May 2012

Peter's mind couldn't start to comprehend what was going on. One moment it was the end of the world, the next he awoke to a completely different kind of chaos. How could he have ended up in 2012 when he had just witnessed the entire reality shatter in front of his very eyes?

He didn't know what was true anymore. Was he dreaming? Was his brain imagining some kind of fantasy in its last moments?

Peter felt sick to the stomach, the state of extreme confusion he was in bleeding onto his physical body. He could feel the air that was so distinguishably New York filling his lungs with every breath he took. Feel the pebbles on the rooftop digging into his bare feet through his suit. Hear the commotion of chaos many stories down below.

Yet, he doubted the reality of it. The events on Titan were still so vivid in his mind. He could remember every second of the fight. If he just closed his eyes he could see Thanos deliberately raise his fist towards Strange in the final moments of the encounter, impervious to the knowledge his choice would lead to. Peter's mind was filled with the sound of the metronome ticking as he stared into Tony's unblinking eyes, blood oozing from his mouth, gurgles coming from a giant hole in his guts -

It couldn't have been a dream. It just couldn't. Tony had always seemed immortal, as if his charisma and brains alone could be armor against anything. Peter couldn't have imagined him leaving in such a horrific way.

He wasn't able to stand the solitude of the roof anymore. He needed to see people - anyone, really - just to make sure that his mind wasn't tricking him, that he was indeed back on Earth. Peter got back down in his alley, only half aware he was doing so.

All the while, the deafening rumble the universe itself made as it split apart was ragging through his ears, for him alone to hear.

It's in a daze that he walked out in the open. The street was in an advanced state of destruction, the likes of which Peter had rarely seen, even as Spider-man. The asphalt was broken open in many places, revealing the dirt underneath it. One of the holes was so deep that a punctured water pipe was spreading its content out on the street. Cars were turned upside down; some smoking, some others outright burning. Entire pieces of buildings were scattered on the ground, leaving gaping holes where edifices should have been plain. People were evacuating buildings briskly, some even running, all headed in the same direction, following policemen's instructions. Some were crying, some clearly panicking, while others were just too shocked to utter a single word.

But none of this had captured Peter's attention. As soon as he emerged from the alley, his eyes had locked with the bodies laying strewn on the ground. There was a massive number of them. Without realizing it, Peter took a few steps towards them, before his legs gave out under him. If a few seconds ago he was still doubting about being somehow back in 2012, he wasn't anymore. The sight of the dead bodies had all but sent his mind back to Titan and the consequences of their defeat. Because this - this scene right in front of his eyes - looked like the end of the world if anything was. So many people had died because of him. Because he had failed to take down a single person.

Sobs he could no longer contain escaped him as realization hit him full force. He saw the universe collapse. He saw people die, Tony amongst them. But just how many didn't he see? His Aunt. His friends. People he knew, and people he didn't.

The entire human civilization. And trillions of others.

Billions of years of history and evolution and creation, of mysteries uncovered and mysteries yet to be found. Potential to improve, evolve and become more. All stolen in a snap.

His sobs were uncontrollable, just as his emotions were. If he had been in his right state of mind, he would never have allowed himself to break down like he was in public. But as things were, he was definitely not in his right state of mind. He wasn't even aware people had stopped to stare at him, asking him if he was ok.

He was oblivious. His thoughts were stuck on Titan, and the bodies in front of him were the victims of his mistakes. He could only see that one person in particular whose abdomen was pierced by a steel rod. Gurgles were coming from the wound as the metronome ticked the rhythm, his glassy eyes looking at nothing, and Peter pressed on his rib cage and pressed and pressed and pressed -

It was more than he could handle. Peter spasmed forward and threw up bile, his excess emotions finding a way out of his body. Confusion. Loss. Despair. Half supporting his weight with his hands, he clenched them, scraping his knuckles on the asphalt. He didn't even feel it. He closed his eyes shut, heaving, thick tears slipping through his lids. A long wail escaped him. He tried to make it as quiet as possible; but he couldn't keep it inside.

'You're a good kid, Peter. I'm sorry it has to end that way.'

"Are you alright? Where are your parents?"

A hand set on one of his shoulders. Taken by surprise, Peter reacted reflexively. In a blur of motion, he kicked the person kneeling by his side in the chest, jumped on his feet and backed off several paces... until he tripped on his suit and landed on his buttocks. The shock snapped him back to the present. He found himself looking at a policewoman who was staring back at him with surprise, in a position similar to his.

