Headphones
To be brutally honest, this was probably the most scared Peter had ever been during his ‘arachnid adventures,’ as Ned so adequately labelled them. Look – Peter knew he was going to be in some deep shit with his Dad once he got out of, wherever he was. Himself and Tony had just had a very lengthy and ‘important’ talk about Peter’s recklessness and how it impacted his safety and Tony’s patience. Peters joke about it being an intervention had met him with a hard glare and a stern “not the time for jokes Pete.”
Just the fact that his Dad hadn’t called him ‘kid’ indicated to Peter that the conversation was a serious one, but clearly not serious enough to constitute for his whole name. The few times Peter had heard Tony call him by his whole name were nerve-racking, to say the least.
Peter’s not saying he didn’t deserve the talk, he had been getting relatively fast and loose when it came to his safety. He had ended up getting a few bruises and broken bones that took up to a week to heal, which was awhile when it came to Peter, what with his accelerated healing and all. Telling Tony, he had to skip out on his weekly training back-to-back had the mechanic, worried, mildly curious and a whole lot concerned.
Turns out Peter had, firstly, broken his ankle attempting to kick down a vibranium-enforced door. To make matters worse, he had continued patrol for a few hours before deciding it was the right time to go home and clumsily wrap the injury up without notifying anyone of the situation. Luckily for Peter, he healed after about a week and was right back out patrolling as soon as putting pressure on the foot didn’t cause major pain. The second week Peter was out of commission was because he had gotten shot in the same ankle.
“Honestly Dad, it wasn’t my fault it was the same ankle, the guy just had terrible aim and missed my head that badly.”
Peter remembered the shrug that he followed his excuse with. Apparently, his suit – Karen – could detect the bullet still lodged in his ankle, but not some old bone remnants that remained from his first week’s excuse.
“Pete, you gotta promise me this time” Tony had said firmly, while he was busy wrapping the already healing bullet wound.
“Yeah, I know. Next time I’m injured to the point where a normal person would get medical attention for, I call you immediately.”
Tony had nodded at that, obviously satisfied with Peter’s understanding. He had stood, patted the kid on the knee, and then proceeded to lead him to his room and, for lack of better words, tuck him into bed.
“Stay outta trouble for a while kid” Tony had murmured into the younger Stark’s soft curls as he pressed a soft kiss on his temple. Peter hummed audibly at the pleasant memory of his Dad, and ouch, he missed him already. How long had he been here now? Where was here? How long would he be alone, without his Dad, without the feeling of home and safe and warm.
Peter needed to think, needed to take note of anything and everything he could. He was a Stark and he could get out of this if he just used his head.
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8 Hours Prior
Peter shoved the last piece of toast into his mouth, smirking at the exaggerated look of feigned disgust on Tony’s face. Peter stood and walked around the table behind his Dad’s chair, wrapping his arms softly around the older Starks shoulders and neck.
“See you this afternoon afterschool Dad.” Peter said fondly, squeezing a little. Tony squeezed back,
“Yep, see you then Pete, have fun at school, good luck for that quiz” the older Stark replied with ease, matching his fondness. Peter released from the hug, gripped his bag strap as he swung it over his shoulder and walked out the door and headed into the elevator.
“Will do, see you later Dad” He called over his shoulder as the doors pinged shut. Tony looked down and smiled to himself, basking in his kid’s lingering optimism.
Peter shoved his headphones in his ears as he walked to school, relishing in the thought of relaxing and working on his suit with his Dad afterschool. He walked quickly, not wanting to be late, today of all days, because of his Spanish quiz first period. Peter crossed the street, removing an earbud so he could hear the buzz of the crosswalk, then quickly stuffing it back in his ear. After a few more steps he felt a familiar tingle at the base of his skull, and tugged at his headphone again, listening for what could have triggered his Spidey-senses. The thrumming in his head continued, not easing for a second as Peter whipped his head and eyes around, watching carefully for anything out of the ordinary. He couldn’t see anything, and after a few more minutes of walking and watching and observing, he hesitantly placed one earbud back into his ear, still keeping an eye out for things.
He didn’t normally ignore his senses when they flared up like that, but then again, they didn’t normally when he was just Peter. Until he could figure out what could be causing his unease, there wasn’t much point in worrying about them. Despite this, Peter still couldn’t understand why a small, creeping feeling of dread was inching its way through his insides.
The young Stark continued walking and almost ten minutes later he let his guard down, pushing his unease to the back of his mind. That was one of the biggest mistakes he could have made.
After turning down a side-street, away from the main roads and intersections, Peter felt his senses throb again, more persistent this time.
He took both of his headphones out and looked around with wide eyes, noticing several mediocre things, full rubbish bins, cracked brick work, run-down stores and the like. His eyes caught something out of the ordinary though, a dark, sleek, van with tinted windows. It was parked on the side of the road opposite to Peter and as he surveyed it with careful eyes he saw a flash of movement from the corner of his vision. A person, male, wearing a sweatshirt with the hoodie up, in line with Peter, again on the opposite side of the road to him. Had he missed him before? Overlooked him as a normal citizen? Had he come out of the van? His head throbbed with the steady beat of his Spidey-senses and he felt a wave of relief wash over him as he saw his turn, only a few steps away and to his right.
He had to turn down an alleyway to get back to the main road which took him to the back entrance of his school. Peter gladly skirted around a closed jewellery shop and into the alleyway. He was barely halfway down the alley way when three things happened, simultaneously. The man in the dark hoodie also walked down the alleyway, two of the dark, sleek vans pulled up at either end of the alleyway, and his senses screamed at him, barely tolerable in the back of his skull.
Peter whipped his head around, he was blocked in by both vans, couldn’t run, couldn’t climb a building with the man in the hoodie watching him. Peter was stuck. The doors to the vans slid open and men dressed in dark uniforms began to pour out into the alleyway, there must have been almost twenty by the time they were all stationed around Peter’s small figure.
Crap, crap. Oh God, oh no, oh no, shit. Where was his Dad? He needed help, he had to get out of this alley.
Peter could only do one thing to get out of this. Fight.