Mr. Stark Will Come For Me

Peter is walking to the Tower when his spidey sense acts up. He takes one earbud out and looks around warily, but sees no danger. He decides to keep the one earbud out, but keeps walking. The slight tingle at the back of his neck that makes the hairs there stand up turns into a sharp sudden pain. He looks around again, but before he can move, something hits him. He looks to his right shoulder where the pain had striked and sees a dart. He takes it out and inspects it, but the dart in his hand doubles as his head spins and he tips to the side. Before he can even blink he is on the ground, the world around him fades in and out. He sees a white van pull up and he tries to push himself up, but his limbs won’t work. The world seems to be blinking in and out of existence. He only catches glimpses of the next few minutes. 

Men coming towards him.

Black

Being picked up and staring at the blue sky above.

Black

Being thrown in the back of the white van.

Black

His backpack, phone, and web shooters being taken and thrown out the back door.

Black

Doors shutting.

Black

The rumble and vibration of an engine under his head.

Black

Movement as the van lurches forward. Him rolling and tumbling into the wall of the van with it.

Black

___________

He wakes up in a small cinder block room. There is a bulky metal door with a slot in the middle with a sliding flap and a small platform there to rest something on, it looks like something you might see on the door of… of a prison cell. Peter sits up and takes in the rest of the room, which now that he truly looks at it resembles a prison cell. He is sitting on an uncomfortable stiff cot and there is a toilet in the corner, that’s it, there is nothing else. Everything around him is a bit blurry, probably from the drugs he thinks. “Hello?” Peter says hesitantly. 

It seems someone heard him because not a minute later there is a loud click and the door to the room opens. In walks none other than Thaddeus Ross “Look who’s finally awake.”

Peter looks definitely up at him. The accords ruined the Avengers, forcing them apart. Ross had taken many members of the team prisoner. They had only been freed recently and even now the dynamic at the Tower is stilted and awkward. There is a lot of regret and resentment. Peter hates Ross and will not show fear in front of the horrible man, “What do you want? Where am I?”

“Welcome to the Raft.” The smile that curls on the man’s face is nothing short of maniacal. Peter’s heart drops. Yes he could have guessed that, but something about hearing it, hearing that you're in a prison where people live out a life sentence, makes everything all too real. “As for why you are here; you are here to keep others safe as well as for research.”

“To save others?” Peter asks incredulously. The man nods. “I’m the one usually saving others.”

Ross tsks like he’s speaking to a disobedient toddler, “No, just your existence threatens others. Here, you cannot hurt anyone. We are doing a service for humanity.”

Peter couldn't believe what he was hearing. He needed to get out of here. He stands up. “Get out of my way.” Peter says with a glare.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” The man says almost teasingly.

Peter says nothing as he strides forward ready to push anyone out of the way. He would never kill them, but he is not opposed to knocking them out. But after only a few steps he screams in pain as he is brought to a halt. His limbs seize up and he falls to the floor, his legs no longer able to hold him. He can’t get a breath in as his muscles spasms, his veins filling with a white hot fire from the electricity shooting through them. Even when the shock finally stops he can’t move, his limbs keep flailing randomly as he desperately sucks in breath after breath of precious oxygen.

”I warned you.” He hears Ross say distantly. Finally when the pain dies down a bit and he is no longer gulping down air like his life depends on it he pushes himself up on his aching arms and sits, leaning against the cot behind him. “That,” he points at Peter’s neck, “will make sure you stay in line and be a good little spider.”

Peter tentatively reaches a shaky hand up to his neck, his eyes going wide as his fingers meet cool metal. How had he not noticed it before now? A shock collar. Like he is some misbehaving dangerous animal. 

“And before you try anything else, know that that collar does not only shock, but takes away any freaky spider powers you have.” Peter’s hearing fades out as he focuses on his body and finally notices that he feels weak, like how he felt before the bite. The blurriness he noticed earlier had not gone away, he now realizes this too was from before his trip to Oscorp. He needed glasses until then. He puts his hand on the floor beneath him, but it doesn’t stick. He is powerless in every sense of the word. Ross’s voice fades back in. “I can see you need time to adjust. I will be back tomorrow. Someone will deliver your dinner in a few hours.” And with that Ross leaves along with the guards he had brought with him.

