How did he get here again? Oh right, he didn’t listen to Mr. Stark. He had seen a few abductions but had lost the vehicle each time he had finally managed to get close. Tony told him not to engage if he caught them in the act again. Of course, he didn’t listen and now he’s in a room with a bunch of other captured people in his suit, luckily with the mask on.
“Spider-Man sir, are you going to help us get out?” A woman in her mid-thirties asked as she slowly came up behind him.
Peter turns to the woman and immediately his eyes narrow on the purplish blue on her cheekbone just under her left eye. They were already locked up, why did the kidnappers have to hurt them too? “I’m coming up with a plan.” He lied.
The room they were in was pure concrete and underground. There were no windows. There were two light bulbs on either side of the ceiling, each covered by what looked like a rusty cage of sorts. The door was some kind of heavy type of metal, Peter had tested his strength on it and it hadn’t budged, his knuckles still stung from the hit. When the door eventually opens he’s pretty sure he can escape, but he wouldn’t if he couldn’t bring every victim with him and that seems impossible. Peter looks at the group of terrified individuals behind him, at least twenty people of different ages counting on him.
The hairs on his neck stand straight up and he puts a finger to his mask right above his mouth to tell the others to be quiet and then turns his attention in front of him. Less than a minute later the door opens, “Ahhh, Spider-Man, good to see you awake.”
“Yeah ecstatic to be here, but I have to say the amenities are lacking,” he gestures around the barren room safe for the other people huddling against the far wall. Peter is standing in front of them, trying to keep the attention on him and only him.
“Ah, there’s that sense of humor I’ve heard so much about. Sadly I’m not a very humorous man.”
“Color me surprised,” Peter spoke quietly but not faintly enough it seems.
“I wouldn’t test my patience if I were you,” The man says. He’s in his late 50’s, Peter guesses, and has short salt and pepper hair neatly brushed into place.
Peter crosses his arms. “I should be afraid of you?”
“I would be, I am what’s keeping you and everyone else confined am I not?”
“Fine, I’m afraid, oooooh,” his mocking noise, which was accompanied by a wiggle of all his fingers, almost sounding like a lame tablecloth ghost on Halloween.
“If you don’t want to take me seriously then that’s your choice and their consequence.” Before Peter could react the man had pulled a remote from his pocket and pressed the first button. His senses blared but not for him, for the man that just screamed out behind him and dropped to the floor. Peter whipped his head around to see a blond man in his twenties convulsing on the ground, shaking stiffly yet erratically. He hadn’t noticed the thin piece of metal around his neck until now, the light not bright enough to reflect obviously. They’re around all of their necks, it almost looked like a thin silver choker.
“Stop!” Peter yelled, turning back and advancing on the man to get and destroy the remote.
“Ah ah ah,” The kidnapper presses another button before Peter can get there and there’s once again another awful screech. This one sounds cut off like it got stuck in the woman’s throat, who is now also on the grimy floor. “You were never part of the plan, Spider-Man, so stand down and don’t interfere.”
“Okay, alright,” Peter breathes out and stops in his tracks, “Stop hurting them,” he says slowly as he puts his hands out placating trying as to not cause anyone else to suffer. Well, anyone except… “If you want to hurt someone, hurt me.”
In an instant, the writhing behind him stops, the loudest sound in the room is the ragged breaths of the two people who were just shocked. Peter keeps his eyes on the man before him. His nerves slightly calm as his hearing picks up the two heartbeats for the electrocuted victims steadily slowing down.
“Please just stop hurting these people, they haven’t done anything to deserve this.”
“And how would you know that?”
Because no one deserves this, he wanted to say. Instead, he replies, “I know everyone makes mistakes and this is not the solution. Whatever you are doing here is not okay, just leave them alone.” Peter takes one step forward.
“You know what, fine, you want to act like a martyr? I’ll treat you as if you were the biggest martyr in the world. In here now!!” He calls out the door. Peter can hear heavy footsteps before he even lays eyes on the hired goons. Why is it always hired goons, why can’t villains do their own work? “Grab him and bring him out back. Don’t be gentle, he’s pretty strong for someone so lanky.”
Peter just stood there as they came towards him, his spidey sense screaming at him to RUN, FIGHT BACK, ESCAPE!, but Peter didn’t move, afraid of what they would do to the people behind him if he tried. The two goons each grabbed an arm and dragged him out, barely letting his toes brush the cold ground. The people watching him get taken were silent, probably traumatized and afraid to try to help, for that Peter was thankful, he didn’t want anyone else’s pain on his hands.
To Peter’s surprise, they took him down the hall and out a door that led to open air. Outside. The sun was blinding and there were no clouds in the sky to give him any relief. “Are you setting me free?” he asked doubtfully and yet with a tiny bit of hope. If they did he could get the Avengers and they could help him free everyone who had been kidnapped.
