Fighting And Helplessness

Tony stared at the old flip phone. He slid it to the other side of the desk in a futile attempt to push the idea out of his mind. ‘I can’t call in Steve, can I? The rest of them would help. Maybe I could just get in contact with Nat… that would take too much time to track her down. Time, I don’t have. Time, that Peter doesn’t have.’ The genius stood, not feeling much like a genius as he rubbed his hands over his face and swiped at his eyes. Tony leant forward and placed his hands flat on the desk, rolling his shoulders.

“F.R.I, play the footage again,” he called out, looking up and tearing his gaze from the burner phone as the screen above him lit up with the same grainy footage. Tony took in the same run-down neighbourhood, the same dim alleyway, the same black van, the same innocent boy with wild and anxious eyes. “Oh, Pete. Kid.” He murmured softly as he watched him turn down the alley once again. His eyes tracked the man and the van that followed, desperately searching for something, anything that he had missed the first twenty times he had watched the feed.

Tony took a shuddering breath, rubbing his temples as he leaned back against the chair. He chewed at his thumb absentmindedly and looked to his left, his eyes falling once again on the old phone. He debated in his mind, but what really sold it was when Peter came back into frame. His soft brown eyes were wide and filled with fear, his cheek was bruised and in the low-quality video it looked almost like a smear of black that could be wiped away with a cloth. He only wished he could wipe away his child’s pain as easily as that, or at the very least wipe the assholes who hurt him off the face of the planet. As Tony watched his defenceless kid get thrown roughly into the back of the van he made up his mind.

He reached out and gripped the phone with shaking fingers, his eyes roaming over the paused video. The blurry form of his child, his world, the terror and anguish reflecting in his eyes, the harsh, bruising grip of the men holding him. His fingers dialled the only number loaded into the phone on their own accord. The phone rang, obnoxiously, four times before Tony truly contemplated hanging up and forgetting that the thought, of calling Steve for help, had ever crossed his mind. Before he could do so, the unmistakable click of the line being picked up sounded, and he felt his throat close.

“Tony?” The voice that answered sounded slightly out of breath but mostly taken aback by the call. Tony opened his mouth and couldn’t find a word, he let his lips hang open for a moment before the staticky sound of movement sounded over the line. “That you Tony?” He forced words, like an adult, and put enough pressure on them to stop his shaky breaths to undermine his stoic mask.

“Yeah, it’s me.” He took a breath, steadying himself and gripping the bench with white knuckles. “Steve, I need help. All of you, I don’t care I just – I – Jesus. They – they got Pete. Steve, they took Peter.” There was a pause and the only thing Tony could hear was his own, poorly concealed, panicked breaths and the steady thumping of his heartbeat.

“Peter?” Steve said unsurely, and then Tony remembered, the rest of the Avengers hadn’t really met Peter. They had met Tony’s intern once or twice, and they had fought Spider-man at the airport, but nothing else.

“I – I’ll explain when you’re all here, he was the kid you guys met awhile back – the, the intern.”

“Tony I can try to get everyone together but…”

“Steve, I swear, I wouldn’t be calling if this weren’t a life and death situation, and there’s an innocent sixteen-year-old’s life at stake here.” Tony may not be begging, but he felt close to it and he sensed Steve realised this was important enough that he would beg if it came down to it.

“Okay Tony, I’ll get everyone together and to the tower. We’ll be a few hour’s so just – just hold tight.” He hated how steady Steve’s voice was, how grounding it was. For a split second, Tony could pretend things were okay, then he looked up and saw the mottled bruise that marred his kid’s face, standing stark against his fair skin even on the screen. He managed a hurried ‘thanks,’ before he dropped the phone to the desk and moved from the chair, sitting down with his back pressed against the wall.

