Peter fought desperately against three creatures at once and realized reinforcements would be useful.
Not because there were far more than three creatures in total, but because being slammed into a wall ten times apparently was not ideal for the human body.
Peter could taste blood in his mouth and was trying to determine where it came from.
Even E.D.I.T.H.
and her incredibly cool missiles were not enough.
Well, at first they had been.
Then something hit Peter’s suit and he lost contact with her.
He would have to ask Tony for another communications system, because apparently even the Iron Spider was not particularly indestructible.
Tony, whom Peter had already called, was currently on the other side of the world with the Avengers, clearing out a terrorist syndicate that had acquired alien weapons.
He was panicking very loudly and arguing with somebody.
Karen could transmit only Tony’s voice because several of her systems were damaged.
It would be great if Tony flew here immediately, of course, but he would arrive slightly too late and the terrifying things would already have eaten Peter for lunch.
Better not focus on that—especially while poisonous stingers were being spat at him.
Tony suddenly went quiet on the other end of the connection, then returned, now addressing Peter instead of yelling at Sam.
“Kid, get out of there.” Peter had not known Tony’s voice was capable of carrying that much fear.
Impressive.
“I can’t leave.” Peter tried to keep his voice from sounding as though he were bleeding to death.
He did not succeed particularly well.
“These things reproduce quickly and apparently eat people.” “I sent backup.
Try not to let them hit you.” Static crackled through Tony’s voice, probably because an enormous boulder had just struck Peter.
What backup had he sent?
Peter did not have time to think about it properly.
In the next second, several people emerged through glittering circles, and one of the monsters drove an impossibly long metal pipe straight through him.
His body shut down from the shock.
The last thing Peter saw was a man in a cloak sending sparkling shapes from his hands.
Oh God.
Were they wizards?
*** Peter forced his eyes open with a groan, hoping the battle with the strange creatures had been a dream.
The aching pain of regeneration in the side where the horrible pipe had pierced him said otherwise.
Hopefully Tony would not return until the wound had healed.
His heart was weak enough already.
Strangely, Peter could not hear the beeping of dozens of medical devices or see the white ceiling that had become familiar features of Helen’s clinic in the Tower.
If he was not there, where was he?
Peter did not risk moving.
His spider-sense and the pull of stitches across the wound ordered him to remain still.
He strained his enhanced hearing, hoping to identify his location.
Anywhere but the laboratory where those creatures had been created.
Peter had absolutely no desire to become one of the disgusting things himself.
Suddenly he heard two voices arguing.
Thank every god, one of them definitely belonged to Tony—and it was definitely coming through a phone speaker.
Further proof that they were not in the Tower.
Otherwise Tony would have used F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s speakers.
“Stark!
Of course I’m sure the boy won’t regain consciousness anytime soon.
A pipe went straight through him, not to mention multiple fractures and a head injury.” Peter was not certain what Tony said in response, but the man’s argument was already incorrect.
Peter was awake.
“I think you’re overreacting.
Even if he has regenerative abilities, all of them went into keeping him alive.
I gave him an enormous dose of painkillers.
Even with extraordinary healing, those drugs will keep him unconscious until tonight.” Peter heard the unknown man’s footsteps enter the room where he lay.
The man was still arguing with Tony.
The painkillers had clearly left Peter’s system already; the pain was quite distinct.
Peter decided to announce himself.
“Um, could I have more painkillers?” Speaking was slightly unpleasant, and Peter heard the man freeze.
“All right, he’s conscious.
And talking.
Stark, calm down.” The man approached, and Peter made himself open his eyes.
“How are you feeling?” “Well, my ribs are almost healed, my head doesn’t hurt, and the stitches can probably come out in a couple of hours.” Peter attempted a smile and felt the bruise across his face pull.
He was apparently not wearing his mask.
“Tell Tony I’m doing great.
I’ll go to school tomorrow.” “You heard him.” The man—who turned out to be the person who had appeared through the glittering circle—looked at Peter in confusion.
“I have no idea how this happened, but he appears to be fine.