Peter glanced around him. He took in the crowd of curious onlookers who had gathered around them. The more faces he assimilated, the more he was aware he was making a spectacle of himself. He felt exposed.

The woman got back onto her feet and approached him more cautiously this time, as if reflecting after every single step she took whether the next one would startle him away.

"Don't worry honey, it seems to be over now. Are you ok? What's your name?" she asked, her voice coated in the softness typically reserved for when addressing children.

A growing anger replaced the embarrassment. Everyone's attention, even the policewoman's, was turned on him. On him. Instead of checking on the people on the ground. Maybe it wasn't too late for some of them, and they still could be helped. People shouldn't be wasting their time on him. Abashed, Peter could only look back and forth between the bodies and the woman, not trusting himself not to explode on her if he opened his mouth. He was hoping the gesture in itself would convey his thoughts well enough. It did not.

"They won't hurt you anymore, it's ok."

Hurt me?

That's when Peter saw the bodies for what they really were for the first time. Chitauri. Dozens of them, laying amongst the wreckage of their own wagons.

Well. That would explain the general lack of empathy for them. Peter cooled down immediately. He was still lost and confused, but even in this state he could understand he overreacted. Deep down, he even felt relieved. The woman extended a hand to Peter.

"I'll help you find your parents."

Peter got back onto his feet by himself, refusing her help. He shook his hands in denial.

"N-No, I'm fine."

Peter felt almost attacked by the youthfulness of his voice. It sounded so small, so fragile, even to his own ears. And now that he was standing and looking around him, he felt even smaller, crushed by the height difference between him and the other adults staring at him.

To prove his answer to the policewoman, Peter wiped the tears and the snot of his face. Then almost chuckled. The gesture was so childlike, he couldn't make anyone believe he was fine. Hell, he himself knew he wasn't. The end of the world was still playing over and over in his mind; he had just pushed it at the back of it to handle the more pressing matters.

In a way, he felt grateful for the woman's intervention as it helped him escape from the ever going train of his thoughts. But he was now all too aware of how scrutinized he was by the crowde who had gathered around him. Of course. A kid wailing loudly on the ground, only half dressed in a weird suit many sizes too big on him was definitely bound to attract stares. Already feeling extremely uncomfortable for being in a body that was not his own, the focused attention of people around him felt too much.

"Come on - "

Peter didn't let the policewoman finish.

"Sorry for pushing you."

He then allowed his instincts to kick in and bolted away, dodging all too easily the few onlookers who had not been too surprised by his unexpected run to try to grab him. As much as he had needed to see people when he first came down, he now wanted privacy more than anything else. Sure enough, some people started to follow him. For all his frantic run, it was a miracle Peter didn't trip once on his suit. He dove into the first alley he came by and all but jumped onto a wall, scrambling it as fast as he could and stopping only when his pursuers' footsteps came too close, so as not to attract their attention. Holding his breath, he watched them from above go forward without ever looking up once. The police woman was at the lead, signaling in her radio a "missing boy". Great. Obviously no adult in their right mind would leave a child unsupervised, especially on a battleground. But Peter wasn't really a kid and he surely didn't need a "wanted" poster of himself plastered all around the island. As the last person exited the other side of the alley, Peter resumed his climb at a slower pace. Once on top, he crossed the roof, running, and jumped onto the next building. And then the one after. He kept going from building to building, putting more and more distance between him, his thoughts and his good-willed assailants. He only stopped when he reached a building that had no other building close enough that he felt confident to safely jump onto. Not only was his suit really starting to bother him, but he had noticed throughout his parkour that his strength seemed diminished. Allowing himself to breath, he sat down, a bit concerned that this run had him winded.

Peter wasn't sure if he was actually in 2012 or if he was dreaming it all. But if he was, it felt all too real. Peter pushed back down the dread that was threatening to rise again; no matter which situation was the correct one, both were too much for him. But there was no way he was pulling another break down like the one he had earlier. The emotions were still vivid, lurking just below the surface, waiting for the right trigger to run loose. But he wasn't having it again. Not ever. He had hated to feel exposed and not in control of himself, letting his emotions blind him so much he wasn't able to perceive correctly the world around him.

