First, there was blackness. There was a warbled hum. And then there were fingers on his neck. The world came rushing at him--sounds rushing at him like a hurricane and he let out a groan of pain as he furrowed his brows, trying to focus enough to dull the sounds and keep from becoming overwhelmed. He could hear the calming sound of his mother's voice like when he was a kid. Eventually, he shifted and his eyes fluttered open--the street light blinding him for a moment as he rolled onto his side.
There were words being said. He couldn't quite make them out just yet. "Where am I?" he managed to mutter as he got to his feet, eyes adjusting and taking in the very unfamiliar terrain. It definitely wasn't Kansas or California, that was for sure. Maybe Wisconsin? He wasn't sure. His backpacking across America didn't exactly allow him to take in all of the sights the country had to offer. As he stood, he finally registered Peter.
He glanced down at the crack in the ground. He frowned. "Sorry about that," he said. He shook his head. "I really hate falling from the sky like that."