I’ll call you later.” Peter studied the man, trying to remember where he had seen him before, or whether he had seen him at all.
A beard like Tony’s, a medallion around his neck, and a cloak.
He looked like a wizard.
Tony had mentioned knowing a wizard once.
That was unbelievably cool.
A sharp burst of pain meant regeneration had begun repairing his torn organs, which interfered with his study of the actual wizard.
Peter tried to hide it, but the man apparently noticed.
Fine.
He had a right to be in some pain at the moment.
“I wasn’t joking about the painkillers,” Peter managed, already developing a personal hatred for his kidney.
Why were kidneys always the most painful organs to grow back together?
“There’s a first-aid kit in my room with special ‘super-kid narcotics’—that’s what Tony calls them.
It would be great if you could get those.
Or inject me with something in a dose meant for two elephants.” Peter would have experienced a full attack of fanboy excitement when the man performed actual magic, pushed his arm through a portal—Peter had watched enough Harry Potter to recognize one—and pulled out the pills, if not for the mildly excruciating sensations in his side.
While waiting for the medication to work, Peter noticed something else.
The Iron Spider went over his ordinary clothes, but when the pipe had gone through him, his shirt should have been torn.
Yet he was lying there in an intact shirt and pants.
Peter was certain one of the creatures had shredded his ankle with its claws as well, but the pants were completely undamaged.
Not even bloodstained.
He blamed magic, because that was obviously the explanation, and finally turned his attention to the man sitting calmly in an armchair beside him, typing something on his phone.
Peter tried to sit up and was delighted when he succeeded.
“Those creatures—did you defeat them?” He wanted to ask where they were, what the wizard’s name was, and approximately one million questions about magic, but this was more important.
“Yes.
Wong and I sent them to the bottom of the ocean.” Peter suppressed an awed exclamation and felt extremely proud of himself for managing it.
“You’re sixteen, survived all those injuries, and you’re both Stark’s son and Spider-Man.
An interesting combination.” Peter sensed something strange when the man mentioned the injuries.
Many people might envy Peter’s healing ability, but there was something peculiar in this man’s voice.
As though saying it aloud forced him to break something inside himself.
Peter recognized that feeling.
“You’ve clearly heard a lot about me.” Peter smirked.
Everyone knew who he was now—except for the Spider-Man part.
“Your face seems familiar, but I can’t remember your name.
Who are you?” “Doctor Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme of Earth.” Peter immediately remembered seeing a report about him on the news.
Right.
He had suffered severe damage to his hands.
Evolving from brilliant surgeon to Sorcerer Supreme of Earth—whatever that meant—was certainly impressive.
“And if you are about to make a Hogwarts joke, don’t.” Peter smirked without feeling the bruise on his face pull.
The painkiller had worked.
Shame.
He had really wanted to ask about Hogwarts.
Fortunately, he remembered another important question.
“Hey, Mister Doctor, where are we?” Since he had already decided to annoy Earth’s Sorcerer Supreme, why stop?
“And why are my clothes intact?
Also, I’m a little worried about the Iron Spider.
And perhaps the most important question: Tony isn’t flying here, is he?” “We are in the Sanctum Sanctorum in New York.” Strange ignored the ‘Mister Doctor.’ “I possess the Time Stone, so I restored both your clothes and your suit.
And no, Tony is not flying here yet.
They encountered complications.
He said he will come tomorrow morning.” Peter exhaled in relief and leaned back against the bed.
Exhaustion suddenly crashed over him.
Perhaps he needed a little sleep.
Three years or so.
*** By the following evening, Peter was sitting at a table with a crowd of Avengers, Tony, Pepper, and Doctor Strange, and the entire experience already felt unreal.
If the wizard had not been there trading sarcastic insults with Tony, Peter might have doubted it had happened at all.
Human-eating monsters, magic, Time Stones.
And this was his life.
Wild.
In the end, only one thing truly surprised Tony: the pompous wizard showed no reaction whatsoever when Peter called him “Mister Doctor.” Yes.
The kid really did have a talent for making everyone like him.