All right, focus, Pete. If he was indeed in 2012, he might as well make the best out of it. And if he was not, well... At least that would keep him busy until whatever was supposed to happen happened.

First thing, he needed to tell Pepper about Tony's death. He didn't feel ready. How was he supposed to announce to someone that the love of their life was dead? He wanted to spare her the gruesome details. But he knew she would want to know everything, and he wouldn't have the ability to say no.

So, the question was: if this was indeed the battle of New York in 2012, where could Pepper be? It seemed to be the end of it. Peter didn't remember hearing any fighting raging in the city since he woke up. And if the dead Chitauri were any indication, Tony must have sent the nuke in space alrea-

Peter facepalmed really hard, the movement clashing with the big smile that suddenly sprung on his face at the obvious realization.

If he was in 2012, then Tony was still alive.

He didn't have to tell Pepper about Tony's death, because it simply hadn't happened all together. Instead, Peter could go straight to Tony to warn him about Thanos. That way, they would have a decade to prepare. A full decade. That was enough time to really plan out an assault; not one with a random team composed of a wizard, an engineer (but the coolest one) and a spider, but the real deal. The whole Avengers team. The core members, and the more recent additions. Damn, they could even get non-members all together, like the Black Panther or Ant-Man. Together they had a chance. Together -

A sombre thought crossed Peter's mind, casting a shadow over his optimistic projection.

This was 2012. In 2012, Peter was 10 years old. At this age, he definitely didn't have his powers. And yet, here he was. So if he was different, what proof did he have that everything was as it was in his memories? How could he be sure that Tony was alive?

The small bubble of hope that had formed in his heart popped, releasing only a heavy anxiety that settled on his stomach.

Dammit useless brain, thanks for overworking again.

Peter needed to know. It was that lack of knowledge, that doubt, that drove him back down in the streets once more. He felt almost betrayed at the idea that he could have been sent in the past only to see his short-lived hope to meet with Tony again crumble once more. To have his chance to see him, even just one last time, taken away before he could even register the idea entirely. A part of him felt stupid for feeling so distressed when he didn't even know if he was dreaming. But he just couldn't help it.

He had to ask someone; his dead phone couldn't deliver the answer to his question. But the part of the city he was in was deserted. There was something eerie in walking along such a lifeless avenue. It never was that still. Even at night, the city was swarmed in movement; something was always happening. But not here, not now. The billboards and the TVs on display in stores were broadcasting nothing but the pitch black of a turned off screen. The power must have been cut.

Amplified by the silence, muffled cries in the distance caught Peter's attention. His feet took their direction automatically. They were coming from a teared opening in a building, a few stories above the ground. Since no one was around and his spider-sense was silent, Peter scaled the edifice and entered it at the appropriate floor. He found himself in an open space office with a good portion of the ceiling collapsed, revealing several stories above. Someone was trapped underneath the rubble, completely hidden from view.

"Hello?" asked Peter. He tried to lower the pitch of his voice as best he could. "Can you hear me?" The result wasn't really convincing.

"Oh my God, thank you!" a man replied, relief flowing strongly in his panicked tone. "Yes, I can hear you! I need help, I'm stuck and I can't move—"

Helping people who couldn't do it for themselves was routine. Peter unconsciously took comfort in the familiarity of the situation: the fact that he was finally somewhat in control of something helped ground him. He pushed aside his own worries and switched into Spidey mode.

"I'm gonna need you to calm down. Can you do that for me? I'm gonna help you."

"Alright, yes, I - alright. Thank you," the man panted in reply. He didn't seem to question him.

Peter grabbed his mask. Even though he'd already been seen by a bunch of people in his half suit (and to his distaste, probably filmed), Peter didn't entertain the idea of using his abilities bare-faced in front of a stranger. If he were indeed filmed, and the video ended up buzzing on internet, the man would most likely recognize him anyways; but habits die hard. Peter put his mask on his head without great expectations and, sure enough, the lenses were completely opaque. He took it off with a sigh. That'll teach him for making a suit relying entirely on technology.

He did have another idea though... One that gave him a small lump in his throat. Peter took a last look at his mask, making sure to commit to memory the appearance he already knew by heart, then flipped it over. Better be quick about it. Without giving himself time to second guess his choice, Peter ripped his mask in half, from the back of the neck down to the top of the head. He tied the remainder of it in a half mask, hence covering the lowest half of his face. It was the best he could do.

