Fighting And Helplessness

Dark. It was so, so dark. Cold, the only thing worse than the dark was how cold he felt. Everything felt numb, maybe all his nerves had frozen inside him and he couldn’t feel now? He knew that was stupid, but at least it was a stupid reality where he couldn’t feel any more pain. Well, that was clearly a lie, because if he concentrated enough he could feel the metal underneath him.

Huh.

Whenever he was on the table it only meant one thing. More fucking experiments.

Peter remembered what he mumbled before he passed out. ‘I can’t do it anymore.’ He couldn’t even bring himself to care that Ryan probably enjoyed hearing that, because it meant he had broken. He had admitted he couldn’t do this anymore, Ryan heard him, he was probably only a day or two away from death anyway.

He had two schools of thought. One, death meant no more pain, no more suffering. No more cold, or surgery, or blood, bruises, broken bones, dislocated shoulders, horribly mocking soft touches and hands in his hair. He knew, deep down, that what he had cried was true, he really couldn’t do it anymore. Physically and mentally there was not much more he could take. On the other hand, two, was just one word. Dad.

Dad. Dad would come, Dad would take him home, make the pain go away, wash away all the touches that reminded Peter of himself with just one brush of his fingers through curls. His Dad had promised to always be there, and the helpless teen believed him, he knew with all his heart that his Dad would sooner fly into another hole in the sky then break that promise. That was a tad contradicting, because for a brief moment all those years ago, when Peter was staring up at the news and watching Iron Man fly that missile into the sky, he wondered if his Dad would come back down and be there for him again.

Everything that had happened since then, the spider bite, what the media dubbed as ‘the civil war’ and the Vulture, it all only solidified the trust Peter had in his Dad. He fully believed that if he just held on a little bit longer, his Dad would save him and get him away from Ryan, his cell, the speakers, the lights, the surgeries, the doctors, the guards, the tubes, the chains, the stupid, cold, metal table.

Maybe, the teen hoped, just maybe his Dad would burst through the doors in a flurry of red and gold metal when he managed to open his eyes. Maybe his Dad was on his way right now.

He summoned the courage and the strength, and he forced his eyes open. It was bright, too bright, and the pain in his head pounded away even stronger than before. Everything was still clinically white and clean, the doctors still stood to the side and scribbled their notes, two guards still stood by the door, Ryan still regarded him with the same grey eyes and Peter was still chained to the metal table.

‘Please get here soon Dad. I can’t hold on much longer…’

----

‘I’m coming Pete. I swear I’m not far away, I know where you are, and I am coming – just like I promised…’

Nat had forced him back to his room to wash his face and change his clothes before they started discussing any sort of plan. Tony wasn’t going to lie, the argument he put up probably ate up just as much time as it would have taken to just have cleaned himself up a bit.

His mind was reeling. They actually knew where his son was. An old, abandoned science building in Bridgeport – which was only an hour and twenty-minute drive from the tower, or half an hour in the Quinjet. That was his mantra now, if all else fails and the plan goes to shit he was only half an hour away from Peter. So close, he was so close to saving him. After two weeks and five days, he was finally getting him out of there.

“Let’s go.” He tried to sound as steady as he could, but his voice only managed to convey how much hope and terror there was inside him. The mere prospect that he was getting Peter back was amazing, but he still had so much fear, that little voice in his head was asking ‘what if you’re too late? He could already be gone.’ Gone in two ways, gone in the sense that the boy could already be dead. He had looked it in the photos, who was to say that they couldn’t bring him back from the hypothermia? Or, bad in a different sense, if he were gone in the way where he had been broken? What if they had hurt him so much that he had given up all hope, despairing…

Being haunted by a past trauma was one thing, being utterly ruined and never coming back from it was another. Tony knew Peter was strong, the boy had so much fortitude and tenacity, but from everything that had been sent so far, he had a sliver of fear in the back of his head that whispered, ‘he could be broken,’ ‘if Afghanistan ruined you as much as it did, imagine what this could have done to Peter.’