Peter sits there in shock, but he holds on to one sentence of hope, Mr. Stark will come for me.

_______

At night they slide a tray of food, although it just looked like different dull colors of mush, through the slot in the door. Peter refuses to eat it. 

His first full day there he learns the rules the hard way, with a shock everytime he does something wrong. The first for not eating his food. The second for speaking without permission. The third for eye contact. The fourth for fighting back when they draw blood. And so on. 

The first week he feels he gets shocked nonstop. The fire in his veins never fully goes away before the next one is doled out. He refuses to submit, making snarky comments, glaring, refusing the mush they shove through the door. Each day he scratches a tally mark on the wall. When he gets to ten he finally starts to listen. He’s too weak not to. His muscles ache with every slight movement, his eyes are half lidden so he can’t even make eye contact if he wanted to, his stomach feels like it’s eating itself, even if he is eating now, the food they give is not enough for his enhanced metabolism, the only thing left it seems of his powers. He finally follows the rules, if he doesn’t he’s worried he won’t be able to hold out and make it until Tony comes to save him.

Every night he just mutters the same thing while rocking himself back and forth on the cot, knees to his chest and arms wrapped around them. Mr. Stark will come for me. Mr. Stark will come for me. Mr. Stark will come for me. Mr. Stark will come for me. Mr. Stark will come for me. Mr. Stark  will come for me.

________

Every day Ross tells him that Tony is not coming for him. That Tony doesn’t care about some mutant orphan from queens. That Tony agrees he belongs here.

And every day Peter definitely says that he’s wrong. He follows the rule, but he will not admit this man is right. And everyday without fail he is shocked for his insolence. Still, if there is one thing Peter will not back down on it is this. He refuses to let go of his hope. Mr. Stark will come for me.

_______

The day comes finally. Peter is lying on his cot staring at the cracks in the ceiling. He has counted them countless times by now, 42 of them to be exact. He had just finished scratching the thirtieth tally on the wall, one month in this hell, before he went back to staring at the ceiling that never changed, when he heard the click of the door. The tell tale sign that Ross is coming. He sits up and lowers his eyes to the floor. But where he usually sees three pairs of shoes, Ross’s and two guards, he now sees four. He can’t help his curiosity as he looks up. 

His heart stutters in his chest as hope blooms. It's Tony. Mr. Stark had finally come to get him out. Tony is standing there in one of his immaculate suits, black jacket, black pants, white shirt, and red tie. “Mr. Stark?” Peter's voice trembles with relief.

“Spider,” Ross warns. Peter knows he is not allowed to speak without permission, but now that Tony is here he doesn't have to listen.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter says again with a breath of disbelief and joy. 

“I warned you.” Ross says raising the dreaded remote. Tony stares at Peter with a blank look. Eyes emotionless and lips in a thin indiscernible line. And then Ross presses the button and Peter screams out as his muscles seize and spasm, the white hot electricity enveloping him in a fiery blanket of pain. He falls onto the cold hard ground seizing. When it finally ends and he is catching his breath he hears Ross say, “It is quite disobedient.” It, not Peter. Since he has been here he has been called Spider, It, Thing, Prisoner, but never Peter. Yet Peter barely notices that anymore, he’s just used to it.

“I can see that.” That was Tony’s voice, and it was hard, no sense of worry or kindness. 

Peter doesn’t understand, “Mr. Stark?” This time his voice is laced with concern and anxiety.

“You just don’t learn do you?” Ross asks as his thumb reaches for the button again. Peter braces himself, but he would honestly rather be shocked then what happens next. 

“May I?” Tony asks.

Ross smiles, his evil smile that makes Peter’s stomach roll with dread. “Why of course.” Ross hands the remote to Tony.

