7383
Thirty minutes and counting. Thirty. Entire. Minutes this asshole had been pawing through his home, opening cabinets, rifling through his brother’s old room, his father’s private workshop. Peter sat motionless, the blood across his cheek and chin was drying in place uncomfortably, and he kept opening and closing his lips around the gag, trying to starve off the feeling of his split lip solidifying against the fabric.
His eye was beginning to throb more and more, Peter figured it would begin to swell up soon enough, but he wasn’t focused on it. Distantly, he could hear Ronny’s feet coming up from downstairs where his Dad’s workshop was. He looked straight ahead, staring at a spot of grime beneath the counter edge.
From the corner of his eyeline, he could see the lanky figure walking past the doorframe and smiling widely again.
“Well, you were right… s’ all pretty much junk in here,” the man drawled. Peter stayed still as he felt the air shifting when Ronny passed him, something clinked against the countertop and he couldn’t help but flick his eyes up toward the sound. “I do dig this thing though, so I’m gonna keep it, if that’s cool.”
The man had set down a roll of silver tape and something else which made Peter finally feel something other than defeated.
Tony’s first reactor.
Proof That Tony Stark Has A Heart
“Looks like I could probably strip some of those wires, make a bit of cash.” Ronny smiled as he tilted the object back and forth, running his fingers over the copper wiring and nodding appreciatively before setting it back down against the counter.
Peter tilted his neck back, turning his chin away as Ronny leaned down in front of him. His hands stretched out and for a moment, Peter’s heart began hammering. Too close, too close. Get away from me. Get away. Then Ronny’s palm flattened, and Peter let out a small, breathy exhale as he realised he was being pat down and nothing more.
His fingers twitched on their own accord at his sides, his teeth grating together behind the gag as Ronny’s fingers squeezed over the lump in his pocket – the wallet with the card his father had left him. “Let’s see here,” the man murmured, to himself more than anything. “Alright,” he whispered, digging his fingers into Peter’s pocket and twisting the wallet until it slipped out of the teen’s pants and allowed Ronny to step back with an even wider grin.
He casually flipped open the wallet, flicking through the various pockets until he got to the silver card with Tony’s name on it. Peter inhaled sharply and shut his eyes when the man carelessly threw his wallet aside without care, turning the card around his hand and lowering himself closer to eye level. “Now, Peter… you remember that conversation we had, ‘bout me hittin’ your face in?”
He arched an eyebrow as Peter exhaled and looked down, avoiding eye contact. “We don’t have to have that about this card, do we?” The teen’s lip quivered before he bit down on his tongue, tasting the small remains of blood that still lingered in the fabric of the gag.
He watched the boy intently for a moment, hearing the small noises as he inhaled and exhaled through his nose, his entire torso vibrating with tiny tremors as he tensed himself. “Okay now you’re gonna tell me a pin,” he instructed sharply. “I could hurt you until you tell me, or you could give me the wrong number and I’ll hurt you again…” His voice was low, dangerous, completely ill-fitting with the grin still on his face. “But if you just give me that pin, we’ll be all done.” Peter said nothing, waiting in quiet anticipation for whatever would happen next.
Ronny paid no attention, merely muttering a soft, “okay?” Before reaching up and hooking a finger beneath the inside of the gag, a few inches away from Peter’s lips.
Instinctively, the teen bit down on the cloth, not wanting to be expected to speak anytime soon. He couldn’t come up with a way around this. He would either be exposing his father’s money or getting hurt again.
Ronny’s smile faded as a second finger looped around the cloth and forced the fabric from Peter’s teeth and lips. He stood, ignoring the heavy breaths Peter was taking, the way he squeezed his eyes shut and tugged against the power cable before slumping in defeat. “So, what is it?” He asked curtly, looking down at the boy who flinched at his tone of voice.
He kept his lips parted, licking the split skin and wincing, but still not answering. “You’re not talkin’?” Ronny pressed, looking to the side and sighing through a forced smile. “Why you makin’ me do this, Pete, huh?” The man held out his finger, waving it before Peter’s face. “I’m gonna give you one more chance,” he warned, as if Peter was a petulant toddler refusing to crawl into bed at an acceptable hour.
Peter didn’t make a noise. He looked at the floor and ignored the finger in his face, ignored the warning he was given.
Ronny ground his teeth together dangerously. “No?!” He asked angrily, glaring down at Peter with a heat the boy wasn’t expecting.
Pain. In his chest, his ribcage, in the air that was forced from his lungs.
