Chapter Text
“Mr. Stark, there is a problem in the auxiliary lab,” FRIDAY called out. “Peter has had a mishap with the chemistry experiment resulting in a spill. He appears to be unconscious. Doctor Cho has already been notified and is having him transported him to the medical bay.”
Tony put down the soldering iron then put his hand to his brow and tried to massage away the tension. He had heard neither hide nor hair from the kid since leaving Peter in the lab hours ago. Due to missing classes — which may, or may not, have been due to a mission that no one was supposed to know about, especially one unusually attractive aunt — the teen Avenger needed an assist getting his homework completed. The least a genius billionaire philanthropist could do was to offer access to a private lab for the weekend where Peter could catch up and maybe get a little extra help with his science project.
Unfortunately, Tony was of little assistance with Peter’s English assignment to read “The Three Musketeers”, as he’d only seen the movies. But what he did do was have FRIDAY recite the text while Peter focused on mixing chemical compounds and making notes.
“I’m not sure I can focus on two things at once, Mr. Stark,” Parker objected.
“Don’t pay the story much attention. It’ll soak into your subconscious,” Tony said with a reassuring pat on the kid’s shoulder. “Can’t hurt to give it a try, right?”
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Someone was gently smacking his cheek. Although it’d been years since hearing it last, Peter recognized the voice instantly.
He rasped out, “Uncle Ben?”
But it was Aunt May’s voice that responded. “Oh, thank God.”
Peter’s eyes fluttered open to see his uncle’s face looming above. He quickly jerked upright to a seated position. “You’re alive!”
“Yes, and so are you thank the Lord. Let me check your head. That was quite a fall. You’re lucky you didn’t crack your skull.”
The older man inspected his nephew for damage. “Not even a bump. Can you believe it, May?”
“He’s always been a tough one,” she replied in relief.
Despite the emotional shock, Peter's self-protection instincts kicked in. His eyes quickly scanned the strange and unfamiliar setting. He was no longer in the lab. And definitely not in the Tower. Uncle Ben and Aunt May were the only two people in sight. They were surrounded by walls constructed of timber and daub. As Peter looked more closely, it seemed that the one room was in fact the entire home.
They sat in a rectangular space in front of a fireplace built into the wall opposite the doorway. The room was relatively dark considering the sunlight seen from the few small windows. All of the exposed wood, including the visible roof trussing, was obviously natural and untreated. At the back of the house were two beds with two dingy and lumpy mattresses.
Peter took a close look at his aunt and uncle. They looked like they were ready to head off to RenFair which didn’t make any sense because that wasn’t for another few months at least. Ben wore an outfit comprised of a dull, coarse tunic and pants with soft leather boots on his feet. May’s outfit differed only in that her tunic was knee-length. Scanning his own appearance, Peter realized someone had replaced his T-shirt, jeans and sneakers with a similar outfit.
The stunned boy asked, “Why are you dressed like that? Why am I dressed like this?”
Pulling up the shirt sleeves then looking inside the front, he confirmed his tech was gone.
Where are my web shooters? he worried.
Peter stopped to take a breath and gather in the details of his surroundings. Nothing was right. It looked like he was on the set of a period drama. The few furnishings in the room appeared to have been handcrafted. There was no television in the cramped living space, nor any other electrical appliances.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“At home. In Gascony.”
He only became more confused. “Gascony? Isn’t that in France?”
“Of course.”
“If we're in France, then why are we speaking English?”
“Has your hearing been affected? Nobody here speaks English.”
Ben received an even more confounded gaze from his nephew. Glancing over at his wife, he said, “I think it’s worse than we thought.”
Peter tried to remember what happened before blacking out. He recalled working on his Chemistry assignment. While waiting for the results of the experiment, the left foot he’d had neatly tucked underneath him had fallen asleep. He left the chair for a much-needed break. As soon as he stood, the pins-and-needles went into overdrive causing him to stumble. Instinctively trying to steady himself, he grabbed for the counter. His elbow hit a beaker on the way. That toppled over and spilled its entire contents. It also took out the adjacent test tubes. An alarm rang out as the lab’s safety protocol kicked in. Then it all went dark.
I must be unconscious. This must be some kind of crazy dream, Peter thought. This can’t be good. Oh, man. If I’m in a coma, May’s gonna kill me. Not this May, probably, but the real one.
He cautiously asked, “What year is it?”
“1625. We were celebrating your sixteenth birthday. Don’t you remember?”
“But I turned sixteen months ago.”
“Ben, I think this is one of his pranks,” May said. “This isn’t funny anymore, Peter. You gave us quite a scare.”
She dusted him off as he was helped up by his uncle. Ben launched into a speech about the bittersweet feeling of watching his nephew grow into a man. Given the extremely odd and very vivid dream he was convinced he was having, Peter found it difficult to concentrate on what was being said. The older man went on to talk about some sort of letter of introduction to a friend in Paris.
It was this that sparked Peter’s correlation with the story FRIDAY had been reciting over the PA system. Somehow his subconscious was mixed up by Dumas’ novel. His mind had him confused with the character D’Artagnan.
Ben handed him a note written in ink. “This is the letter of recommendation to Monsieur Fury. There is no doubt he will accept you right off.”
“Monsieur Fury?” Peter didn’t think he could be more dumbfounded. The longer he stayed asleep the worse the mashed-up scenario became.
“Are there Avengers here?” the boy asked.
“Les Vengeurs. Oui. You will go to Paris and become one just as you always wished.”
The next thing Peter knew, his aunt handed him some old foreign coins and helped him into a jacket. Just like the rest of his clothes, the leather was well-worn and had seen better days long ago. Ben then handed him a long, sheathed rapier.