“Sir, I have detected an unusually elevated heartbeat. May I suggest you attempt to focus on your breathing for the moment.” F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice rang loud and clear through the room and Tony pressed his head back against the wall, sucking in unsteady breaths as his mind raced. He clenched his fists on his knees, which were hugged to his chest. His eyes burnt, and he felt hot tears dripping down his cheeks. He nursed his breathing back into a somewhat normal range before his eyelids began to feel heavier. “You have narrowly avoided a panic attack Sir, I encourage you to hydrate and get some rest.” Tony nodded, knowing the A.I wouldn’t mind as he began to see more and more of the inside of his eyelids.

----

The red and blue suit swung around the large man one more time and then it was going down, it’s knees buckling. He heard the cheerful whoop of joy burst out from behind his son’s mask, “Yes! Ha ha, that was aweso-” Tony’s half smile was interrupted as the kid’s excitement was cut short with a pained grunt as the large man’s arm smacked him aside with enough force to change the direction of his web slinging. He watched in horror as Peter fell through the air, collided with a tall stack of wooden crates, turning and rolling multiple times before coming to a stop on the tarmac. As he increased the replusor’s he took note of how small and vulnerable Peter looked, lying on his side during an active battle, seemingly out cold in the middle of a foreign airport.
Tony landed, running the last few feet, stopping before his kid’s unmoving body, his legs bent, shoulder pressed to the concrete. He heard his own panicked breaths as he got down onto his knees, the metal of his suit clanging on the hard ground. “Kid, you alright?” He asked quickly, moving his hand to press against Peter’s shoulder as delicately as he could. There were two red and blue fists coming at his face and the body below him flipped over as soon as his fingers made contact. Tony gripped the kid’s wrists, dodging the blow as a startled “Hey! Whoa, get off! Wait a minute” escaped the kid’s exposed lips. His mask had peeled up diagonally, showing off half of his young face. Tony continued holding his arms as still as he could, “Whoa, same side! Guess who, hi,” he said, loud enough to top Peter’s disgruntled words. “Oh, hey man,” Peter said weakly, out of breath “oh, that was scary,” he continued with a small laugh. “Yeah, you’re done” Tony replied with firmness, ignoring Peter’s cries of disagreement, knowing the kid was smart enough to assess his own injuries and decide he was done for the day.

Darkness.

He could see the hole in the sky above the city closing as he fell, the dark galaxy with blinking stars was all he saw as everything spun into more darkness.
His best friend, falling through the sky, hitting the ground before he could just extend his arms a little further, or increase his speed just a little more.
Then, Steve, above him, his suit not responding quick enough to stop the shield that threatened to clap down on his power source. The super soldier’s arms tensed as he swung them down, bringing the shield down onto the blue light that graced the suits chest.

And more darkness.

Peter, his kid, sat in front of him. His lips quivered, out of fear, pain or the cold, Tony didn’t know. All he knew was his kid was hurt, bruises littering his body, appearing like a droplet of tinted water on a white sheet.
Drip, drip, drip.
Crack.
The crack of scissor blades rang in his mind, in time to a gash across Peter’s arm which quickly began to leak vibrant, red blood. He heard a whimper of pain and saw the kid’s other arm reach up to stifle the blood flow.
Drip, crack, drip, drip, crack.
Snap.
The snap of a broken pencil filled his head and he watched in horror as Peter’s ankle seemingly collapsed in on itself under his weight. He saw him fall to the floor, his now bruised and bloodied arms not being able to catch himself in time. His red-stained hands clutched at his oddly angled ankle. Tony saw the tears in his helpless child’s eyes reflect the light of wherever they were as they began to fall down his trembling face.
Crack, drip, crack, snap, drip, drip, snap, crack.
On and on, a horrible litany of noises that correlated with his kid’s suffering.
“Dad” he heard Peter’s broken voice call for him over the sound. “Dad, Dad please!” His voice was croaky and desperate, cracking and wavering on almost every word. “Help! Please, Dad. Please help, it hurts. Dad, Dad please, it hurts so much!” Peter’s voice was rising with every syllable and he was becoming hysteric, begging for his Dad, for the pain to stop, for his Dad to help him, to save him. But Tony couldn’t move, his feet weren’t listening to him.
Drip, snap, crack, snap, drip, drip, crack, drip.
Then, it all stopped. The silence was almost worse, in a way, because every small whimper of distress Peter made echoed around the space.
Peter was lying alone again, his legs bent at odd angles, covered in bloody cuts and dark bruises. His shoulders had given under his weight some time ago and his injured face was held up, facing his Dad’s, with only his elbow, his lips were parted, and Tony was horrified to see the inside of his mouth were coated red and a small drop of blood escaped and rolled down his cheek as he said his next words.
“Dad, please. Save me.”
Tony couldn’t even open his mouth to speak and he couldn’t move. He was stuck, and he couldn’t save his kid, he couldn’t even help him or comfort him as the noises rang out again. He just stood there uselessly as the sounds echoed around the space along with Peter’s tortured and haunted cries of pain and cries for his Dad.
Drip, crack, snap. “Dad, please. Save me.”

