String Theory

Chapter 5

"Good." Bucky gives Peter's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and stands. "Text me anything you want, and I'll see if I can get my hands on it."

"Are the grocery stores already... y'know, working?" Peter asks, tilting his head. "I thought we were supposed to go to relief centers for food."

"New York's up and running already. Rest of the states are in shambles, but NYC's back to business as usual." Bucky shrugs, stopping in the doorway. "Can't keep the big city down, I guess."

That's the NYC Peter knows and loves. He nods a little, and Bucky offers him a wave. "Smell you later, punk."

As soon as Bucky's gone, Peter showers. He's stuck thinking about the message the two of them had seen the other day. COME HOME is still burned into his brain. The lab hasn't changed a bit since he turned the papers to read HELP ME , and he wonders if there was any point to it. Maybe the message was a trap, or some sort of trick. A wistful part of him wonders if he's a ghost, but this isn't like any afterlife he was ever taught about, and the idea is quickly cast aside. After they changed the papers last night, he and Bucky had messaged Galahad, who told them that he'd catch a plane to New York as soon as he could. He and his partner should arrive at the compound sometime today.

When the thoughts about the message get too intense, Peter instructs Karen to blast a random playlist at full volume. What results is a half-choreographed shower jam session to The Beat'sSave It For Later , complete with a solo into his shampoo bottle and an embarrassing slip on the slick tile during the final act. It makes him feel a lot better, and Karen compliments him on his singing voice, which makes him blush a little. When he's done, Peter gets out and rummages through the drawers to get dressed. He's disappointed to find that there's nothing left in there that'll fit him decently for the day's wear, so he drips his way towards the other rooms in the compound, towel around his waist, humming as he goes. The next two rooms on the left only have workout clothes for women, and he considers trying them on anyway — hey, he's desperate. When he gets to the second room on the right, however, he's pleased to find the drawers are full of clothes his size.

After he towels off and changes into jeans and a hoodie, he inspects the room. It looks decently lived in. The comforter is wrinkled, the walls are painted a soft blue, and there's a backpack hanging off the back of the desk chair. Chemistry homework is spread out across the desk, along with some schematics labeled WEB FLUID 5.2.

Peter squats to investigate the backpack, but before he can unzip it, his hands start to tingle. The lights overhead flicker briefly, and Peter looks up, wary. His senses tune in. He can hear everything — the buzzing of the electricity through the walls, the rain leaking through the window in the next room, the door that just clicked shut on the other side of the house.

Someone's here.

It's not Bucky. His hair wouldn't be standing on end if it were him. Peter rises slowly, peering out of the door and down the hallway. His heart is thumping steadily, and he tiptoes his way towards the lab, hoping to get downstairs and grab one of the gauntlets to defend himself, should the intruder be hostile. When he gets to the end of the hallway, he can clearly see the silhouette of a man in the kitchen. Peter goes very still. In the dreary morning light, the man looks almost like a specter; he's standing at the kitchen countertop, holding Peter's phone and scrolling through the messages. The phone backlights the man's face enough for Peter to see that the lower half of his face is covered with a muzzle. On his neck are three digits, and despite the distance, Peter can read them: 018.

He holds his breath, edging slowly towards the first step on the staircase. This movement doesn't escape the masked man, who looks up sharply. As soon as his eyes land on Peter, he tosses the phone down on the countertop and strides towards him. Peter dashes down the stairs two at a time and skids to a stop at the door, muttering "crap!" as he tries to input the lab's 4 digit code. 018 is already at the top of the stairs. Peter yanks the glass door open and darts inside, then shuts and locks it behind him. It won't do much, but it'll slow the man down. Peter backs away from the glass as 018's feet appear on the staircase. "Karen, what's the best kind of weapon in here?"