Peter gagged, hard and thick as the fist collided with his stomach.
“Ahh,” he yelped. Tears threatened his façade when he felt them burn behind his eyelids while he leant forward in his chair, heaving on air that didn’t reach his lungs. He wheezed, wishing this was just another playground incident which ended with his brother hurriedly pushing his inhaler into his hands and rubbing his back while a teacher called their father worriedly.
But it wasn’t.
“You remember now, Peter? Hm?!” The teen kept his eyes closed, forcing the burning sensation to flood away from his eyes by focusing on the uneven rise and fall of his chest as he recovered from the hit.
Something wrenched the back of his head, forcing his face upward. There were nails in the back of his scalp and another patch of hair being tugged. “Tell me the goddamn pin!” The man hollered, his fingers tightening as Peter’s neck was forced backward, his eyes peeling open to stare right up at him.
“Seven-three-eight-three,” he gasped hurriedly.
“You sure?” Ronny demanded, his hand slipping forward to grip a section of hair at the front of the boy’s head. He loosened his hold minutely to allow the teen to nod weakly, his eyes slipping back closed as his head was shoved downward again. “Alright,” Ronny said, a pleased look on his face as Peter struggled to catch his breath for the third time. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He laughed.
He swung the roll of tape around his finger, murmuring the pin a few times until he was done waiting for the teen to collect himself.
A single nail pressed against the sensitive skin beneath Peter’s chin, tilting his head upwards. “What’s it mean?” Ronny asked quietly, forcing the eye contact. The boy opened and closed his lips a few times, not knowing what to say before whispering his answer softly.
“Pete,” he choked out, hiding his face behind the loose curls as soon as Ronny moved his finger away.
7 – P, 3 – E, 8 – T, 3 – E. Pete.
“That’s nice,” he sneered, watching the roll of tape and picking along it until he found the start. “I might just have to borrow that card for a bit,” he smirked, ripping the tape and grinning as Peter leaned away from him. “Ah, ah,” he tutted, “now, you’re gonna have to stay real still for me, alright?”
Peter felt the wood of the chair digging into his spine as the first strip of tape pressed firmly against his chest. Ronny smelled like sweat as he lifted his arm to pull the tape across the back of the chair. He kept the roll going in one, long, continuous line of tape as he wrapped it around the surprisingly small torso.
Peter winced as Ronny tore the tape from the roll then pressed his palms flat against the mound of duct tape keeping his torso pinned firmly against the back of the chair. “C’mere,” Ronny muttered, picking up Peter’s hands by his wrists, laying them over his lap and slapping another line of tape straight over them before he could move.
Peter swallowed, squirming in the chair before realising he had no room left to move. His arms were secured to his lap, a mound of tape stretched across from his wrists to his elbows, covering the base of the chair’s seat as it went. His chest was in the same position, not to mention the fact that Ronny was busy securing his shins to the chair legs in a similar fashion before the cloth was pressed back between his lips and the front door was swinging closed.
The nearest gas station was a ten-minute drive down the road, and there was an ATM machine sat outside of it.
Peter had another twenty odd minutes to wait, or maybe the man would just take the money from his father’s account and leave Peter in the chair until someone found him. But there was always the possibility the man would come back with the cash, just to kill him off, to keep him quiet…
The teen shuddered at the thought, wincing again as the tape restricted the expanse of his chest.
The sun was slowly setting. The light filtering in through the window wasn’t enough to give Peter’s curls the golden tint anymore. In fact, it wasn’t even enough to keep the room lit. Shadows were long, they cast shapes against the tile floor and the white walls. Peter could hear the birds beginning to quiet down as the buzz of crickets began seeping in, along with the soft glow of the moon.
He kept his head down, hair dangling in his face made no difference when he could barely see out of one eye now that the swelling had begun.
The young teen jolted as much as he could from beneath the tape as a shrill ringing filled the kitchen. He made a small noise beneath the gag, his head tilting upwards slightly.
“Mmph?” He groaned, squeezing his good eye shut as the ringing pierced his throbbing skull uncomfortably.
There was a beep and then a beat of silence before the kitchen filled with the best sound Peter could have imagined.
“Heeey Pete! It’s Harls, hope you’re doin’ okay on your own, you little shit.” There was a soft laugh from the receiver and Peter smiled beneath the gag, rolling his eyes at Harley’s fond but mildly insulting nickname. He winced immediately after, his split lip didn’t agree with the smile and his swollen eye didn’t like the eye roll either. “Anyway, I just checked in at the airport… my flight doesn’t start boarding for another hour or two, so I’m bored out of my mind. Hopefully I’ll show up tomorrow morning sometime.”
