(Red Stains) - I Would Go Through Anything For You
Peter was pulled from the room, a screaming Morgan being left behind, by the chains wrapped around his wrist. He didn’t fight. He could read the threats. He fights, and Morgan takes the brunt of it. He would never put her in that position. Peter used the opportunity of being pulled from his room to get a good look around. He was hoping to see outside the facility to try and figure out exactly where he was.
It was just his luck that there were no windows on the entire walk. He was led to a musty staircase and up one flight. The entire building was barely lit, more lightbulbs were broken than were on. The walls were a dark grey cinder-block coated in mold. Water seemed to be leaking down from busted pipes and creating murky puddles along the eroded ground.
“You guys could have at least given us a better place to stay? What is this, the motel 6 of hostage facilities?” Peter’s senses flared as big-baddie on the left threw an elbow straight into Peter’s jaw. He grunted and ducked his head, trying to calm the stars that threatened to steal his vision.
To be completely honest, Peter was not thriving. Whatever had happened in the car accident – he felt like trash. The entirety of the left half of his body felt like a singular, giant bruise. His brain had taken enough rattling to last him a lifetime, and he was pretty sure that at least three of his fingers had been broken. Every step sent a stab of pain up his body, and he was fighting to keep his breath steady.
The stairs were an act of torture in themselves. His head was slowly beginning to pound harder and harder, every movement he made added to the pressure in his skull. He just had to cooperate and maybe this wouldn’t be too awful.
He had just managed to convince himself that this wasn’t going to be terrible when he made it to the top of the stairs. He felt his entire body falter as his feet seemed to cease working.
The room was a torture chamber.
Literally.
It was an entire cleared out floor, no walls splitting it up. But there were different sections spread throughout the rectangular room. Immediately in front of Peter was a metal surgical table with metal bars spread across it. He wouldn’t be able to move. Peter felt his hands beginning to sweat as the men holding him on either side let him take in the room with smirks on their faces.
To his left was a large screen with a chair bolted into the ground. The chair had strange bindings, a terrifying mix between leather and metal that was intertwined to keep him from moving. But the most intimidating aspect of it was the head-piece sat on the chair. Peter was turned then to the right before he could really inspect the chair.
To the right there were two separate and equally horrifying things. On the far wall was shelves and shelves of equipment. Equipment that Peter did and didn’t recognize. Equipment that would be used to make him scream and cry. Peter felt like throwing up just looking at it. And on the right was a camera set-up. It was on a stand in front of a black backdrop with another metal chair bolted into the ground set up.
This was so much worse than he had anticipated that it was going to be. He hated to admit it, but he was completely terrified. He wanted the mask on his face. He wanted to be able to hide the wide eyes and set jaw. Every bone in his aching body screamed at him to GET OUT! Run, fight, dodge. Whatever it takes to put as much distance between this room and himself as possible. He wanted Tony. He wanted to be safe and protected from this. But he knew that Morgan was down the stairs. And he had no clue if he would be able to make it to her before the others did. It was not a risk Peter was willing to take. He would rather put himself through every ounce of pain that this room could hold before putting Morgan Stark in any sense of danger.
Peter was led over to the chair in front of the camera. His body naturally began to resist the force being used to make him sit. His knees locking up and pushing against the hands holding him.
“I would quit fighting, Mr. Parker. Lest little miss Stark gets uncomfortable in her room.” Peter immediately went still. He let his body be pliable as he was forced to sit in the metal chair. Metal and leather cuffs were latched over his arms, shins, and neck. His body was completely immobilized, and Peter felt his claustrophobia beginning to rise up in his chest. All he could think about was the building being closed in on top of him, struggling to move as concrete was piled on top of him – suffocating him down.
He took a deep breath, ignoring the twinge of pain in his side. He had to focus. He couldn’t lose his mind yet. He had to be able to control his brain right now.
“Alright boys, rough him up a bit. I need to go make a phone call, ten minutes until film time.” Hammer said as he slid out of the room. He looked completely out of place in this dungy room. His suit perfectly pressed and not a hair was out of place on his head. Peter looked at the two men as they walked over to the stacks upon stacks of weapons and tools.
He wanted to throw up. Peter flexed his hands as he leaned his head back. He could still feel the effects of the mist that Hammer had on a timer in his room. He felt hot and flustered all the time. His brain seemed to be sludge as he tried to figure out what was going on.
He had been lost in his thoughts when the men stepped up beside him. Peter blinked up at them, and there was no hint of humanity in their eyes.
Peter saw a set of brass knuckles on the taller man’s fist. The man’s punches would have hurt enough without the studded metal spread across his fist. The second man was holding a thin, glinting knife. Peter bit his lip as he stared straight ahead.