----

Tony woke with a start. His heart thundered in his chest as he inhaled, steadying his breathing once more. He stood, feeling the room spin slightly as he did so. He groaned as he stretched, his bones popping uncomfortably as he worked out the kinks in his body from being asleep on the floor for who knows how long. He headed to his room, F.R.I.D.A.Y turned on the shower for him and he silently thanked her. Washing his face and ridding it of his dried tears, Tony felt slightly better and when he finished in the bathroom he pulled on fresh clothes and had a glass of water, for F.R.I.D.A.Y’s benefit.

Glancing at the time, Tony noted he had only been asleep for an hour or so. He rewatched the security footage, jotting down the time stamp as the van sped off, 8:46 AM. It was currently quarter-past three and he had called Steve at around one thirty. Tony pressed his face into the palms of his hands and rubbed at his eyes again, sighing heavily he called Peter again. Hearing his kid’s bright voice, even a recording of it, brought him some semblance of comfort. Tony rested the phone against his temple lightly, as if he were holding Peter close, he listened to the voicemail and felt his eyes prickle with unshed tears. “I’ll find you Pete, I swear” he murmured a soft promise into the air and stood, making his way back to the labs.

Tony tinkered around with the footage for awhile before he, almost obsessively, picked up the objects he had previously shoved to the floor and packed up what he had been welding before he got the call from Peter’s school. Tony knew what he was doing, he was keeping himself busy to keep his mind off the fact that he had called Steve, and the rest of the Avengers were on their way to the tower at that moment. So, being the genius he was, Tony distracted himself more by calling Rhodey.

“Hey Tones, how are you doing?”

“Not the best, uh – are you free right now, I need you to come to the tower, its important.” Rhodey agreed, sensing the tension in Tony’s voice, and said he would be over in half an hour. Tony sat at the desk and stared blankly at his hands, he wanted Peter, he needed to hold him and make sure he was okay. Tony rested his head on his hands and took a few shaky breaths, straining his mind trying to think of anything more he could do to help Peter before people began arriving. He couldn’t think of anything.

Rhodey arrived just before four, his leg braces making metallic tapping noises as he walked to the labs to find Tony sitting at a desk staring off into space.

“Hey Tony,” Rhodey said, smiling as Tony perked his head up and faced him. Tony forced a lopsided grin and stood, allowing his friend to pull him into a brief embrace, his hand clapping him on the back comfortingly. The worried mechanic pulled back from the hug, looking at Rhodey as he spoke up again.

“What’s going on Tones?” Rhodey asked, concern lacing his voice as he took in his friend pale face and dark bags. Tony stepped back and sighed.

“It would be easier if I explain it all at once, when the others get here.” He stated evenly, pushing the anxiety out of his voice at the thought of everyone in the same room again.