Peter squirmed in place, wishing Ronny hadn’t been cautious enough to wrap him up with an entire roll of duct tape. “Okay, stay outta trouble till I get there. Love ya, Pete, bye.”
The boy practically whined high in his throat, wishing his older brother could have stayed on the line, to keep the fear pushed to the back of Peter’s head.
“Mmgh!” He grunted, leaning as far forward as he could. He groaned, biting down on the gag harshly and tilting to the side. The chair shifted slightly, the two legs on the left-hand side lifted off the ground for a moment. It was enough to encourage Peter, and he angled his body to the right once more, with slightly more force.
The chair legs lifted further off the ground, his body weight throwing the seat off balance and sending him too far to the right. “Mmph! Mnngg – h – hh!” The chair tilted dangerously, and Peter felt himself falling. He didn’t even have enough time to tense before his right side slammed into the tile, his temple hitting the floor with a dull thud.
He cried out, almost biting through his own cheek. His hair hung in his eyes, a painful throbbing started up in his skull on the opposite side to his bad eye. He tasted more blood around the gag and he bit down hard to stifle more heavy breathing.
Somewhere, a door closed, footsteps bounced off the floor rhythmically and Peter kept his eyes squeezed shut as Ronny walked into the kitchen doorway.
“Jesus, Pete. You scared me there for a minute,” he laughed, shaking his head and approaching the boy on his side, still attached to the chair by the tape.
Peter winced, groaning and hissing quietly as the chair was lifted from the ground and he was angled upright. His head lolled to the side until he was righted, his teeth squeezing down on the gag so hard he thought his teeth might crack.
Ronny moved the chair back slightly, his fingers too close to Peter’s shoulders for his liking. “That better?” He asked mockingly, straightening up as Peter regained his senses. “Huh? It looks more comfortable. I’m sorry ‘bout that.”
Peter bent his neck, letting his hair dangle in front of his face again, keeping Ronny’s persistent and unnerving grin hidden. “Okay Pete, there’s good news and there’s bad news.” He paused, pacing slowly in front of the teen. “The bad news is, you got a thousand dollar a day limit on your ATM account. So, I was only able to take out a thousand bucks, which sucks.” He looked across at the teen, his grin widening, “however, the good news is… you got thirty thousand dollars on that card there! Did you even know that?”
Peter’s head lifted slightly, a stray curl shifting enough that one of his eyes peeked out and glared up at Ronny, who was unfolding a receipt. “I’ve never even seen an ATM receipt like this before! How the fuck did you end up with thirty thousand dollars in your account?”
So, that was how much Tony loaded onto the ‘emergency’ cards.
There was a muffled reply from beneath the gag, Peter’s head was lifted now. “Huh?” Ronny pressed, hooking a finger under the gag and tugging it down from the boy’s lips. He grunted as the scab from his split lip reopened, but he licked his lips and repeated his answer.
“My Dad,” he croaked, dropping his head back down as soon as he had answered. Ronny took that as his cue, he reached back up and pushed the gag back into Peter’s mouth, nodding happily when the boy didn’t put up much of a fight.
“So,” Ronny started. “Option number one is pretty basic… s’ gonna take some time, but I could stay with you for awhile and take out a couple hundred each day until I got what I need.” He watched Peter’s non-swollen eye following him as he continued pacing. “But uh, I don’t know I… I don’t think that’s going to be too much fun for either of us.”
No shit Peter thought acidly.
Ronny moved before the teen, not crouching down, just hovering above. “Unless you could figure out how to get me a nice chunk of that money, and I split, you get untied, everything goes back to normal.”
Aside from the bruises and likely concussion I have, the reactor you’re stealing, the money you’ll take with you and the lingering trauma you’ve no doubt caused Peter thought to himself, wishing he could spit at the man.
“You know… we just – we just gotta figure out a way to do that,” Ronny pointed out. He threw his hands lazily, letting them come down to brush past his jeans in resignation. He sighed loudly, listening to all the silence Peter was offering up. He leaned against the benchtop and crossed his legs together at the ankles.
Peter expected more monologing, perhaps another round of threats, but Ronny only began walking forward to slap Peter on the back of his shoulder in a mockery of friendliness. “Why don’t we sleep on it?” He suggested, making his way down the hall, no doubt readying himself to crash in the master bedroom – Tony’s bedroom – with Peter left in the kitchen now bathed in darkness for the night.