Tony gives a smile to Peter, but is nothing like he remembers. The smiles he got from Tony when he was proud of him after a battle, in the lab, and on movie nights were filled with warmth and love. This time his smile was filled with nothing but cold wickedness. It looked so wrong on his mentor’s face. A moment later Tony’s finger comes down on the button and Peter’s world becomes nothing but fiery pain once more.  After a brutal amount of time, Peter is not sure quite how long, he can finally breathe again, his muscles still spasming in the aftershocks. Peter doesn’t dare look back up. He drags his exhausted sore body into a sitting position against the cot, just like the first day he was here. He felt nothing but betrayal. He keeps his eyes trained to the floor.

“I’m impressed Ross, you’ve taught it well.” It. There is something so much worse about that word when it comes out of Tony’s mouth. 

“Why thank you Mr. Stark, we try our best.” Peter feels tears prick his eyes. He has not yet cried yet, not in this entire month. He wouldn’t let himself look weak, but now he can’t help it. His eyes fill to the brim before the tears start cascading down Peter's grime covered face.

“I see you have everything handled here and that I am not needed.” I need you. Peter thought. “Keep up the good work.” 

“Will do.” Ross replied and Peter could just hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll show you out.” and with that they leave, Peter’s one hope walking out the door. The click of the door locking sounded so final this time, like this was truly the end of his life, the end of Spider-Man and the end of Peter Parker.

He doesn’t understand. What did he do wrong? Why would Mr. Stark leave him here? Is it true and he actually deserves to be here? More questions race though his mind as he stares at the closed door in front of him. 

He will never see Aunt May again. He will never see Ned or MJ again. He will never see anyone except for Ross and those hulking guards again. He will never see the outside world again. 

He climbs back onto the cot and cries himself to sleep. He no longer utters that one hopeful sentence as it is a lie. No one is coming for him. 

He no longer counts the days he’s there. He just feels numb and does nothing, He is now a ghost of the boy he once was. He eats, keeps his eyes down, never utters a word, and never fights. He becomes a shell of a human being, scratch that, a shell of a mutant. He is nothing anymore and is treated as such.

________

He eats without being told

He keeps his eyes down and mouth shut when anyone comes in

He stays pliant and does not fight when they take blood

He uses the bathroom

He sleeps

It’s the same thing day in and day out. Once in a while, if he accidently dissociates or hallucinates, he will miss an order he is given and he will be shocked. That is the only time he makes a sound, when he screams. 

Eat

Eyes down

Mouth Shut

Follow Orders

Use bathroom

Sleep

This is his life now. He does not fight. He does not hope. He does not live. 

___________

There is a sudden bang one day while Peter is laying on his cot staring at the ceiling. He no longer counts the cracks. He just stares at the gray ceiling with hollow eyes. The building shakes and he hears the telltale sounds of fighting, but he gives it no mind. Sometimes he daydreams by accident about being rescued, but even in the dream he knows it’s fake, no one is coming.

He hears distant footsteps. He assumes it is Ross and the guards, even if these sound a bit faster and more frantic. Still he does as he is supposed to. He sits up and looks down. His mouth stays shut. He hears the click of the door, he does not look up, he does not flinch, he does not move.  

Footsteps approach him, they sound heavier than normal though, “Pete?” He knows he heard wrong, no one calls him that. The footsteps retreat and he hears the voice call outside the door, “He’s in here!” And the footsteps come back. He also distantly hears many other footsteps approaching his cell fast. Guards he thinks. He hates the guards. It must be a wash day, they usually haul him up roughly and bring him out of his cell to a separate room, strip him and hose him down then dress him and shove him back into his cell still soaking wet shivering. Still he stays pliant and does not fight. But no one touches him. 

“Peter?” he hears again. His mind is playing tricks on him, he knows that voice, but last time, that voice was accompanied by the white hot electric pain. It was that same voice that used to bring him happiness and joy, but now brings nothing but fear and dread. “Peter, can you look at me?” Peter knows this is a trick. Ross has done this to him for fun, but he called him spider. That time he looked up and was immediately shocked, he never looked up again. “Peter, can you hear me?” There is a waiver in the voice. But he was asked a question so he has to answer, he nods. “Okay, that’s good kiddo.” Kiddo, that’s new. Then there is a metal hand on his shoulder, he wills himself not to flinch and stays stiff and still. “Can you speak?” Peter once again nods because he wasn’t actually asked to speak. “Please say something.” The man pleads.