“What do you mean ‘when the others get here?’ Did you call Steve?” Tony nodded and saw Rhodey tense slightly. He looked down at the floor, shoving away the memories of his friend sailing towards the ground, the sickening thud of his suit connecting with the earth. “Well, if you called him and everyone else it must be serious, is the city under threat?” Tony shook his head no, pulling in even breaths and glancing at the clock. It was four now, and Tony heard the A.I notifying him of Steve’s arrival. He led Rhodey to the lounge area, before standing straight and facing the elevator doors, his heart thudding in his throat.

The elevator doors pinged as they slid open, revealing Steve, Nat, Clint and Sam. They stepped out, each of their bodies stiff and at the ready, eyes calculating and searching for hidden threats. Steve nodded curtly, his gaze locking with Tony’s.

“Tony,” he said plainly, his face a steady mask of calm.

“Steve,” Tony replied, equally as calm. “You can sit, I’m gonna start telling you what’s going on and you can make yourselves comfortable. Now isn’t exactly the time to discuss our earlier – disagreement.” He wasn’t rambling, but just those two sentences made him feel like he was. None of them sat, although Clint leaned casually against the counter, Nat’s hip relaxed minutely, and Steve unclasped his hands from behind his back. With everyone about as relaxed as they would get Tony took a deep breath, folded his arms, and began speaking.

He thought it best to give everyone some context first, as they had only really met Peter once or twice, and they had encountered Spider-Man once, at the airport. “The kid, you guys all met him a few times, I told you he was my intern.”

“Peter. You said his name was Peter?” Steve asked, his voice as steady as it was over the phone.

“Yeah,” Tony continued, ploughing on despite having kept the secret for many years. “The thing is, he isn’t really my intern, he – uh – he’s my, my son. Peter is my kid.” He gauged everyone in the room, watching them with careful eyes. Nat nodded slowly, less taken aback than the rest, Rhodey raised his eyebrows and slowly took a seat in an armchair next to where Tony stood. Clint blew out a breath, whistling slightly, Sam looked out the window and bit his tongue in thought. Steve seemed most surprised, scratching his ear and looking down at his feet, his brows furrowed.

“Is he your biological kid?” Sam asked pointedly, and Tony nodded in answer. “And the mum?”

“Long gone.” Tony said curtly, shutting that line of questioning down before he had to re-hash part of his life story. Thankfully, everyone in the room recognised this and dropped it. There was an uncomfortable silence which would have extended if Clint hadn’t chimed in with a question.

“Not that I didn’t love that piece of gossip, Stark, but why exactly did you need us?” Now it was Tony’s turn to look down at his feet.

“F.R.I pull up the footage” he said, and a hologram presented it to everyone as Tony tried to block out the slowly receding memory of a hurt and screaming Peter in his dream. The team watched with varying facial expressions as the camera angles tracked the teens movements. After the footage played for them Steve spoke up.

“He was headed to school then?”

“Yes,” Tony replied, squinting his eyes at the soldier in curiosity.

“What name does he use at school?” Nat asked, seemingly catching on to whatever Steve was leading to.

“Parker. Peter Parker. Why are you asking?” Tony queried.

“Who knows that he’s your son?” Nat continued.

“Me, Pepper, Happy, and now all of you. What are you getting at?”

“I’m trying to figure out who know about him, to try and figure out who would want to take him. Most likely reason is because they figured out he’s you son.” Tony shook his head.

“No that’s not why, we’ve been specifically careful about it for that reason.”

“Yeah, I know Tony but anyone could have trailed him home or – ”

“Nobody could have, Happy picks him up. They didn’t take him because he’s my kid. That’s – that’s the other complication. Peter is – the kid, he’s the one you all fought at the airport.” Tony finally pushed the words out and took another few shaky breaths, running his hand through his dishevelled hair and cautioning a look up at everyone.