“Open your mouth.” Brass knuckles said. Peter had missed the other object in his hands. It was a thick leather strap with a place for his chin underneath it. Peter obeyed, as Knuckles walked up to him. When he turned the strap Peter saw that it held a mouth piece. Unceremoniously, the piece was shoved into his mouth. The leather chin piece molding under his chin. The leather above his lip met right under his nose, and there would be no noise to come out of this. Knuckles put the strap through the buckle and yanked it tight enough that Peter grunted from the pain. It just doubled the pressure in his head.
“Now we don’t have to hear you yelling.” Knife said as he placed the silver blade on Peter’s left arm. Peter closed his eyes as the blade was drawn down swiftly. The sharp sting raced across his nerves, but Peter just let out a quick breath. He peeled his eyes open just in time to see brass knuckles flying at his face.
Peter thought of MJ. Of the fear she must have felt the entire time he was fighting the Goblin. He thought about her eyes, the golden-brown set against the soft brown of her smooth skin. He lost himself – disassociating from the pain as he dreamt of gripping onto her hand once again.
___
When Hammer rolled back into the room with a clap, Peter’s head was hanging low, tugging against the strap on his neck. If he had been in pain before, this was something completely new. Had his ribs on the right side of his body not been broken before, they certainly were now. His face was numb, his nose oozing blood down the strap. His lip was definitely busted underneath the leather and he could feel the blood leaking down his neck out from under his gag.
Hammer stood in front of Peter as Knuckles and Knives cleaned themselves off behind the camera. Hammer inspected Peter, turning his head as he looked the boy up and down. Peter felt a hand under his chin, as his head was pulled up. His eyes met Hammer’s and he wanted nothing more than for this man to stop touching him.
“This looks much better. I want Stark to know that I’m being very serious with my threats.” Hammer cleared his throat. “You know, I admire you, Peter. You could have resisted, could have gotten out in the beginning. But, you put yourself into a terrible place just to protect someone that Stark loves more than you. Were you scared? Scared that if you preserved yourself, then your rent-a-daddy might stop loving you? I mean, before little missy was brought into play, I think Stark needed a play-thing to be protective over. How different has it been since you got snapped back? How much less do you get invited over? How much time and effort does he put forth to Morgan compare to you? It’s probably not a bad thing if we just took you off his hands – I mean, he may even thank us to not have to worry about you anymore.” Then Hammer, whose eyes had been boring into Peter’s soul, turned away as though he hadn’t just been confirming Peter’s darkest thoughts. Peter tried to swallow around the lump in his throat.
“Alright men, action time.” Hammer said. Peter wanted to sit up, to wipe the blood from his face as the red recording light flipped on. Peter’s head felt loose on his shoulders as it dipped and swayed.
“Oh, hey Tony.” Hammer didn’t step into the view of the camera, just spoke from directly behind it as knuckles held a spotlight right in Peter’s eyes. He flinched away from the blazing light, the pain in his head growing as his senses went wild. It had been too long since he’d been in such bright lights that this was a straight attack on his senses. “It looks like I have something that belongs to you. Actually, you know what, I have two somethings that belong to you. Now, don’t you worry your pretty little head. Little Miss Stark is doing just fine. In fact, your rent-a-son decided to do whatever he needs to keep Little Miss pristine and untouched. Maybe that’s why you’ve kept this mutant around. I guess it’s a great way for you to make sure that no one harms your daughter.” Hammer hummed from behind the camera. “If I’m being honest though, I kind of expected him to be a bit more resilient. I mean, a few meetings with a knife and some brass knuckles, and look at him - he can’t even keep his head up!” Hammer teased. “Anyways, Stark, I’m going to keep these two to myself for a little bit, and you’ll get another message from me soon enough. You don’t have to worry about your daughter. She’s just fine, and will remain that way as long as the bug remains agreeable.” Peter felt tears pooling in his eyes. Every inch of this responsibility was resting on his shoulders and he absolutely hated it. He wasn’t strong enough. But he had to be. There wasn’t a choice. “Don’t wait up, Stark.” And the blinking light stilled.
___
Peter was dropped unceremoniously into his and Morgan’s cell. He grunted at the pain as he tried his best to hide the tears racing down his face. The shackles on his arms had been replaced with a thick metal band that was wrapped around his neck. The chain, thick and heavy, had been latched onto the wall behind him. They had left the gag on him, and he wanted nothing more than to take it off. Hammer, right before departing, had said that if Peter so much as laid a hand on the strap Morgan would be the next to have one. The threat had done its job, so Peter just tugged the girl up against his side, wrapping a steady arm around her as she cried. He rubbed comforting circles into the girl’s back, leaning his head against the cinder block as he did his best to keep from letting his cries jostle the sleeping girl too much. He watched as the blood from the cuts spread and dropped onto his white shirt. Red stains to stick with him. Never letting him forget his first wretched day in that hell-hole.