It was unusual for Peter to feel so disoriented and it bothered him a lot more than the blood stain on his shirt or the inconvenience of having been dragged into a club he knew he wouldn't have enjoyed just to stop his friends from continuing to call him a stick in the mud. His head and his limbs felt heavy, like there was a fog wrapped around his brain that his arms and legs struggled to move against.
As he worked to regain his senses, Peter's eyes couldn't seem to focus on anything and all the sounds around him felt as if they had begun to bleed and mix together in a completely unsettling way. He could almost sense the bouncers closing in around him as if his body was trying its best to tune out everything but the obvious threat despite not being able to really do anything about it.
Part of him wondered if his attempt to flee earlier was even worth it at this point. None of his friends were within eye- or earshot and even if they were, they probably wouldn't make it to him before the burly and darkly clad men did. Peter could almost hear his mother's voice in his ear, mocking him for getting himself in this situation and not having the mental fortitude to get himself out.
As he felt his blood pressure start to rise in conjunction with that semi-hallucination, Peter smelled something that was all-too-familiar and he felt as if his heart stopped in his chest. When he and his sister were children, their mother had exposed them to wolfsbane and mountain ash in tempered doses to teach them how to recognize them. That was a lesson Peter had never forgotten and when he noticed that the fog he thought was just inside his head turned out to be real, it didn't take him long to realize what the faint smell was.
If he had been disoriented before, that only got worse as the rolling fog started to close in on him. Beyond a doubt he knew the people circling him were hunters and he didn't have very high hopes for getting out of this intact if he made it out alive.
Stumbling in whatever direction his hazy mind chose, Peter bumped into people and used them to steady himself and propel himself forward, thin fingers grasping too tightly to strangers' limbs and clothing as he tried to get himself out of the club.