That seemed like an order so Peter speaks, his voice gravely and weak as he has not spoken in days, maybe longer, “What would you like me to say sir?” 

The hand on Peter’s shoulder grasps a bit harder accompanied with a pained gasp. “Peter,” The voice says hesitantly, “Do you know who I am?”

Peter says nothing. Part of him believes it’s Tony, but even if it was that just meant more pain. It also could be a hallucination, but Tony was no longer safe so he is not sure why his mind would pick him. It’s also odd that his mind would pick this version of Tony, by the metal hand on his shoulder he guesses the man is in his Iron Man suit. The suit that used to represent hope to him. Either way it is the same person, whether he is real or not, so Peter nods.

“Can you say my name?” The voice asks. 

“Tony.” Peter says, his voice devoid of emotions. He refuses to say Mr. Stark, because he always associated that name with his mentor who was kind and warm, something close to a father figure. 

Again he hears a gasp. It is the first time he has called the man by his real name. “Th-That’s right bud, and I’m here t-to take you home.” The voice sounds as though the person is crying. Peter says nothing. “Please look at me.” Peter stares at the floor. “Why won’t you look at me Peter?”

Direct question, have to answer, “Not allowed.”

The voice lets out a small cry, “What did they do to you?” 

Peter doesn’t know how to answer that question so he doesn’t. It’s obvious the boy will not look up, so the man sighs. He grasps the boy gently, very different from what he’s used to, and guides the boy to a standing position and steers him out of the cell. His eyes are still cast down and he sees that they are passing many others, but none are wearing any shoes he has seen on the guards. If he had looked up he would have seen the horrified sad faces of the Avengers staring at the broken teen. 

“It’s going to be okay Peter, we're going to get you home and you are going to be alright.” Peter didn’t believe that for a second, not just because the voice wavered as the man said it, but because he knew he was never going home. This was a trick, he was not going to fall for it.

Soon he led outside, which is definitely new. He desperately wants to look up, see the sky, feel the sun on his face, but he knows better, He is then led up some kind of ramp and then is sat down on some type of cushioned chair. This was all new to him, but he knew not to fight. Others filed into the room he was in and sat down as well in various chairs around him. The man who had led him here stood in front of him as mechanical sounds filled that room and he saw someone step out of the metal. Well he only saw the man’s pant covered legs and shoe covered feet step out. His eyes still trained to the ground, a new ground, this one much cleaner. “We’re going to take off in a second and get you home, do you understand?” The voice was soft.

Direct question, “No.”

“No, you don’t understand?”

“Yes sir.”

The voice was quiet for a moment before it spoke again, “Peter you have permission to speak.” the words almost sounded strained and hard to get out. Permission to speak. He had not had free rein to speak in a very long time. “Why don’t you understand Peter?”

“No one is coming to save me. It’s a trick.” He replied.

“It’s not a trick Peter, I promise.” A hand was back on his shoulder, this time warm and human. Peter instinctively wanted to lean into it, but knew better. “Peter, please look at me.” The man, Tony, crouched down to try and get to eye level, but Peter still avoided contact. “Peter, I give you permiss-” the word was cut off in the middle, it seemed to pain the man, “permission to look at me.”

Peter still felt it was a trick, but Ross had never used that wording. It was almost like Simon Says. If someone says anything about speaking without asking a direct question he never speaks. If anyone says look up he never looks. The word Permission is his Simon Says. Once that word is spoken he knows he can actually do what is being said or asked. He looks up to Tony’s face. He flinches when he does for a second, but the shock does not come. He finally lets himself look, really looks at the man in front of him. Tony’s eyes are red rimmed, a few stray teas left on his cheeks. His face is pinched in sadness and worry. His hair is disheveled and his clothes, a band T-shirt and jeans, are wrinkled. Somehow this Tony looked nothing like the Tony who came to visit him in his cell. That Tony’s face was hard, emotionless, evil. His clothes pressed and perfect, his hair styled and not a strand out of place. Yet they were the same person… right?

“Why don’t you believe I am taking you home?” Tony asks as he searches Peter's eyes looking for something, Peter doesn’t know what.