Thus attired, he walked to the pile of rubble the man's voice came from.

"What's your name?"

"Jack."

Peter located where Jack's head must be.

"Jack, I need you to tell me. Are you hurt somewhere? Is anything crushing you?"

"N—No, I'm fine. I'm below a desk, but I'm stuck and I have very little space to move."

"Ok, things are looking good. I will remove the debris. Tell me if anything moves around you."

"You can actually do that?"

"Wait and see."

Peter got to work, reassured that his chances to accidentally crush Jack were pretty low.

"Is anyone else in the room with you?" asked Peter.

"I don't think so. Everyone evacuated, but I was too scared to move from below my desk... Serves me right, I should have gone with them."

"Don't be too hard on yourself. A space invasion is always scary for some reason."

"So that's what it is? Aliens?"

"Yup."

"Oh. Wow."

"Yeah. I know. It seems to be over now, though."

"Good."

Peter worked in silence for a bit. The bits of ceiling were heavier than they looked at first. Dammit.

"Hey Jack... You don't happen to have a smartphone by any chance?" Peter asked in a huff.

"I do, but I can't reach it, so I couldn't call for help."

"Once I get you out, can you quickly look something up for me?"

"Dude, if you get me out of there, I'll do whatever you want."

"Awesome, thanks."

Soon after, Peter had removed the last obstacle to Jack's freedom. A man in his early twenties wearing a dusty suit emerged from his former prison.

"Thank you so so much, man. I don't know how much longer I would have stayed in there without you—" Jack stopped dead in his tracks and stared at Peter. "Wow. That's a look."

"Come on man, you've seen a lot of weird things today. I'm sure I'm not the weirdest."

Jack shrugged, dismissing the matter, and reached for his phone.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. What is it you need to know?"

"Is Tony Stark alive?"

"Give me a sec'," Jack said, typing furiously on his phone. He gave his answer a little while after. "Apparently he is. Twitter says he's been spotted two minutes ago in a... shawarma place? No idea what that is though."

Relief flooded through Peter, washing away a huge weight off of his stomach.

"Wow, dude, thank you so much!"

"You're welcome?"

"That's the place on 39th street, right?" Peter asked, wanting to make sure his memories were correct.

Jack checked his phone once more.

"Seems like it is."

"Great. Thanks a lot, really!" Peter slowly started to walk back towards the hole in the wall, still facing Jack. "Well, I should get going. Can you make it on your own from now on?"

"Yeah, I should be alright."

"Awesome" Peter said, giving him a thumbs up before turning away.

But as he reached the opening, he stopped.

"Uh... Jack? Can I ask you one last thing?"

"Yeah, of course."

Peter wasn't sure if it was worth asking, but Jack seemed like a good enough guy that it just might work.

"Could you like... Don't tell anyone about me? Keep it a secret?"

"I told you. I'll do whatever you want. You saved me, that's the least I can do," Jack replied with such a sincere tone that it surprised Peter.

"Wow. Thanks. That's— Thanks."

With that, Peter jumped out of the building, an audible gasp from Jack resonating behind him. He slowed down his fall short of hitting the ground by sliding slightly less sticky than usual hand and foot against the façade, and took off at a run as soon as he landed. The shawarma restaurant was no more than five blocks away.

Meeting Jack had lifted Peter's spirit. So far the events seemed to unravel like they were supposed to, which meant that, right now, Tony was celebrating their victory against Loki with the other Avengers. Peter had to tell them about Thanos as soon as possible. But he had no idea how to break it down to them, even less make them believe him. He himself had had a hard time realizing how serious the threat was until it was too late; but he had to try nonetheless.

The idea of facing the whole Avengers team was quite intimidating to him though. Apart from Tony and Natasha, Peter had never really met any other members. He briefly talked with Cap a few years ago, back in Germany; but that was it. He only had had a few glimpses here and there of Hawkeye. He had never seen Thor or Hulk. And even if he did train with Natasha for a few sessions, they had never talked long enough for them to become remotely close — if such a thing was possible with her to begin with. She was scary.

And here he was, completely disheveled, with a crazy story to tell.

Yup, they would totally believe him, no doubt.

