Chapter Text
When the ringing fades, Peter’s world is agonizingly compacted and his leg burns something raw and screaming.
Blood swims to his head. He’s strapped like a fly in a web by the seatbelt cutting into his chest. The car is an oversized beetle turned over on its back, The driver-side door gnaws into his side, the metal crushed inwards, trapping him.
His hands scrabble at the handle, fingers stained red, red, red . The door clicks, but it won’t swing open.
His good leg pummels against the concave-crushed door. His air Jordans are a gift from his best friend but it doesn’t even cross his mind. He needs to get out!
The streetlamps flicker. Peter slams his foot again. The road outside plunges into darkness for a moment as the light winks out.
“If you stop,” Pitch growls, “You’ll stay stuck inside and die.”
His red Jordans crash into the door. More broken glass falls from the broken window into his hair. His eyes stream with fear and pain. God, he just wants to be back in his rickety apartment and reading his nerd textbooks about string theory, not half-crushed inside his car.
The door creaks.
“One more kick,” Pitch snarls.
Peter yells. There’s something metallic pooling in his mouth and his tongue stings. He hears a crack under his foot. An oily stench fills his mouth and nose.
“Now, crawl out, quick! If you stop you could get blown up!”
His fingers fumble at the seatbelts lock, it retreats like a snake with a click . The streetlamps flicker back on as he crashes on the road, the shattered glass twinkling over the hot road cutting into his palms.
His body is hot and raw and stinging but he moves his arms and good leg, crawling further from the wreckage. The lights around him are blurred, like fuzzy stars, but he can see the hurried silhouettes of people, and voices calling.
“He needs help!”
“Call the ambulance!”
“Holy crap - how old is this guy?”
A final flicker of the lights into darkness comes with a voice, cold and quiet but tinted with a smile.
“Good work. You live.”