“You didn’t that last time you came to visit.” Peter answers almost mechanically. Again he waits for the shock that will never come.

“The last ti-” Tony’s face creases even more, this time in confusion, “What are you talking about?”

“You came to see Ross’s progress with me.” Peter explained. Tony didn’t look like he understood which made no sense to Peter. He could see out of his peripheral that everyone else in the room looked confused as well.

“I couldn’t find you until now Peter.”

“Yes you did.” Again Peter expected a shock for talking back, “I thought you came to save me, but then you agreed with Ross, that I belonged there. You shocked me for speaking and looking up and left. I understood then that you wanted me there, that I deserved to be there.” Peter was confused why he had to explain this to the man. Was this a new tactic to break him? Didn’t they already know he was broken?

“Peter I-” Tony was at a complete loss for words. How could Peter believe that he not only hurt him, but left him there to die? Did the kid break and hallucinate him, and if so why would Peter imagine him to be so horrendous? “I-”

“Look what I found.” Nat interrupted as she finally strolled into the Quinjet, the last of the team to arrive. Tony hesitantly broke his eyes away from Peter to look at Natasha. She held a thin material in the shape of a face patterned by honeycomb shaped lines. “Photostatic Veil.”

Tony’s eyes widened as he looked back at Peter. “Peter listen to me,” That was an order, so Peter made sure to pay attention. “That was not me Peter.” That made no sense, he knew what Tony looked and sounded like. “They used technology known as a Photostatic Veil or a Nano Mask to make someone look and sound exactly like me.” Was this a trick? “I swear Peter, I would never ever hurt you. I have been looking for you nonstop. I could barely eat or sleep, my only mission was to find you and bring you home.” Peter looks into the man’s eyes as he had been given permission and looks for a lie, but he finds nothing but sincerity. “Peter you have to believe me, I would die before I ever hurt you.” Peter still looked at him hesitant, not wanting to fall for a trick. If he lets himself hope and then have that life line be shattered he will shatter along with it. 

Nat came to the rescue, “Peter watch me.” Another order, he looked up to Natasha as she put the mask on her face. A moment later her face moped into that of Tony’s, the only difference was her red hair. 

Peter looked back to Tony. He lets his walls lower just a bit, not enough so they can’t be put right back up again if need be, “M-Mr. Stark?” He asks in a very quiet voice, daring to hope.

Tears stream down the older man’s face a new. “Yes Peter, yes it’s me I promise and I am not ever letting you go back there.” 

Peter’s walls came crumbling down, “Mr. Stark!” Peter cried and Tony immediately dashed forward and enveloped Peter in a warm embrace. He held the boy as close as he could as tight as he could. 

“Peter,” Tony cried back. “Kid, you have no idea how much I missed you.” Peter, for the first time in, he doesn’t know how long, since Tony’s first, scratch that, imposter Tony’s first visit, lets himself cry. Let himself sob. 

“I thought you left me.” He sobbed into Tony’s shoulder, “I thought you didn’t want me.”

“No, God no Peter, never.” The older man breathed into the kid’s overgrown greasy curls. “I’m so sorry Peter. I’m sorry it took so long to find you, but I never stopped looking.”

“H-How l-long?” Peter asked shakily.

Tony’s breath hitched, “Three months.” 

Peter had been in that hell hole for ninety days, and for sixty of them he believed that Tony had left him there. Peter started crying harder, the pain of those three months finally breaking through the surface. The grief of Peter’s own life that he had thought he had lost coming out in a waterfall of salt water. “Mr. Stark.” He cried out again. Saying that name again and having it not be associated with abandonment and pain made Peter feel so much relief, relief he never thought he would feel again. The two cried together while they flew back to the tower. The others got off the jet first to give them some privacy. 

When Tony finally pulled away Peter whimpered at the loss. Out of habit Peter cast his gaze to the floor. Tony used a finger to tilt Peter’s head up. Tony was patient and finally, slowly Peter met his eyes again, “I missed you so much.” Peter gave the slightest smile, the first smile in three months. “God, I love you so so much Peter.”

“I love you too Mr. Stark.” 

Peter’s hope was back. Mr. Stark had come for me.