Peter gritted his teeth and shook his head. He couldn't go in there completely discouraged. The stakes were too big. He had to convince them, there was no other way. One thing he could do was to at least change clothes. Not only would he attract less attention (and be less recognizable at that since the 39th street seemed to be populated), but it would make him look more normal. More believable.

He tried really hard to convince himself about that last part.

A deserted self-service Laundromat caught Peter's eyes, its glass doors left wide open. He reluctantly stepped inside, trying not to think too hard about what he was about to do. The occupants must have fled with everyone else, leaving their belongings behind. Peter started to rummage through drums after drums of dryers, trying to find clothes that would fit him. He didn't want to steal, but desperate times called for desperate deeds. He ended up settling for the smallest hoodie and sweatpants he could find. They still looked oversized on him. As he was tying his pants as tight as he could, he walked to the counter and looked for a pen and paper. He teared it in smaller pieces, wrote "Sorry for taking your stuff :(" on each of them, and disposed them near the concerned dryers. It did not lessen his guilt by any means; but that was the least he could do. He put one more note near another dryer for a pair of socks, and kept the last one for a backpack he spotted. He would not leave his suit behind, even if it was rendered completely useless. Almost ready to leave, Peter turned the backpack upside down to empty its content. Amongst the various objects that fell was a pocket mirror, which opened as it made contact with the ground.

If time hadn't stopped, then it felt just like it did.

Peter stared at his reflection, frozen. The image the mirror was reflecting back to him... No... It couldn't -

He needed a bigger mirror. Fast.

Peter rushed to the bathroom. Without thinking, he scaled the wall to reach the too high-positioned glass and -

There it was.

His face, but not quite. It was his traits alright; he could recognize the shape of his nose, the fullness of his younger face cheeks. But the colors were off. His hair was blond instead of his usual brown. Wide blue eyes were looking right back at him. Even his skin looked a shade lighter.

It was like staring at a pale copy of himself.

But worse than that was the terrible knowledge that came with seeing his reflection.

Peter had realized that something was wrong, that he had to have de-aged. Too many things had been pointing in that direction for him to ignore. Until this very moment, he had refused to acknowledge it, to really consider it a problem. But now that he could see his face for the first time since he woke up in that alley, having to stick to the wall because he was too small to reach the mirror, he just knew.

He couldn't go to Tony.

Everything in his appearance screamed 'child'. And if there was one thing Tony was bad with, it was children. He was even terrible. They made him uncomfortable and he had no idea how to behave around them. There was no way he would listen to his warnings. Absolutely no way. At the very best, he would dismiss them as 'cute children fantasies'. Peter had nothing but his words to prove he was actually a young adult. Trying to defend his point would be as effective as shouting into the void. Just how many times had he himself heard children say "I'm big now" and smiled at that?

Tony would never take a kid seriously, and definitely not one he didn't know. It was 2012, which meant that Tony had never heard of Peter. They weren't mentor-student acquittances yet. Even less friends. The trust they had spent years to build between each other was simply non-existent.

Peter slowly let himself slide down.

He couldn't go to Tony because he didn't know if he had the strength to look at his friend and see only indifference in his eyes. Because he didn't know if he could stand to be rejected when it had never been more important that he be listened to.

Peter left the bathroom, put his suit in the backpack and exited the Laundromat.

Ironically, now that his ideas about his situation were clearer, he was more in the dark than ever. He didn't know what to do. He still felt the urge to do something regarding Thanos, but telling Tony, or any other Avenger, was out of the question. Not now. Not like that. He would only screw his chance to be heard.

He was completely lost.

So he took the direction of the only place he knew he would always be welcome and supported no matter what: home.

It took Peter more than three hours to rejoin Queens, with all the congested public transportations full of people fleeing the island and the power outage that slowed down the process even more. All the while, Peter had his hood drawn up, trying to be as unnoticeable as he could. He was left alone for the majority of the trip, and managed to slip away the rest of the time when he was addressed.

It felt weird to be back in his neighborhood and see it again the way it was years ago. Changes normally occur little by little, allowing people to get used to them and blend seamlessly in their daily life. A new house erecting from the ground. A tree taken down. A store turning into another one. But to be presented with a VIP access to the before picture was like a slap in the face at every corner. It was crazy how much things could change in just ten years.

