Back in Black — AC/DC

Peter awoke stationary. Actually, he was moving a bit, whoever he was resting on was breathing softly. And he was jolted into consciousness fully when his head rolled off the stranger's shoulder. Looking around, he was draped in an orange shirt, and was propped upright on a bench. The room was not large, and he was behind bars.

He was sitting between three people, and looking over to his left, two people were staring back at him, wide grins on their faces. They both had flags of some sort painted on their face, and one had orange paint on their torso imitating a shirt. The one closer to Peter thankfully had a shirt on, and was wearing a matching orange bowler hat with an orange flower to accompany him.

"Hi," the man with the hat said.

Peter just stared, "Where am I?"

The man with the paint all over his upper body answered, "Municipal holding facility."

"They said they found you unconscious in the train yard?" The other man added, looking over Peter with a mixture of confusion and concern. Or maybe it was judgment. "Very dangerous."

"And we gave you the shirt because you seemed a bit cold," Peter nearly jumped out of his seat when the man to his right spoke. He was taller than the rest of them, sporting a matching orange jersey and painted face; however, his hat, which read Nederland under a Nike logo, had bull horns protruding from the top and plastic fringe imitating hair.

Peter nodded, "Thanks," He smiled politely between them, "You guys are nice. And you guys speak really good English."

"Welcome to the Netherlands."

Peter clutched the shirt to him a little tighter, "I'm in the Netherlands right now?" The slow nods from his fellow cell mates seemed to do the trick in jogging his memory. Why Peter was in the Netherlands, and why he was found in the train yard became crystal clear again, and he knew he had to get moving. His friends were in danger. "Bye!"

He nearly buckled from the hot pain in his leg, but luckily he could prop himself up on the cell door. "Guard!" He shouted, only to receive no response.

"The guard is on a break," The bowler hat man replied from behind him.

His orange-torso friend nodded, "Probably talking to his wife. She's pregnant."

"Oh yeah?" The stranger with the bull horns asked, an excited smile on his face. They started conversing in Dutch when Peter turned back to the lock on the cell door and yanked it loose. He threw open the cell door and left, but not before staring into the guard's office. To his bewilderment, the guard was wearing his stealth suit's mask, talking on the phone. Peter left the building, the words Night Monkey trailing behind him.

He threw on the orange jersey he still held as a way to disguise the stealth suit as he walked outside. The square Peter limped into was small and half-covered in hay. As he waded through the goats (and goat droppings), he glanced around at the people in the square. To his left stood a few vendors, and an older gentleman caught his eye immediately. "Excuse me, sir," Peter limped over to him and smiled politely. "Can I borrow your phone?"

The man didn't even question it, placing the phone squarely in Peter's hand. The lack of skepticism or abrasion had Peter, a native New Yorker, on the fritz. "Everyone is so nice here," He mumbled, staring down at the phone in question. But his plan stopped there. The number he itched to dial would be no use, he'd just be endangering her even more. And as much as he knew she would try, Lila couldn't help him from where she was.

He didn't know Nick Fury's personal number either, and he was too afraid to call anyone in Europe. It felt like doing so would just be lighting a beacon for Beck and E.D.I.T.H. to find. And when that thought formed, so did his answer. He dialed the number, and prayed to everything they would pick up.

He heard a click, and didn't even let them respond when Peter said, "Hey, hey! Uh — I messed up. I need — I need a ride... Where am I?" Peter turned to the man who was patiently waiting for his cellphone back. "Um, where am I, sir?"

"It's Broek op Langedijk," He responded.

Peter nodded, not at all understanding where that was. "Hang on," He spoke into the receiver before handing the phone back over to the man, "Could you say that into here?"

The man obliged, repeating their location into the cellphone, before Peter confirmed that the recipient understood where he was. Together, they formed a plan, starting with a place to meet. And within two hours, Peter had a ride.

A tulip field, of all places. The stunning colors made for a perfect meeting point, but as soon as Peter stepped into the field, neat rows allowing for easy walkways, all he could think about was Lila. He didn't think too hard about his favorite flower, but stepping into that field, even with the overcast sky, Peter completely understood why tulips were hers.