“The Spider Kid, thing. The one that shot webs?” Sam asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, Spider-man is what he likes to be called.” Tony replied, his voice muffled through his hands.

“Isn’t… Spider-man, the one who took down the flying bird dude, the one who tried to take all the tech from your plane?” Steve asked, Tony wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he did, and Tony felt a blossom of proudness that his kid was making a name for himself as his alias.

“Yeah, that’s the one… Peter, he still gets nightmares from when the Vulture dropped a building on him.” Tony hated that he still had nights where he was woken by the voice of his A.I calling out that ‘Peter seems to be in distress.’ Those were the nights that he would hurry down to his kid’s room and rock him, slowly running a steady hand through the shaking teens curly locks until his eyes fluttered shut and his heart came down from the nightmare and his heart began to beat in the rhythm of sleep once again. To Tony, those nights were bittersweet, he hated seeing his kid upset, tears tracking a path down his cheeks, but he knew holding his kid and running soothing fingers through his hair would never get old. In fact, holding Peter close and running his hands through the kid’s curls was all Tony wanted at this point.

Nat interrupted his thoughts as she spoke “so, they took him because he’s Spider-man, and not because he’s your kid. I’m willing to bet they don’t even know you two are related outside of the kids… internship.” She paused, stepping forward and placing a calming hand to Tony’s shoulder slowly, as if he were a scared animal that would bolt at any physical contact. Normally, he would remove himself from the situation when physical contact was present, but right now he really needed his kid, and the fear in his gut that was born when he first got the call was rising to an almost unbearable level.

Nat glanced back at Steve and shot him a reassuring smile before turning back to the man in front of her. “They took him because he’s Spider-man, not because he’s related to you,” she repeated, “do you know what that means?” Tony looked up at her, his eyes questioning as Nat continued, “it means this isn’t your fault, he wasn’t taken because of you Tony.”

“It’ll be okay Tony, we’re going to help get your kid back. He’s strong and a fighter, and I should know, he actually got a few good hits in at that airport. He wouldn’t stay down, didn’t give up.” Steve stepped towards them as Nat lowered her arm and broke contact. Tony shot them a grateful smile and took another steadying breath, stretching his fingers out and hearing the knuckles pop. He waved away the screen and motioned for them to follow him to the lab.

“Let’s get working” Clint called out from behind and Tony felt reassurance at having the Avengers helping find his son as he glanced down at his watch. His optimism sunk slightly as he calculated Peter had been shoved into the van eight hours ago.

----

Peter woke slowly. His head pounded heavily, and he felt what was left of the drugs in his system flooding away. His mouth felt dry and he wondered when the last time he drank was. He knew he had a glass of water with breakfast, but he couldn’t place how long ago that was. Being drugged into unconsciousness really threw off his sense of time.

He blearily rubbed his eyes and tried to blink away the sleep. His right eye throbbed with the movement and he experimentally moved his body around to track any injuries. His right eye, left cheek, ribs and stomach still felt badly bruised and he winced as he sucked in a lungful of air, expanding his bruised ribs. The most painful of the bruises was the large, hand-shaped one which wrapped around his neck. His lip was split, and the inside of his mouth had mostly healed from where he had bitten into his own skin. His side and neck had healed well from where the taser burns had been. The largest issue he faced was the bullet, lodged next to his left shoulder blade, the entry wound through his back had somewhat healed, which was worrying because he needed to somehow dig the bullet out to avoid infection and lead poisoning.

