Chapter 9
Noir's eyes snap open.
Someone is here.
His breath caught in his throat, and his muscles tensed, ready to move. Or, tried to tense, anyway.
The moment he tried, his body erupted into dull, throbbing pain that started in his arm and spread throughout his body. He tried to flex his fingers, but a flash of pain shot across his body, turning his vision white for a moment. He gritted his teeth, refusing to let out a noise. He didn't know who was there, and he needed as much time to get ready to escape as possible.
Noir could hear someone breathing. It was slow, rhythmic. They were asleep. Noir turned his head smoothly, ignoring the burst of pain that exploded across his neck. Damn. It was too dark to see who it was. His spidey sense was offline, and his brain felt fuzzy and slow. His arm had him basically immobilized, and his entire chest and upper body ached.
Noir could feel his heartbeat quicken against his will, fear rising in his throat no matter how hard he tried to beat it down.
He heard movement, and the breathing changed. He snapped his eyes shut, faking sleep, heart rate spiking further up. He wasn't bound or restrained, which made noir hesitate before reacing. Did they think he was so weak he couldn't fight back at all?
"Noir? Are you okay?"
The voice was familiar, comforting. Noir was tempted to open his eyes, but didn't dare. It was a trap. The Nazis were trying to mess with him. They got bored hurting him physically, and now they were going to play games with Peter.
Wait. How did the Nazis know about Peter? Did they get him, too? That thought turned Noir's blood to ice, and drove a stake of fear directly into his brain.
Noir opened his eyes, sitting up in one, attempted fluid motion. His eyes weren't adjusting properly to the dark, but he could see the outline of one man, silhouetted in yellow light from a small desk.
As he tried to rise, however, his body erupted into pain, groan ripping out of his throat.
The figure was beside him in a moment, hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him back down. "Stay still, Noir. You've been hurt pretty bad."
Noir tried to move again, but the hands were firm. Restraining. He felt his breath catch, his pulse spike higher yet. He was trapped.
"Hey, hey, buddy, it's okay. Calm down, you're okay. You're okay."
The voice sounded concerned. The hands didn't move, though.
Noir tried to suck in a breath, but his lungs weren't working and he could feel his head pounding against his skull, screaming for him to fight, run, something, anything.
Noir balled his left hand into a fist, and swung out, making contact with the man's face. He stumbled back, hands flying off of Noir, and suddenly Noir could breathe again.
Noir brought his hand up to his face, half-covering it, panting from exertion, exhausted after even that one action. He felt a little dizzy, but not quite like when he went days without water because of the rations. This felt different.
"What... did you do... to me?" Noir gasped out, feeling the damp bandages that sprawled up the side of his face with shaky fingers.
"Noir, it's Peter." The man sounded sad, desperate. "I found you, brought you back to Miles' universe. We had to patch you up. You're safe now."
Noir's eyes narrowed, figure still covered mostly in shadows. He racked his brain, mind moving sluggishly, trying to sort through thoughts to get to the truth.
A flash of silver was the only warning Noir had before a sharp pain sliced its way across his torso.
"What are all these scars from, hmm? All the times you tried to play the hero?" The last word was punctuated by a sharp twist of the knife. Noir groaned, eyes squeezing shut.
"Open your eyes, or I'll rip out your eyelids!" The knife was pressed against the corner of Noir's eye, so close he could feel the tip against his waterline.
Noir forced his eyes open, seeing silver at his peripherals, but afraid to glance towards it lest Fisch use it as an excuse to stab them out.
"Good. I want you to be an audience participant." Fisch grinned, "After all, my job is just so dull," he slipped the knife down the side of Noir's face, not quite cutting through skin, just making a think white line of pressure appear. "Unlike this knife, anyway. I had this bad boy sharpened just for you, you know. Told them I was getting it cleaned so I could gut a pig."
The knife flicked out, drawing a line of blood across Noir's cheek.
Noir was shaking, nails digging into the side of his face, trying to gouge off the bandages that coated it. The man was catching his hand, rubbing the back of his hand.
Then, he gasped, holding it up. "Oh my God, Noir, your hand. I didn't even realize-" He cut himself off, probably not wanting to tell Noir whatever he saw. "Noir, do you recognize me?"
Noir squinted up, suspicious. "You... claim... to be Peter." He wanted to make the other man let go of his hand, but knew that if he tried he would fail. And then the man might hurt him.
"Yeah, right, detective. Need proof, right? Uh, here, let me, um" The man placed his hand back down, at his side, gently, before walking over to the small light.
"Rio told me not to turn on any lights, 'cause she thinks you have a concu- well, she thinks your head's been hurt pretty bad. So I'll just, um, move this over to... here," The man picked up the light, moving it over towards him, kneeling down beside Noir.
"See?" The man held it up to his own face.
It looked like Peter. He had deep bags under his eyes, and one of them looked like it was swelling into a black eye, bruise erupting around it. Who had hurt-? Oh, right, Noir remembered. He had hit the man, hit Peter, when he was touching him.
Noir reached out his left hand towards Peter's face. Peter didn't flinch, letting Noir feel along the sides of his face, searching for a mask, looking for some sign of a trick, anything.
There was none.
Noir felt some of the tension coiled in his chest slowly unfurl, and his hand dropped down.
"Peter." Noir gasped out, "I'm... I'm scared."