“Nope, but I’m sure you will feel like a true martyr when we’re done.” The boss said as he watched one goon hold Spider-Man with his arms trapped at his sides and his feet trying to get any sort of leverage yet failing. The goons had super strength of course. Peter would usually give his kidnappers nicknames, but Goon One and Two honestly sounded right to him, like Thing One and Thing Two.
The second goon was nailing something together, but from the angle Peter was held at, he couldn’t see what. Each bang seemed like it was slamming against his own head though, he had still yet to fully recover from the wicked headache he had woken up with.
“Would you like to say anything before we begin?”
Peter thought about it, there wasn’t much to say, he couldn’t get out of Goon One’s grasp. “Aaany chance we can start over and be friends, you know talk this through?”
“Nice try, does that ever work?”
Peter shugs as much as he’s able, “Nah, but I always give it a try, maybe one day it will.”
“Is it ready?” the man said impatiently, the words directed behind Peter.
“Yeah boss it’s ready,” Peter took a slow breath ready to face whatever was waiting for him.
All of the air is released from Spider-Man’s lungs as he looks at the tall structure towering above him. Even through the fear he had to ask, “I thought you weren’t one for humor, as sick as this is,” he muttered the last bit quietly, but the goon holding him made his grasp tighter as a warning.
“I’m not, but I do love Irony.” Now, sticking out of the ground in front of Peter was a tall wooden cross. “You want to act like a martyr, this is what you get.”
In the next moment, Peter was moving against his will towards the cross. The goon steps up on a ladder with Peter while the other does the same but just to the side of them. Peter starts kicking out but is held by two overly buff arms as he is pinned to the wood. The other goon grabs his hand and he tries to pull away, but with no luck. The next thing he feels is a sharp blinding pain in the center of his palm. He looks over to see a nail there and blood dripping around the sides of it. Seriously, nails! Couldn’t have used rope or something less permanent! He lets out a grunt of pain but tries not to react too much.
The goon on his right switches to holding him up while the other takes the nails and hammer and starts on his other hand. Peter can’t help but let out a yelp of pain as the hammer makes its first connection with the nail and it slides into his hand. He closes his eyes and focuses on not putting on a show for his kidnappers, trying to stay as quiet as possible. The worst is when they both get down and Peter just hangs. His feet try to make purchase on the vertical wood, but they just slide off leaving him with splinters. He is left hanging with only the two nails keeping him up.
He thinks it’s finally over when one goon grabs his feet and puts them together against the wood. The next moment there is a searing stabbing pain as a nail slams into his flesh and bone and into the wood as both feet are nailed on top of each other. Once Peter can breathe again he takes slow shaky breaths.
“There, hope that teaches you a lesson?”
What lesson, don't help others? As the three turn to go back inside Peter can’t help but ask breathlessly, “What, no crown of thorns?” He never knows when to quit.
The kidnapper turns back with a smile that makes Peter’s bones shiver, “Don’t tempt me.” Then he let the door close behind him leaving Spider-Man outside in the fenced and barbed wire backyard of some dilapidated house in the middle of nowhere.
The sun was burning him through his suit, he squinted in order to look up and saw no clouds coming to his rescue. “Only me,” he said dejectedly as he let his head fall forward. He really hopes the Avengers can find him.
________
It’s hours later and the sun is going down, finally. The pain keeps getting worse and Peter realizes he’s probably trying to heal with the nails still stuck inside his bones and tissue. It was going to hurt a lot to get off of here if he healed around them.
As the sun officially went below the horizon it became a bit chilly with only a short period of time where the temperature was the perfect mix between warm and cold. The suit was fried when they knocked him out, either that or they manually turned it off, but then why would they let him keep his mask? He did catch them by surprise at first, sadly that didn’t last too long before he was out and unconscious.
As the night got darker things got colder and Peter didn’t handle either extreme temperature well. Earlier he couldn’t turn on the AC in the suit and now he can’t get the heating on, Karen was not responding, he just prayed that the tracker was still on. He started shivering as he was exposed to the elements, arms off to each side, unable to protect himself or keep himself warm.
It’s been hours and yet he’s still bleeding. Every time he accidentally or intentionally shifted just the barest amount the pain skyrockets and blood seeps passed the metal embedded in his hands and feet. It was much later that he finally fell into a comfortless sleep, yet he woke up anytime he accidentally moved, by the pain.
When he woke for good the sun was coming up. He really hoped that they would let him down soon. His neck was so sore, his head too heavy to hold up for almost a full day with no other support. There was dried and fresh blood on his hands and feet. His head hung low from lack of strength and to block out the sun. He had a killer headache from dehydration, at least he hoped that's the only reason. He does his best not to look at the red grass below, painted by his blood; it soaked into the dirt so he couldn’t tell how much he had lost. He shut his eyes and just tried to breathe, his stomach both grumbling and yet swirling with nausea. He didn’t have anything in his system to throw up anyway unless you count stomach bile.