Patches of explosive color lined the fields, from yellows, to purples, oranges and pinks of different shades, they were so bright and so wonderful that it made Peter feel sick. If anyone deserved to see this, it was Lila, and the thought of Lila reminded Peter that she was in danger once again. And once again, it was his fault.

It wasn't like he meant to tell Beck about her, MJ, Ned and Betty, he was entirely deceived, but that was pointless. The end result was the same: Beck was going to kill them to protect his secret. And Peter was so far from them that he didn't even know where to begin to rectify his mistake.

The wind picked up around him, and Peter saw the small jet descend from the sky and hover almost right in front of him. His breathing picked up, and he limped over to the jet, where one man stepped down the stairs. Happy Hogan squinted seeing Peter limp closer. "Peter? Are you okay?"

"Happy?" Peter called out, not quite ready to believe anything. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, of course it's me!" Happy replied, advancing towards Peter, concern written on his face.

But Peter wouldn't be fooled again. "Stop!" He ordered, holding out his hand as an extra precaution. To his relief, Happy listened. "Tell me something only you would know!"

It must have been the fear in his voice that had Happy unquestioningly playing along. "Only something I would know," he searched, "Uh — Remember — Remember when we went to Germany? You pay-per-viewed a video in your room? They didn't list the titles, but I could tell by the price that it was an adult film at the desk, and you didn't know how I knew—"

"Okay — Okay, fine! It's you, it's you, stop!" Peter walked closer to him, the pain throbbing in his leg, and he couldn't help but grunt with each step. Happy met him halfway, and when he was close enough, Peter threw his arms around him in a hug. "It's so good to see you."

Happy hugged him back, alarmed at the display of affection. "Peter, you're gonna have to tell me what the hell's going on here." And that was all that needed to be said before Happy threw one of Peter's arms around his shoulders and took him aboard the jet. The seats were plush, and Peter began talking as Happy had Tony's AI, F.R.I.D.A.Y., begin to assess him for further injury.

Peter started from the beginning, with how Nick Fury corrupted his vacation and had begun working with Mysterio. He explained the Elementals, how they seemed to follow his class around Europe. He told Happy about Tony's glasses while extending his leg in a resting position, the plush cushioning aiding immensely in its fast healing.

The glasses, E.D.I.T.H., the responsibility they brought, and even why he gave them up, Peter left out no detail. It wasn't easy, and his recap of Berlin was infinitely harder. He was thrown through so many illusions in a single period that he was sure he forgot to list some, but he made sure to mention to Happy just how he'd been tricked into giving up his friends. Getting hit by a train felt so secondary to that fact, that he simply ended his rant with a two-sentence explanation of being struck by the train and ending up in the Netherlands.

It fell silent between them, and Happy put on a pair of his glasses while setting up a first-aid kit. The silence was thick with Peter's regret and frantic energy, but was mellowed out by Happy's reassuring presence. He instructed Peter to remove his jersey and turn around, for F.R.I.D.A.Y. had found a wound on his back that would require stitches.

Happy had to cut a little into the undershirt, but he swiftly disinfected the area and threaded the needle. Peter just sat simmering, trying desperately not to let his mind wander. But it was difficult, the person who usually stitched him up was in terrible danger, and he was at a loss. And he didn't want to be rude to Happy, but she was far better at stitches than he was. Maybe it was just because it was Lila, but Peter hardly ever noticed the pain when her green eyes offered reprieve.

Now, every poke of the needle felt like a stab in the back. Each pull at his skin set his teeth on edge, and Peter realized his brewing emotions were quickly pouring over. He was going to snap. "Ouch."

"I thought you had super strength," Happy's quiet voice came from behind him.

Another poke. "It still hurts... Happy, come on."

"Alright, relax. Just a few more—"

The next poke was the final one. Peter winced and spat, "Happy, oh my god."

"Relax!"

Peter's guilt exploded outwards, and he slammed his hand on the table before shooting upwards and yelling, "DON'T TELL ME TO RELAX, HAPPY! How can I relax when I messed up so bad?" Hot tears burned his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He watched as Happy removed his glasses, and gave Peter his full attention. "I trusted Beck, right? So I gave him the only thing Mr. Stark left behind for me. And now he's gonna kill my friends and half of Europe, so please do not tell me to relax."