----
It took hours for Peter to fall into a steady sleep. His shoulders burnt, his chest ached from the duct tape, his legs were going numb and his neck felt like it was about to stiffen into brick. His lips were dry and cracked, his eye completely swollen shut and the blood had crusted over his skin like chalky paint chips. His throat was dry and alight with the tangy aftertaste of copper.
Vaguely, he swam to consciousness when he heard Ronny helping himself to a long, hot shower in his father’s bathroom.
Hot streams of sunlight filtered in through the window and began lighting the dangling curls in front of Peter’s eyes. He didn’t move, barley blinked, he listened to the birds and ignored the pain and aches raging throughout his body.
Ronny was in the same clothing as the day before, he looked clean, warm, satisfied and pleased with himself as he stepped into the kitchen.
His brows furrowed as he kneeled in front of Peter. A hand pushed his loose curls back, he winced as dried blood clots in his hair tugged uncomfortably.
“Well,” he began with a soft laugh. “You’re not lookin’ so great, are you buddy?” He pulled his hand away and stood, thinking for a moment before speaking. “Let me uh, let me get you some water.”
Peters hair fell back in front of his face as the hand was removed. It was long, so much longer than usual. He hated feeling the similarity between Ronny’s hand pushing it back and the way he remembered Tony used to card his fingers through the messy curls with care.
Peter heard water filling in a glass before he felt a hand pushing his hair back once more. “There ya go,” Ronny said, Peter felt like a handfed animal. “Ah, shit,” Ronny mumbled as he lowered the glass, remembering the gag still pressed between the boy’s lips.
The gag fell away after one tug and Ronny pushed the glass against Peter’s mouth, tilting it upwards and letting him greedily take advantage of the fluids he so desperately needed. “Drink up,” he encouraged. “There ya go! Ain’t givin’ up on me now, buddy,” he laughed as Peter followed the glass, gulping as much of the water down as possible.
Water spilled from the rim of the glass and Ronny finally pulled away, hearing Peter swallow before gasping for air, leaning forward as if he needed more.
Ronny was rummaging around with the food on the bench, he stuck his hand in a packet of bread before pushing it in Peter’s general direction. “Here, eat this,” he said quickly, barely giving the boy time to eat as he pressed the slice of bread against his mouth and expected Peter to chew.
The bread fell into Peter’s lap and Ronny grumbled as he pushed a piece of the crust back into his mouth. He sat before the boy, watching his chew slowly as he stared into his lap despairingly. “Now, I’m gonna head out and handle some business. Uh, when I come back… let’s really put our heads together and come up with a plan, alright?”
Ronny stood, patting Peter’s shoulder once before switching off the lights and walking out the front door, once again leaving Peter tied in the chair to wait for whatever happened next.
----
Harley sighed heavily. They forgot his stupid pickles again.
“The pickles?” Tony asked, his voice slightly staticky over the phone line.
“Yep. It’s always the pickles, Dad,” Harley complained. He took a swig of his drink and set it back down in his rental car’s cup holder.
“That’s why you don’t rely on fast-food buddy,” Tony lectured with a small huff of laughter. Harley rolled his eyes and took a bite out of the burger anyway.
“You know,” he began through his mouthful. “I’m only a forty-five-minute drive from home, so I probably could have convinced Pete over the phone to send one of those eighty-dollar gourmet pizzas delivered out to me… with your credit card.” Tony scoffed over the phone, Harley smirked as he took a handful of fries for himself and watched the cars zooming past the lookout he was currently pulled over at.
“Yeah well at least the eighty-dollar pizza probably wouldn’t stink up your rental car like you are now, with all that burger crap.” Harley barked out a laugh at his father’s comment.
“Puh-lease,” he annunciate loudly. “The first thing you did before you shut down the weapons division was force Happy to get you burgers! You have no high-ground to stand on, old man.” Harley heard Tony gasp mockingly over the phone.
“I feel attacked,” he said flatly, making Harley grin through his next mouthful of burger and fries. “You’re such a snarky little monster, aren’t you?” There was humour in Tony’s voice, and Harley smiled wider as he finished off the last of his drink and wiped his fingers on the napkin at the bottom of the fast food bag.
“Mhmm,” Harley confirmed with a little smirk as he put his father on speaker and turned on the engine. “When are you getting back again, Dad?” He pulled away from the small lookout and got back onto the main highway taking him in the general direction of the house.