It was a few excruciating hours later that he heard a commotion. He squeezed his eyes closed even tighter, the lenses in his suit now shut all the way. Please take me down, please take me down, please take me down, he begged in his head. He heard footsteps but they were heavier and clunkier than before. He didn’t look up, his strength was all but gone, the sunburn on the back of his neck no doubt bad and probably blistering, or at least that’s how it felt.
The basement back door to the house slams open and he flinches causing his wounds to fight for his attention, “Jesus Christ!!” He heard a robotic and very familiar voice shout.
“Tell me about it,” Peter mumbled, his lips sticking together whenever they made contact.
It seems he was heard because someone is talking to him, his faceplate up so his human face is on display right below Peter. The boy opens his eyes slightly to see a blurry version of his mentor, “T’ny?”
“Yeah kid it’s me, just, shit, just hold on okay we’re going to get you down.”
“Don’t have much of a choice,” Peter muttered, he hadn’t seen any others, but he could hear their heartbeats, Clint, Natasha, Steve, and Sam.
Tony flies up to be face-to-face with the kid, he grabs him under the armpits to relieve some of the pressure. Peter hisses, other than that he doesn’t react. Sam flies up next and uses the back of the rusty hammer that was left on the ground all night taunting Peter, to get the nails free.
“They are really in there,” Sam states grimly.
“Heeled around it,” Peter says through a breath out.
“Danm, sorry Pete, this is going to hurt.” He says as he pauses what he’s doing, waiting on a reply from the Spider kid.
“S’okay” Peter slurs.
As Sam removes the first nail Peter screams out, whatever had healed inside is now torn and damaged once more. “I’m so sorry kid.” Sam says remorsefully as he moves to the other side.
“Wha’ abou’ the oth’rs?”
“We got them out and they’re with the police,” Natasha responds from below, “Hang in there my паучок.” Her calm soothing voice slightly calms Peter, he nods his head, or at least tries to.
Just then the other hand is freed and he yelps as he tips forward. Tony is right there to keep him up, hands holding each side of Peter’s torso allowing the kid to rest his forehead against the cool red of the suit, arms hanging limply, “You’re okay, just one to go.” Peter didn’t respond in words or movements. He was beyond tired, hurting, and his lips felt like they were ready to shatter at any moment. The warmth of the sun felt suffocating, each breath seemed to catch, his mouth as dry as Venus.
As Sam removes the last screw Peter whimpers and lets his dead weight fall fully into the chest plate in front of him. “Whoa, aright, I gotcha.” Tony says as he fully lifts the kid so he no longer has to use the muscles that were no question sore and strained by the overuse and abuse. The kid moved so easily, his limbs were slipping out of Iron Man’s hold like jelly. Tony made sure the elbow of his left suited arm was holding up Peter’s head. Tony looked down at his kid as FRIDAY scanned him.
“Not loving your Oxygen stats kid, want to take some deep breaths for me?” Peter was just too exhausted to answer, he just let himself fully sink into the solid comfort of the arm under him, no longer worried about all his weight putting pressure on his hands, feet, and, of course, the rusty little pieces of metal holding his whole being up.
After receiving no answer Tony quickly landed on the ground, “Cap, get his mask off.” He wasn’t very happy with the boy’s elevated temperature either.
Before Tony even finished speaking Steve had moved to his side and carefully lifted the sweat-soaked mask off and over Spider-Man's head. The kid’s face was beet red, his brunette hair was three shades darker as his curls were soaked and stuck to his head, fringe dipping in front of his eyes, which were closed. That last fact gave Tony’s heart a sharp and unwelcome twinge, Steve seemed to pick up on it. “Clint and Tony get back to the Quinjet, get Peter medical attention and get ready to take off. Nat, Sam, and I will do one more sweep for anyone left inside, good or bad. We’ll meet you on the ship.”
Everyone had their orders and split up in the direction of their assigned destinations. Clint was running back to the jet, ready with his bow and arrows. Tony flew, his arms full of the only important thing to the man at this moment. Peter. Peter Parker, the boy who has lost so much in his young life, so many people that he could have easily become cynical, but instead decided to look at the good in humanity and above. Risks his life, and whatever childhood/innocence he has been left with, to help whoever calls for it. And how does the universe reward him? More suffering. God might work in mysterious ways, but even they don’t make the same joke twice.
Why Peter?
Tony sees the ship in sight. FRIDAY must have taken over navigation because he was too consumed by thoughts of what could have happened and what actually did happen to focus on the flight, as short as it was. Not for the first time Tony was so grateful to his AI that he wished he could give her a raise… or any pay at all.