The anger left him once more, and Peter's guilt ate at him as he sank into another cushioned seat. He stared at the floor and sighed, furiously blinking the tears out of his vision. "I'm sorry, Happy," his voice was much smaller. "I shouldn't shout." Once his emotions burnt out, he was left with the only thing he couldn't escape for the past year. "I just really miss him."

Happy looked at him like he understood everything. And maybe he couldn't relate to Peter's choices when it came to Fury and Mysterio, but he did resonate with the last sentence. "Yeah, I miss him, too."

"Everywhere I go, I see his face." Peter shook his head, never having felt so small in his life. "And the whole world is asking who's gonna be the next Iron Man..." This time, he couldn't help the tears that fell. "And I don't know if that's me, Happy. I'm not Iron Man."

"You're not Iron Man," Happy agreed after a beat. His voice was low and soothing, and Peter realized this was probably the most familial conversation the two of them ever had. "You're never gonna be Iron Man. Nobody could live up to Tony, not even Tony."

A fond, reminiscent smile crept up Happy's lips. "Tony was my best friend, and he was a mess. He second-guessed everything he did. He was all over the place. The one thing that he did that he didn't second-guess was picking you." Peter's throat tightened, feeling mournful and a little validated too.

And the thing that ebbed away at him for so long was eased when Happy continued to say, "I don't think Tony would've done what he did if he didn't know that you were gonna be here after he was gone. Now, your friends are in trouble, you're all alone, your tech is missing... what are you gonna do about it?"

It wasn't a motivational gut punch per se, but it did the job. The doors that had blown open and created a lot of noise in Peter's head for the past year were closing shut. And finally, it felt like Peter was aligned back in his body. He realized it was because he finally felt like he could make peace with his loss, and his role in everything that happens after. He stood and said, "I'm gonna kick his ass."

Happy blinked, and said, "I mean — I mean right now. Like specifically, what are we gonna do? Because we've been hovering over a tulip field for the last fifteen minutes."

"Right," Peter agreed, the gears turning in his mind, focusing on a plan. "I can't call my friends because he's tracking their phones. Uh, give me your phone." Peter's hand was outstretched before he'd even finished asking for his phone. Happy obliged, fishing it out of his jacket pocket and handing it over. "What's your password?"

"Password."

"No, what is your password?"

"Password. The word, spelled out."

Peter paused, "You're the head of security and your password is Password?"

"Yeah, I don't feel good about it either," Happy winced.

But Peter hardly heard his reply. He opened Instagram and found the page he was looking for, Flash Thompson's face smiling back at him. He was speaking with a horribly fake British accent, smiling about some activity he was about to do in London.

"London," Peter pointed to the screen, "They're in London."

"London, okay," Happy jumped out of his seat and headed for the cockpit.

Peter focused on the next step, "Yeah, I need a suit."

It was like a keyword was spoken, for Happy turned around and pointed at him, "Suit?" He smiled, raced into the cockpit, and flipped a switch. Behind Peter, what was once a wall opened up to show an entire back half of the plane. It was a workstation, likely one Tony had built so he could keep busy while traveling, but once again was Peter's saving grace.

A prompt asking for a hand scan was in front of him, and Peter obliged. He was immediately granted access, and he knew he had to get to work. "Okay," he said, "Um... bring up everything you have on Spider-Man."

And he got to work. He navigated the technology like he was the one who built it, and he dove into the project. He configured it specifically with the drones in mind, electricity becoming his best and most important weapon. As he was working, Happy returned to the cockpit, saying something about music. A familiar guitar riff played overhead, and Peter smiled. "Oh, I love Led Zeppelin!"

He missed Happy's wince.

                                   *****

The group waited patiently for Lila to finish putting her suitcases into an oversized locker. She ended up needing two of them, for she couldn't fit Peter's suitcase in with her own. No one seemed to question her carrying around Peter's things, likely just assuming they were her own. She managed to sneak back in to Peter's room and take everything with her, thinking he probably wouldn't want to leave all of his belongings back in Prague.