Thick chains encircled the teens wrists and ankles and judging by how much give they had when he tugged at them, they were vibranium. Peter sat, his back leant against a blank, tiled wall. The room was painfully light, white walls and bright florescent lights lit up the room. There was no access to the outside, no windows, drains or even pipes that could possibly serve as an exit. The room was cold and having poor temperature regulation, on account of his spider-like qualities, Peter shivered slightly, the enforced chains attached to his bonds rattling softly. The cell was relatively small, and if Peter were to lay on the floor and stretch out, it would be about double his length. The cell was unsettlingly clean, sterile and smelt not dissimilar to a hospital room. Peter strained his enhanced hearing and couldn’t hear anything apart from the clinking of his chains and the slight whistle of his anxious breaths. The silence was ominous, and he hated the feeling of sensory deprivation. Even if he knew, logically, that his hearing was fine, he felt incomplete without the constant background noise of people and cars that were far out, even snippets of conversations that took place in separate high-rise buildings.

There was only Peter in the cell, the unbreakable chains and a, previously unnoticed object which triggered the buzz of his senses. A sterile, polished, metal bench sat in the far corner of the cell, pressed against the wall furthest from Peter and closest to the door. The lip of the bench and low angle he sat at didn’t allow for the nervous teen to view any of the objects that lay on the cold surface of the bench. It was securely bolted to the floor. Dismal. Haunting. Waiting. A wave of nauseous panic rose in Peter as his terrified mind flashed through the possible uses of such a clinical object. He didn’t like the unanswered questions of what sat on the bench, his chains didn’t allow for much movement and as high as he tried to crane his neck he couldn’t make anything out. He felt helpless.

Unbeknown to Peter, the bench homed many of the tools he had seen on the table at the warehouse, and more that were better suited to his Spider alias. He didn’t know it had been eight hours since he had been grabbed off the streets and shoved into the black van. He certainly didn’t know that his Dad had already pushed aside his pride and assembled the Avengers, just so he could find his precious kid.

The trembling and shivering teen sat against the cold wall of his cell, his head resting, and eyes closed against the harsh lights lining the ceiling.

The distressed and fearful Dad sat against the smooth chair of his lab, his head resting in his hands, eyes closed against the upsetting footage gleaming across the computer screen.

Both Starks ignored the silent onslaught of tears that trailed down their faces. Their two minds stayed overworked with fear well into the night, and well into the next morning. Neither of them had the other to kiss goodnight or comfort, neither of them had their steady rock to keep them sane or the worry at bay.

The boy wished for his Dad, visions of the gold and red armoured hero blasting his way to him before receding to reveal the man that would free him and hug him until he felt safe again.

The older man wished for his son, visions of the bright eyed and smiling, content teen making his way home before running into his arms and letting him run his hands through his curls until he felt secure again.

Both Starks flitted between reminiscing about the other half of their world and finding a way to see them again. Both telling and willing themselves to ‘think like a Stark’ and that they ‘could solve this if they just used their head.’

Peter eventually let himself fell into a restless, uncomfortable and nightmare-riddled sleep, whereas Tony planned to continue working on finding the boy until he either collapsed from lack of sleep or someone forced him to rest.

----

Fleeting glances and encouraging smiles from across the lab. The quiet, white noise of his Dad’s tinkering behind him as he focused on the demand of his own homework, the tapping of his laptop and the scratch of his pencil. Later, warms hands guided him upstairs for dinner and the scent of coffee, motor oil and his Dad sat just across from his seat at the table as he happily discussed and chatted about the work they were each doing.

The bittersweet and all too familiar press of his Dad’s lips to his temple and the comforting hand running through his hair before a business trip. ‘Only a couple days’ his Dad had promised before heading to the jet and flying to Afghanistan. The pitying and worried looks of Pepper and Happy as they searched for his Dad. Three months. Three months of feeling truly alone and lost without his Dad. The blue sling that itched his ear and neck as his Dad embraced him after three whole months of nothing. The haunted and tortured look in his Dad’s eyes, the panic attacks his Dad wasn’t quite skilled enough at hiding, the heavy bags, that came along with lack of sleep, which resided under his Dad’s eyes.

The news stations showing Peter’s terrified eyes the image of his Dad flying up into the hole in the sky, with a missile in his armour-clad arms. The fall from the sky to the city and the moment of uncertainty of whether he would still have a Dad to love when tomorrow came.