Peter tried to focus on all the differences he could spot between his version of Queens and the one he had in front of his eyes. The goal was to divert his mind from the upcoming discussion he was bound to have with his aunt; it worked for most of his walk to his apartment complex, but his thoughts inevitably wandered back to where he didn't want them. He had no idea what he would say to her and it was daunting. Should he go for the full story? She would freak out. But she would freak out no matter what, because there was no way he could hide the fact that he looked different, so he would have to explain a part of the story no matter what. She was probably freaking out right now anyway, between the Chitauri invasion and his not being at her side. It was one of the reasons that kept him going in spite of his apprehension. The other was that he needed to see a familiar face. He needed someone to tell him that things were going to be okay, because he was rendered to a point where he had a hard time believing in that himself. He needed the steadiness she always offered him. In the past, he had often tried to keep her from the mess his life was, and just as often, she had not only figured out everything he had tried to hide from her, but she had guided him through the fog like the lighthouse she was. And if anything, Peter was more than ever a ship lost in the shitstorm of life. May didn't deserve the emotional turmoil he was about to put her in. But he knew she would take it like a champ', just like she did when she discovered he was Spider-man. So he kept going.

He didn't slow down his pace when his apartment building came into view. If anything, he walked faster. There was nothing he could do to make it easier on the both of them, so he might as well just go for it and be done with it.

When he reached the entry, Peter hesitated briefly. He wasn't ready. He needed to do it.

He rang the intercom.

The seconds of waiting stretched uncomfortably, allowing Peter to think about one million different ways to say 'Hi'.

"Yes?"

Peter was caught so off guard that the words died in his throat before he could utter them.

It wasn't aunt May who had answered.

It was his uncle Ben.

"Hello? Is anyone there? Hello?"

Peter had not been expecting this. He stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to think, staring at the intercom as if it had just come back from the dead. Maybe it did.

However, the next voice had him take a step backwards. Then another.

"Who is it?"

"No idea, Pete. Probably some kids—" Ben's voice grew more and more distant before he hung up mid-sentence.

But Peter was already far. Hearing his own voice coming from the intercom had him bolting away. He wasn't running to anywhere in particular, he wasn't thinking. He was merely putting distance between himself and the Parker family. The complete Parker family. No one was missing, not even himself. His past-self. He couldn't intrude on them, break their already short-lived happiness with his terrible knowledge and dark thoughts. He couldn't present himself to his past-self and lie to him about how bright his future was going to be. Peter had thought May would be alone, waiting for him. How stupid he had been. For all his clever thinking, he had not considered once that Ben could be alive and well. He had grown so used to be with May alone that the thought had not even brushed his mind. He felt so ashamed of himself for having forgotten his uncle. So mad at his betrayal.

Peter angrily wiped the tears off his face to no effect. They kept running.

He had no one to turn to. His friends were currently ten years old, he couldn't include his family and his past-self into the nightmare he was living and the Avengers were definitely a no go.

Peter slowed down to a stop as realization struck him so hard the world seemed to shrink around him, oppressing him to the point he felt like he could implode at any moment.

No one he loved was aware of him. No one would come looking for him, or would be worrying about him, because no one knew of his existence.

He was utterly, blatantly alone.

The universe splitting apart was ragging louder than ever in his mind.

"Hey kid, what are you doing out at this time?"

He looked up to see a policeman in a patrol care, addressing him through an open window. Peter had not realized he wasn't the only one in the street. He quickly turned his head away, but their eyes locked long enough for the police officer to notice his distress. He stepped out of his car, escorted by a colleague. Peter rubbed his sleeve on his face in a vain attempt to dry his tears.

"Is everything ok?"

The policeman crouched in front of him to get to eye level. Peter refused to look at him, lips pinched and jaw squared.

"Are you alone?"

That was it. New tears escaped with a sob he tried really hard to swallow. The policeman had unknowingly tugged at his heartstring, and Peter was at the end of his rope.

"Is this because of...?" the officer trailed off, implying very clearly the battle that ravaged New-York but a few hours ago.

"I'm sorry," was Peter's only answer. He apologized for being unable to get a grip on himself. The more he tried to keep his emotions under control, the more his façade chattered, spilling out his despair for everyone to see. His throat was so tight he struggled to even say those three words.

The police officers exchanged a look. The one crouching in front of Peter stood up.

"Come," he said, guiding him towards the car. "You can't stay here."

Peter had nowhere to go. So he obliged, relieved to have someone else decide about his immediate future for him.