The Midtown High group had been traveling all morning, into the now early afternoon. The tickets home had been a colossal undertaking, and the best the teachers were able to do on such short notice was a flight into Brussels, followed by a trip on the Eurostar train into London. And since Lila would be the only person returning to the train station, Mr. Harrington obliged her request to leave her luggage in the station. He even offered to let her stay behind, but she refused. He wouldn't know it, but Lila knew danger was afoot, and she needed to be able to warn her classmates if anything were to happen.

The train station itself was ornate and stunning. An enormous arched ceiling of glass allowed the overcast sky to project beautiful light. It was a modernized extension of the older train station, for it connected to a building of red brick and mortar, but it married quite nicely. As soon as hers and Peter's belongings were safely stored, Lila shouldered her backpack and allowed Mr. Harrington to guide them to the exit.

"Okay, guys, the company set up a city tour, and then we'll grab a bite and head to the airport." Even Mr. Harrington sounded exhausted. No one's heart was really in the tour, for most everyone was exhausted from the excessive travel and the constant threat of danger.

Everyone, that is, except for Brad. "Is no one else gonna acknowledge how crazy all of this is?"

"Oh yeah, I get it," Mr. Dell affirmed, turning around to face him. "There's been nothing scientific about this science tour at all."

"No, no, no," Brad argued, "I'm talking about Peter. Has no one else noticed how shady he is? Because I saw him in the back room of a rest stop with some woman in his underwear, and he's always sneaking away! Like, back at the opera, huh?" His eyes were wide, and slightly delirious. "And now what, he's suddenly off the trip with his family in Berlin? Is no one else here interested in the truth?"

Michelle and Lila both shared a long, silent look. Michelle, who would seem uncaring to this whole scenario, actually looked annoyed. She minutely rolled her eyes, and Lila, well, the rage in her eyes was enough. Maybe it was the lack of decent sleep (she'd only gotten a little on the plane and train, she was genuinely exhausted), but Lila was over everyone trying to weasel their way into Peter's business. Especially those who did so to belittle him. She nodded, and Michelle followed in kind, an unspoken agreement between them.

"'The very concept of objective truth is fading out of the world.'" Michelle quoted.

Brad seemed to take this as agreement, "George Orwell. Thank you, MJ."

"Yeah, well, s-since Peter's not really here to defend himself, or tell — tell his truth, why not share yours, Brad?" Lila bit out. She didn't mean to sound so accusatory, but she was tired. And not just from lack of sleep. Brad hated Peter for no reason, and if the reason was that he liked her the way MJ thought he might, well, exposing Peter to ridicule was not going to win her over. "Why are you taking pictures of people in bathrooms or rest stops? Why d-do you think that's cool?"

"Yeah, dude," Flash, of all people, echoed. His phone was up, clearly livestreaming Brad's entire tirade. "What's that about?"

"No, no, no, it — it wasn't like that. It was... I was trying to—"

"Let's just put all this craziness behind us," Mr. Harrington interjected firmly, nodding with a smile on his face. "And have a nice, peaceful afternoon. 'Sounds great, Mr. Harrington,' said the class." With that dismissal, the class turned and headed for the doors.

A man with a sign reading "Midtown High" stood smiling on the street. Behind him was a double-decker bus, and he greeted Mr. Harrington warmly, informing him that the tour company provided a tour bus for the afternoon. Lila sighed, feeling antsy and unprepared. She couldn't shake the worry she felt for Peter, and it started to feel constricting. She, like the rest of her class, went up the narrow staircase to the outdoor seating. She filed behind MJ, who was behind Ned and Betty, and sat down. The London air was brisk, and she wished she didn't put her jacket in her backpack, but she let it keep her on edge, waiting for the driver to take them into London.

It took them through winding roads and less busy streets, finally joining traffic on the Tower Bridge. They apparently hit the lunch rush, for the cars were stop-and-go for a while. About halfway down the bridge, the bus hissed to a stop. It was about then that the breeze picked up, blowing Lila's hair around her face.