The pained look in his Dad’s eyes as he sat at the table, alone, late at night through till the early hours of the morning, shifting through the pages of the Accords. The look of grief and hurt as he realised Captain America wasn’t backing down or signing anything. As he realized the small group of people he had grown comfortable around were breaking apart. Sitting in the back of the car, hearing the sorrow and regret in his wavering voice as he asked Peter for the eighth time to ‘go home, it isn’t your fight to fight.’ The way Peter shook his head, his curls bouncing in defiance, before the mask was pulled over his face and he argued once again ‘Dad, I’m fighting this one, I’m Spider-man and it won’t be a life or death kind of fight.’

His Dad’s dark, bruised eye after Siberia. The quietness of the compound on the days when everyone would normally train or have breakfast together. The way his Dad slept less and less each night, and the amount of times Peter would hear the coffee machine whirring increased.

The wind blowing around him, his still slightly damp curls ruffling in the breeze, the smell of salt, the sound of boats and the ocean. The Iron Man suit hovering above and behind him, repulsors whining near his ears. The memory of his argument with his Dad on that rooftop, after the ferry incident.

‘Is everyone okay?’ He asked, worried.

‘No thanks to you.’ He felt anger bubbling up. He had tried so hard, and he still failed.

‘No thanks to me? Those weapons are out there, and I tried to tell you about it, but you didn’t listen. None of this would have happened if you had just listened to me! If you even cared you’d actually be here.’ The suit fell away and Tony stepped out, startling the teen and he shuffled back in surprise. He saw the disappointment in his Dad’s eyes then, saw the determination in the way he clenched his set jaw before stepping towards him and speaking again.

‘I did listen kid. Who do you think called the FBI, huh? What if somebody had died tonight? Different story right, cus that’s on you.’ That stung, and Peter faltered, his anger giving way, he never wanted t hurt anybody, he wanted to protect people. To protect the city as Spider-man. His Dad continued speaking, ‘and if you died… I feel like that’s on me. I don’t need that on my conscience.’ He felt regret at his harsh words before, his Dad should never have to have him on his conscience, he didn’t want to burden him anymore than he already had.

‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I –’

‘Sorry doesn’t cut it.’ He felt anxiety creeping up on him, he had to be honest, had to explain why he was doing all of this.

‘I understand. I just… I just wanted to be like you.’

‘And I wanted you to be better.’ His Dad paused, as if considering something, before trudging the argument on. ‘Okay, it’s not working out, I’m going to need the suit back.’ Pure fear rose up in his gut and he felt sick, he needed this suit.

‘For how long?’

‘Forever.’ No, that couldn’t happen.

‘No. No, no, no. Please, please, please.’
‘Let’s have it.’

‘You don’t understand, this is all I have. I’m nothing without this suit.’ He was nothing without Spider-man, he was just Peter Parker. The nerd, the Stark intern, the scrawny kid with the glasses again. He was nothing. Spider-man, the suit, it had given him everything, a purpose, a way to help people, a way to connect with his Dad and make him proud. It made him more like his heroes.

‘If you’re nothing without this suit, then you shouldn’t have it, okay? God, I sound like my Dad.’

No, please. He’s nothing, he is nobody without the suit. Without Spider-man he’s nothing important, nothing. He wanted to be something. Please don’t take this away from him. The disappointment and anger and frustration in his Dad’s eyes, he had caused that. That was his fault.

The rumble of the building as the structure collapsed. As it fell, and debris careened towards him before he could even move away.

The darkness.

The pain. The pain, it hurt, it hurt worse than anything. He could feel his broken ribs rubbing and grating together, could feel his cracked limbs, could feel the weight of the rubble pushing down on his body, trapping him in the dirty, wet remains. His curls were damp and matted with his own blood and he could feel it dripping down his face. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get air in, his mask was wet he was going to suffocate. He ripped it off, letting it fall as he sucked in painful lungful’s of air through his dried throat. He choked on sobs and half-breaths, trying to get in enough air to call for someone to help him.