When his legs met the ground he walked quickly into the ship. Bruce already had things set up, his face grim, a chart in hand. Tony knew he had already been apprised of the situation, so he gently put Peter on the Quinjet’s medical bed. Well, he tried too, but the Spider-Kid’s right hand wouldn’t detach from the metal of the man’s suit. Tony tries to pry the boy’s fingers from the metal, the grasp tight enough to make the material groan under his strength. Tony might have smiled if his face wasn't permanently stuck in concerned parent mode, “Pete, Bruce needs to look you over, you need to let go bubba.”
When Peter finally let go, or more accurately passed out, his hand left a dark scarlet smear just noticeable enough above the vibrant red paint. Bruce ran around taking vitals by hand. “His pulse is fast, he’s dehydrated, and he has a fever. Tony, grab a cooling blanket in the third drawer in the cabinet with the oxygen.”
Without a word the other scientist took three strides to reach said compartment and pulled out a grey cooling blanket and unfolded it. By the time he got back to the kid and laid the cold material over him, Bruce had just finished setting up an IV, fast and efficient as always. Bruce then opened the fridge/freezer combo filled with different blood types, water bottles, and Ice Packs. He grabbed four from the freezer, kicked the door closed, and handed two to Tony. “Put two on either side of him, this should make his temperature come down.” After the Ice was in place Bruce paused, looking at the screens, making sure Peter was stable, at least for the moment. During this Clint has slipped in and gone to the cockpit to get the ship ready.
“What about his h-hands? W-oh god, what about his feet?” Tony asked his eyes darting from his friend to his kid, “Bruce they- the-”
“I know Tony.” The mechanic shut his mouth, the words stuck anyhow. “I’m going to disinfect them and give him a tetanus shot, but other than that I can’t do anything. We need imaging to see if it's just his tissue that was damaged or his bones too.”
Tony nodded and closed his eyes, but snapped them open when all he could see was Peter hanging there. His body making the shape of a weighed down ‘Y’, his head low, neck no longer supporting it. Peter had been so still, highlighted by the blazing sun behind him. Tony’s heartbeat picked up. For the first few millisecondsTony had thought… he had actually thought that Peter was-
“Tony breathe,” The man hadn’t realized Bruce was right in front of him, tears he didn’t even know he was shedding blurring his vision, “I need you to look at him, look at Peter.” Peter. Tony looks at the boy superhero lying under a layer of grey fabric, each heartbeat mechanically echoed for Tony’s peace of mind, “He’s going to be okay.”
Tony nodded, he believed Peter would be okay physically, he had to be. Though, as for himself… he doesn’t think he will ever be in the realm of ‘okay’ again. The image of Peter on that cross is now tattooed in his mind and no cover-up or removal will ever make things right again.
Peter is literally the symbol of good to so many people and beings alike. He is hope for the future. Then again, so was another son from ages ago, both found to be innocent. The worst things really do happen to the best people.
Tony backed up and basically fell into one of the seats. He watched as Bruce administered a shot, tetanus most likely, and he watched how Peter didn’t move. The kid hates needles, and usually unintentionally squirms away whenever he has to get an injection. But this time he was eerily still, it made Tony uneasy and scared. He trusts Bruce, but in no way does Peter look ‘okay’ right now.
His thoughts are stopped by the other three Avengers filing in. “How is he?” Steve asks as Sam walks by them both, after taking off his wings, to see what he can do to help Bruce.
“Bruce says he’ll be okay.”
“But?”
How did Steve always know? “But he doesn’t look okay,” he said with a bite, but looked remorseful a split second later, “Cap- Steve, y-you saw him up th-there.” Steve’s frown turned into a grimace as he thought about it. “How can he be okay after that? How can I be okay after seeing him like that?”
“Okay is a relative word, Tony.” Natasha spoke up from just behind and to the left of Cap, swallowed by a shadow. It was creepy when she came out of nowhere like that. “You know what each and everyone of us has been through. None of us had an easy road getting here and the path is still not crystal clear. According to society standards, none of us are ‘okay,’ but we deal and we get through it. We move forward as a team to make sure the future is a better world for us and those who come after.” Her eyes fall on Peter, the next generation.
Natasha was often quiet, taught to learn best when others do the talking, but sometimes her wisdom floored Tony. Somehow, she, much like Peter, could still separate out and see the flecks of good in an otherwise unfair and ruthless universe. “Peter will be okay because we are all going to be there for him just like we’re here for you.” Cap finished Black Widow’s thoughts, but in a much more cheesy way than she would have.
Through everything they still had the team. Tony figures he and Peter will be ‘okay’, if his closest friends/family, which consist of a group of traumatized superheroes, can label themselves as ‘okay.’