She watched as MJ stood from her seat, and leaned against the front of the bus, the tall divider keeping her from toppling over. One glance to Ned, and both he and Lila followed suit. Merely by feeling their presence, MJ finally said, "I don't like this. Something's definitely up."

Ned shrugged, "You're an F.O.S. now," was all he said, to MJ's and Lila's confusion. He elaborated, "Friend of Spider-Man. And you have to remember, just stay calm."

"She is calm," Lila argued, her voice breathy and full of jitters. "And we've n-never called ourselves F.O.S. before."

"Well," Ned replied, "Maybe — Maybe we could..."

"Why — Why haven't we h-heard from Peter by now?" Lila asked, trying to keep her voice low for Betty's sake. She was on the other side of Ned, staring out the side to get a look at London, but Lila knew she was still capable of eavesdropping. "What if — What if something happened?"

"If something happened," Ned tried to reassure her, "Wouldn't we know about it?"

The unmistakable crash of lightning sent their collective gaze to the left. Despite the already overcast sky, clouds were swirling closer and closer to the ground. In fact, a waterfall of clouds seemed to cascade down a building perched on the riverside nearby. Something indeed happened, and though they didn't know right then, Lila and her friends were moments away from finding out.

                                *****

The machine charged with building Peter's newly designed suit was working at top speed. Peter had given over his web-shooters to the machine to be updated as well, and ensured he was stocked with extra webbing for later. He merely had to sit back and observe the suit's assembly, itching for it to be done quickly so that he could change.

Happy approached from the cockpit, pocketing his cellphone. "Okay, Fury got the coded message. Your friends are at the Tower Bridge. Your boy called it the London Bridge, but I figured it out. I'm gonna go scoop them up, okay?"

Peter nodded, pleased with the plan they'd come up with. Happy could contact Nick Fury and not arouse suspicion, and with Flash having nothing better to do, his livestream had been constant in tracking their location. An easy breath left Peter, feeling like he wasn't as helpless as he initially felt.

"Okay," He replied.

"We're close," Happy stated. He eyed Peter, waiting for him to nod.

He did. "We're close," he agreed.

"How's the suit?"

Peter turned back to look at it. "Almost done."

"Good." This was the last moment the two had before Peter had to suit up, and Peter couldn't help but think he was so lucky to have Happy in his corner. But he also didn't know what would happen, and that had him telling Happy to wait, not letting him leave for the cockpit.

"Before you go," Peter said, searching through his pockets. He pulled out the lemon bracelet, entirely surprised it survived getting hit by a train, and everything else really. The words felt stuck in his throat, but he asked, "If something happens to me, could you please give this to Lila?"

Happy took it, but disagreed. "You're gonna make it back, and you're gonna give it to her yourself. You've got this."

"I've got this," Peter whispered in hopeful agreement.

"Now, walk me through it," Happy said. He was familiar with the game plan, but Peter thought maybe this was for his sake.

"I know it's illusion tech," He started, and Happy nodded encouragingly. "All I have to do is get inside the illusion. Then I can take it down, find him, and he's just a guy, so I can take E.D.I.T.H. right back."

"Right," Happy agreed, then winced. "But last time, you got hit by a train."

"True," Peter agreed, "But this time — how do I explain this? — uh — I have, like, a sixth sense?"

Happy didn't bat an eye, "The Peter Tingle. That's what you're talking about, right?" Peter's mouth shut, and his stare grew distant. He realized that May must have shared this information with Happy, and still called it his tingle. He would've sat there in embarrassment a good twenty minutes more if it hadn't been so serious. "It's not working, though. I heard it wasn't working now, is it?"

"It is working," Peter bit out, "Well, I don't know if it's working, but I—"

"Good! Okay, so you've got the Peter Tingle. That's the plan." Happy nodded, pleased with how everything went. "I'm gonna go get your friends. You get that Peter Tingle back online."

Happy raced back to the cockpit to get into position. And Peter, well, Peter was left to wait once more. The assembly was nearing completion, and Peter was running out of time to hope for the plan's success. He had to succeed. He would succeed.