‘Okay ready.’ He told himself, trying to stay calm despite his panic ramping up each second he was pinned beneath the remains of the structure. He pushed on the ground with as much force as he could, it was too weak. The only thing he succeeded in doing was causing bits of dust and plaster to rain down around him like a light flurry of snow.

‘Hello? Hello! Please, hey! Hey, please! I’m – I’m – I’m down here! I’m down here, I’m stuck. I’m stuck, I can’t move! – I can’t…’

He cried out, begging for help. His breaths were laboured and ragged. He was hyperventilating as he thought he was alone, nobody knew he was here. He could die here, trapped under rubble. He would die, cold, wet, bloodied and alone, pinned under a collapsed building in his homemade Spider-man costume. What if nobody found his body? What if they did. Oh, no, what if his Dad found his body. What if his Dad pulled his cold, lifeless body from the wreckage and held his broken corpse. What if his Dad cradled and rocked his body and blamed himself for his death.

‘And if you died… I feel like that’s on me. I don’t need that on my conscience.’ His Dad’s words echoed in his head and he dropped it to the floor, trying to shake the image of his Dad holding his son’s broken and twisted remains and cried as he blamed himself. He shoved the intrusive thought away violently, he wouldn’t let that happen, he wouldn’t scar his Dad like that.

He raised his head slowly, ignoring the pain. He stared into the water before him, his mask sitting there, covering half his reflection as if it were on his head again. ‘If you’re nothing without this suit, then you shouldn’t have it.’ His Dad’s voice echoed again. He set his eyebrows in determination.

‘Come on Peter. Come on Spider-man. Come on Spider-man. Come on Spider-man! Argh! Argh, come on Spider-man!’ He screamed, willing himself with everything he had. He pushed with all his strength, feeling the dust raining down with more force as it grew into larger chunks of rubble. He focused solely on lifting the building, not paying attention as larger pieces of the debris fell around him, water cascading down his arms and back as he forced himself free. As his arms extended fully he shoved the rubble away from him, coughing and hacking as the dust cleared and his body began to slowly heal his wounds.

Peter saw his Dad, he was so far away but he knew it was him. He turned to face the teen, his eyes were unreadable, and Peter didn’t care he just wanted his Dad. He needed his Dad. ‘Please, help. Dad! Help me, I don’t – I can’t. Please save me, save me! I don’t want to be here, I need you! Please Dad save me! Help!’ He needed to be held, reassured that everything was okay. That his Dad was here, not in Afghanistan, not in the hole in the sky or falling from it. That Peter was okay too, that he wasn’t a disappointment, hadn’t failed and wasn’t under that building anymore.

----

But his Dad wasn’t there, and Peter wasn’t safe anymore, in fact, he was far from it. His subconscious knew this and let his dreams run their course, leaving the boy tugging at his restraints and whimpering out for his Dad, his wet eyes and cheeks reflecting the light of the bright cell lights as he struggled. His lashes were thick with tears and his loose curls bounced as he thrashed and tried to find the strength to snap or even loosen the tight bonds enough for him to have some give. Peter was tired, he felt helpless and the memory of Ryan’s harsh words swam to the forefront of his mind.

‘We caught ourselves a spider, and the spider is a pathetic, weak, kid.’ Peter sobbed, his chest heaved, and he felt so, horribly helpless and so much like Peter, when all he really wanted was to feel like Spider-man. He wanted to spit at his kidnappers’ feet, he wanted to retort with cheek and sarcasm, like his Dad would if he were here. He wanted to feel strong and just anything but helpless. He doesn’t want to feel like how he did as he heard his webs snap on the ferry, like how he felt under the rubble, as he watched his Dad fall from the hole in the sky. He couldn’t be helpless.