(Fire) - In My Veins
Peter was pulled from the room just as someone was bringing a sandwich and water to Morgan. He could smell it, his stomach stabbing in pain as the scent hit his nose. He could already feel that his healing factor had slowed down drastically. By Peter’s best estimation, it had been roughly three days since they had been taken. His entire body felt like it was being weighed down.
Knuckles was pulling him along, essentially carrying him up the stairs to the torture room. Peter felt like breaking down, he wanted to curl into a ball and be held by Tony while he wept. He just wanted to feel safe, but the way that his spider-senses erupted as he was brought into the room had him feeling anything but. Hammer was waiting for him, staring at a needle he was inspecting.
Peter was led straight over to the chair he had been held in previously and strapped back down. Knives was nowhere to be found. Knuckles stepped back, and Hammer just looked up, glancing from Peter to Knuckles.
“What did I - I told you to take off the,” Hammer huffed, dropping his head into his hands. “I pay you enough for you to listen to instructions - take off the muzzle.” Peter disliked that he called it a muzzle like Peter was a rabid animal that needed to be tamed.
Knuckles stepped up, pulling the piece from Peter’s mouth. Peter grunted against the discomfort. He opened his mouth slowly against the stabbing pain he felt. He wanted nothing more than to scream and yell at Hammer, but the bracelet on Morgan’s wrist was enough to keep him from making a noise.
Hammer clicked the button on the camera, before turning and walking over to a table across the room from Peter. Hammer had a needle and a dark vial of liquid held in his hands, and Peter began to lean back in the restraints. He felt his heart rate pick up as he watched Hammer get closer, plunging the needle into the cap of the vial.
Peter felt his breaths shortening, as he pulled as much as he could as he leaned back. Whatever this was… the joy that lay across Hammer’s face had Peter beginning to sweat. Whatever was going to happen - Peter knew it was not good.
“I keep saying, Mr. Parker, that this isn’t personal. In all reality, you have been a wonderful prisoner. So compliant.” Hammer said, knocking air bubbles from the syringe. He approached Peter, pushing the teens head to the side and pressing the needle into the muscle. Peter winced, holding his breath at the jab. He felt the immediate flare of drugs - like ice running through his veins.
“Now, Mr. Stark, I would imagine that the Spiderling here might be a bit concerned as to what I just injected him with. Now, this is a - mostly - nonlethal chemical mixture that I threw together. When I have tested it out previously, it has felt as though fire is coursing through one’s veins. Now, for Mr. Parker, I upped the injection a bit. It should wear off in about thirty minutes. It should be kicking in, any time now.” Hammer said, as he leaned against a chair he had sat behind the camera.
Peter took a deep breath, trying to gage a different feeling. He wasn’t feeling anything - no. Wait.
Peter gasped, his head falling forward. It was ice in his veins, so hot that he felt cold. He felt it starting at his neck and it began to flow down. Each pump of his heart carrying the drug farther in his body. Peter began to gasp.
He had burned himself plenty of times. Between fires, ovens, and candles Peter knew what it was to burn your arm or hand. It had never been too bad though. His super healing had always healed him up rather quickly. After one particularly bad bought in a collapsing building, Mr. Stark had created a serum that had not only soothed the burning pain, but almost immediately made the burned flesh painless.
Peter could only dream of that at this moment. He could feel flames licking at his entire body. Red-hot pokers stabbing at every single cell, burning him from the inside out. Peter jerked against the restraints – the poison being wafted into his room and days of malnutrition keeping him from breaking out of the chair. He had been holding back the screams, gasping for air around the pain that encompassed him.
But, like a light - switch being flipped – the pain seemed to hit another level. In Western Civilization class, Peter had heard of the Christian martyrs in Europe that had been dunked into vats of oil and lit on fire. He felt as though he were right alongside them. Burning – unable to resist. Lit on fire as the oil had it clinging to his skin.
Peter screamed. He didn’t know if he actually made any noise. All of the pain drowned out the noise around him as his body shook. He arched his back, unable to get it more than an inch off the chair. He needed OUT. Peter needed out – he had to get away – he needed help!
“PLE-PLEASE!” He screamed – he thinks he screamed. He felt something damp on his entire body, his hands clammy and hot. He was so hot. He wanted to jump into an ice bath. He wanted to drown in the Atlantic ocean, if he could just never feel a pain like this again.
Time was weird. All he knew was the pain. He couldn’t remember if his eyes were open or not. Peter had no clue if Hammer was in the room – he knows he heard voices at some point during the pain – but maybe it was his imagination. He had receded into himself. Peter imagined Tony, oh if only Mr. Stark were there. He would know exactly what to do in this situation. If just Mr. Stark would swoop in, throw some iced water onto Peter and take them home. Lights faded in and out, the pain never failing to remain overwhelming.
Then it all just stopped.
Peter just breathed. Deep – lung-rattling breaths. His hand shaking in their restraints. He felt moisture on his face, and he heard his breaths hiccupping. He needed Tony. He wasn’t strong enough. He wasn’t Atlas – the weight of this was going to crush him. He wanted Hammer to kill him. How much easier this would be.
Brown eyes. He thought of those terrified brown eyes. Of Morgan Stark, probably crying in the room downstairs. His one respite from all of this. And he knew that he would swim seven oceans to know she was okay. He would accept fire in his veins day after wretched day if that little girl remained unharmed. Not because he was Spider-Man, or what the world called a hero, but because she was family to him. She reminded him so much of her. The dark hair, and dark eyes. Blunt words that hid the kindest of souls. And he had let her down, and if he could live in the pain that losing her had caused him then he could live through the fire in his veins a thousand times over. Because nothing could ever hurt as much as the knowledge that you killed the love of your life.
“I think he is waking up, Stark.” Then, the relief he had been begging for, ice water hit Peter’s face as he jerked forwards, gasping. The coolness of the liquid did nothing to cool the fire that was slowly fading from his veins. But he was awake now, and he could see the red-light still blinking. Peter blinked. He had no clue how long he had been in that dark place. He had no clue how much longer he could have handled, but now, sitting in that chair, he wanted nothing more than go back there. He knew Tony would see this. See how weak Peter was. He would wish that he had never met Peter, because Morgan wouldn’t be here if he had been out of the picture. Tony would hate him forever and Peter couldn’t even blame him. “He doesn’t look to be in much of a place to talk. Hm. You know what, he did so good, I’ll give him a night without the muzzle. I guess I should let him eat something if I don’t want him to die on me. And I have too many plans for this kid for him to just die on me right now. Adios, Stark. Still no demands. We will contact you soon enough.”
The light shut off and Peter was carried away.