anything ever, and he knew Wade would eventually do something to get it out of him.
“I wanted to learn Russia because...well, because recently Hydra - do you know Hydra? You probably do - anyway, Hydra has been messing with me. I’ve been having these, things. I don’t know what to call them but all I know is that it has a significant role in whatever they’re doing to me. And - there’s a phrase said in Russian. I need to know what it means. I can’t- I feel like I’m losing my mind already and it’s only happened twice. I need to know what it means, and maybe - if it means nothing - I’ll be able to rest my mind and I’ll know I’m overreacting. That I’m just, making it up,” Peter clutched onto the phone in slight desperation, spilling the things that have been plaguing his mind since the building first collapsed on him.
There was silence on the line for a solid minute, before Wade finally responded, his voice uncharacteristically serious.
“I can help you. I have - let’s say inside information from a certain author. Don’t worry baby boy, Hydra is going down .”
Peter could only breathe a sigh of relief.