“Uh, probably late tomorrow night? Possibly even early morning if the flight gets delayed.” Tony answered. Harley nodded and thrummed his thumbs against the steering wheel. “Oh – okay, kid my meeting is starting now. Give Pete a call, tell him I’ll call after my meeting and that he better be keeping out of trouble. Thanks, Harl, love you and your brother, drive safe.”
“Will do, Dad. Love ya too! Enjoy that meeting, it sounds riveting,” Harley blurted sarcastically. He earned a dry laugh from Tony before the line clicked off and his music resumed.
The rental car smelled like waxy crayons, Harley wrinkled his nose and rolled down his window. He told himself opening a window was because of the new car smell, and not because Tony had told him the burgers stunk out the car.
He sighed, nodding his head slowly, partly out of boredom and partly from the beat of the music. The drive wasn’t too long, although it was a pretty boring stretch of road.
When the road turned to gravel and Harley felt the rental car stuttering as it climbed up the hill, he smiled widely. He could get home, ruffle his younger brother’s hair and tease him relentlessly before falling asleep in his old bed.
When the hill evened out and Harley reached the driveway, he tilted his head in confusion. “So, Pete’s driving now?” He muttered to himself as he saw the cheap, beaten up car in the drive which definitely wasn’t his father’s.
Harley sighed and turned off the engine, taking a breath and smelling the familiar tang of salt in the air rising from the ocean beneath the cliff face.
When he put his foot on the driveway gravel, he opened his mouth. There was a cigarette butt on the ground, stomped out and staining some of the pebbles with ash. It was… odd. Tony didn’t smoke, Peter had asthma, so it was out of the question.
He shrugged, not devoting much thought to one used cigarette. The front door was cracked open slightly, and Harley frowned even more. “Peter?” He asked, pushing the door open with one knuckle. “You here? Pete?” He repeated, pushing it open completely. The hallway was empty, the phone they never really used was off the hook. “Are you here, Pete?” He tried again.
Harley wandered down the hall, not bothering to wait in the entrance room for Peter to bound into his arms like an excitable little kid, like he once was. He rounded the corner, expecting to find the kitchen as blank as everywhere else, perhaps with an empty pizza box, or Thai from Peter’s favourite restaura –
“Holy shit!” Harley gaped, seeing the bloody mess wrapped in grey tape that was his younger brother.
Peter was strapped to a kitchen chair, his head hung and his easily recognisable brown curls hanging over his face. Harley could see the bruising across the left side of his face, the swollen eye and split lips, the way Peter blinked dazedly as if Harley’s outburst had woken him. His eyes were glassy, and confusion swum in them clearly.
Harley moved forward into the room fully, immediately crouching in front of the chair. “What the hell happened to you, Pete?” He demanded frantically, his heart pounding in his throat and his temples throbbing angrily as he reached up and cupped the least damaged portion of his brother’s face. He let out a breath, his lips parted as his other hand shakily lifted, moving to pull the gag away.
Peter looked up, his eyes widening suddenly. Harley faltered, worrying he had scared his brother. “Pe –”
He was cut off abruptly when three things happened at once. Peter let out a muffled sound from beneath the cloth, heavy footsteps that had aligned with the sensation of Harley’s thumping heart stopped directly beside him, and something hard slammed against the base of his skull.
Everything went dark as the tiled floor rose to meet him.
----
There was so much blood. Too much blood. Peter knew head wounds bled more than others… but he couldn’t stop staring at the slowly reddening tiles and thinking Harley might not wake up from that hit.
He dragged his eyes away from his brother, glaring at the lanky man pacing before him.
“Who is this guy? Huh?!” Ronny yells, roughly reaching out and yanking the cloth from Peter’s mouth before connecting his palm against the boy’s cheek with a heavy crack. “Who is that?!” He screamed again, growing more furious the longer Peter stared down at the tiles, frowning darkly.
Ronny looked down at Harley and rubbed the bridge of his own nose worriedly. “Shit,” he murmured, sitting down and leaning against the cabinet. “Whoever he is, he ain’t gonna be for very long.”
Peter scowled, biting his tongue harshly. Ronny was breathing heavily, shaking his head and staring out at the skyline. “You’re just gonna have to wait. I’m going out for a drink, I can’t stand to be in this house anymore.”
The gag was back between Peter’s teeth and Ronny’s car was out of the driveway before the teen could protest.
“’rl? ‘rly?” Peter tried, squirming in the chair. “H’rl?!”