“What is this for?” The question amused both of his guardians.
Ben gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Do not lose your confidence now. You have trained most of your life for this day. There are few better.”
“Oh, yeah. Sure,” Peter scoffed. “Athos, Porthos and Aramis.”
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
The couple led Peter out of the small home which sat on a modest farm. Only as they led him over to the stable did he realize they were sending him off at that very moment.
He protested even more vehemently when the horse’s reigns were handed over. Not only had he never ridden before (he didn’t think pony rides at Coney Island counted) Peter wanted to spend more time with his uncle, but neither he nor May were having it. Everything had been arranged. They insisted he was merely experiencing last-minute doubts that would soon be forgotten. It was time for him to make his place in the world.
Realizing he wasn’t going to win that fight, Peter resigned himself to going along with wherever the fantasy led. Maybe, he thought, the sooner I get through this, the sooner I’ll snap out of it. Whatever this is.
So, he made his goodbyes as he imagined D’Artagnan would have. Although he tried to be brave and strong-willed like the Musketeer, he couldn’t help but cry that once he woke up Uncle Ben would be gone again.
He wasn’t sure in which direction he was supposed to go but didn’t worry too much about it, figuring that like any other dream he would magically find himself at a new location in an instant.
Sadly, that didn’t happen.
Ten minutes of riding through the imaginary French countryside passed. Peter began to accept the idea that his imagination was determined to fully experience the entire journey. He prayed it wouldn’t be too long and decided on trying to will himself back to consciousness. While the view was pleasing and the air was fresh, there’s only so much nature a city boy from Queens can take.
The ride that was much too detailed and realistic for his liking (including a sore rump) seemed to take hours. The imaginary sun began to dip towards the tree line. His four-legged escort brought them to a town called Meung where Peter knew, according to the story, they should stop for a rest.
As he tied the horse, Peter heard the laughter he was anticipating and tried to keep his head down. Unlike the novel's hero, he was determined to stay out of trouble. But, taking a glance from the corner of his eye, he saw the next character to make an entrance in the storyline.
Once again, it was nothing like he expected.
This “Man from Meung” did sport a scar on his left cheek but, instead, came in the form of one infamous Star-Lord. If it hadn’t been for the arrogant demeanor, Peter wouldn’t have recognized him underneath the cliché, elegantly styled mustache and beard. What was harder to get over was the man's outlandish outfit. The bright purple doublet was unbuttoned to reveal a heavily ruffled shirt above matching breeches. It was all topped off by a ridiculously large hat which held an enormous violet feather.
As the boy ineffectively stifled his own laugh and cautiously approached the tavern, Quill eyed him from head to toe with disdain. Wanting to avoid the type of fight D’Artagnan had started, Peter thought it would be safer to ask, “Do we know each other?..um...Monsieur.”
Quill answered in a haughty, overly exaggerated tone, “We most assuredly do not, stripling.”
He turned to his friends and added, “To think I should consort with bumpkins.” They started snickering and making jests all over again.
Peter tried to ignore them and stepped towards the inn. To his discomfiture, he really did feel tired and hungry. He found this awfully curious having never before had so incredibly realistic a dream.
Unfortunately, as he tried to pass by the group, he was tripped. Pushing himself back onto his feet, Peter turned to them. “Guys, I don’t want any trouble. Just let me go inside, okay?”
Quill only rolled his eyes heavenward and said, “These simpletons from the country are so dull.”
Before being able to continue on his way, two of Quill’s lackeys jumped Peter. He struggled and fell again. This time his sword broke in two and he was unable to fend them off before being knocked on the head.
The innkeeper, who had run out upon hearing the commotion, went to the rescue and dragged the victim inside. He helped Peter into the kitchen and out of harm's way. The proprietor then went back out and forcefully dismissed the unruly group from his property before tending to the younger man.
By then, a completely frustrated Peter had become angry about his undeserved treatment. He stormed back out. Quill was across the road, speaking with a lady in a carriage. It was Black Widow looking more beautiful than ever. Quite different from the fearsome assassin with which he was familiar, her hair was curled and pinned up beneath a large, brimmed hat that framed her face in a most flattering manner. Mesmerized long enough to settle his nerves, Peter decided to leave the pair to their conversation.
Before turning back around, he noticed the sun finally going down. He decided it would be best to stay the night and rest, hoping to wake in his own bed or at least the proper year.
Unfortunately, when Peter woke the next morning, he was still at the inn and, apparently, still 1625. Worse than that, as he prepared to restart his adventure, the letter of introduction Ben had provided was gone.
He couldn’t imagine anyone having entered his room during the night without notice. Besides, the letter wouldn’t be of use to anyone else, unless they intended to impersonate him. And who could possibly want that?
Dang. He realized per the story, Quill stole it and I’m supposed to seek revenge. Ugh. Come on, Peter. Wake up!
This was most definitely not something he wanted to get involved in but there was nothing more he could do. So, he decided to continue following the novel’s plot in the hope of finding clues to ending the whole farce. Once again, Peter set out along that path. After a quick breakfast of bread and cheese, he collected the horse and let it lead on towards Paris.
When he arrived as predicted, Peter found the nearest stable that would buy his horse. This man also instructed where he could replace his sword and find a room for a reasonable price. Having those things taken care of, Peter then learned from his new landlord, Mr. Jones, that the Vengeurs stronghold was conveniently located around the corner. It was also explained that Fury wouldn’t receive visitors until the next morning. Peter retire to face whatever awaited the next day ready.