“We can’t go yet Tony.” Steve was calm, he knew how much the mechanic was going to push back on this, if logic wouldn’t get through to him then he would have to appeal with an emotional response. He was hesitant to do so, the man was fragile at best, which was completely understandable given the situation. His son had been kidnapped and tortured for nearly three weeks and he finally had the opportunity to get him back.

“Why the hell are we waiting – slightly pressed for time here Cap?” His eyes weren’t wild, but they did contain a primitive, paternal need to save his kid.

“We need a plan, some sort of structure to the rescue, this is a serious mission and we can’t just show up, guns blazing, and expect everything to go accordingly.” Logical and calm, explain to the desperate hero that this had to be a strategic recovery.

“We can formulate things in the jet, we gotta go now.” Nat stepped forward, her face was a mask of placid emotion.

“That is one of the things we’re discussing – do you know how attention drawing the Avengers transportation vehicle in Bridgeport would be? This has to be critical Stark, we have to use the element of surprise on this or it won’t be successful.” Cool, calculating Natasha, always the diffuser of a situation.

“Okay, I understand that – but Peter can’t wait anymore. Every minute counts here.”

“Tony, if we bust into the building without any sort of plan then it’s not going to end well. Peter deserves a rescue that won’t make things any worse than they already are.”

“What exactly are you implying Romanoff?”

“If whoever took him realises that he’s got no other options, what do you think his first choice will be to get us to stop? He’ll go straight for the kid, use him as leverage.”

“The cliché ‘take one more step and he gets it.’ Nat’s right, we need to put some something in place to follow.” Clint added on, and it wasn’t the most helpful thing to make the already panicky Father picture his son with a gun held to his head.

“Jesus, yeah fine – just… we have to go fast, they could be doing anything to him right now.” The worry in his tone dropped off into poignancy, and Steve felt slightly remorseful for choosing the emotive route in their convincing.

Tony slid into a chair and leaned forward, his leg bouncing and chin resting on his clasped fists. “So, if we don’t use the Quinjet and we’re aiming for inconspicuous, we’ll have to go in cars. But he’s obviously going to need immediate medical attention – getting him back here as quickly as possible is priority.” He slipped into a slightly more analytical mindset, focusing as much of his mind on planning as possible.

“Clint could fly the jet over as soon as you get eyes on him, it’s only a thirty minutes flight and I’m guessing it’ll take minimum that much time to get him out.” Rhodey was about as calculating as Tony was trying to be, and his suggestion received multiple nods of agreement.

“Cars to get there, element of surprise, get eyes on the kid, Clint flies the jet over, in and out, immediate medical attention. Sounds like a plan.” Steve was listing everything off on his fingers, and when he finished everyone stood, considering, before Tony stood and spoke up again.

“Alright, everyone get everything you need and get in a car that doesn’t look too attention drawing. Let’s go save my kid.” His eyes were steely with determination, and as the suit enveloped him, the glowing blue light seemed even more resolute and unwavering in the statement. Peter was coming home.

----

“Are you done?” Ryan’s voice sounded far away, blurry and clouded by something. Maybe he was passing out again, maybe it was just a bad dream and he hadn’t even opened his eyes yet, or maybe he was just going deaf from the speakers. If worst came to worst, he could get Clint to teach him sign language. Either way, it was a direct question, and he knew he had to answer or it would mean more pain.

“I d – don’ know wha’ you mean…” His voice was incredibly faint, and his ‘t’s’ were so quiet they practically weren’t there, maybe he was developing a stutter from the trauma of everything, maybe it was from the cold or the doctors were right, and he had brain damage. He could barely hear himself speak, it just felt like vibrations in his skull, it reminded him of his Spidey-senses. Peter wasn’t sure if they were always buzzing because he was in constant danger, or if they had just given up like the rest of his senses seemed to. Everything was too bright, no noise was clear enough to understand well, all he could feel was pain, all he could taste was his own blood and the only things he smelt was iron, from all the blood, and sterile antiseptic.

“Are you done, with the whining, and the passing out and crying for Dad? Huh, because all it’s doing is making you look more pathetic and pissing me off.” As much as it was satisfying seeing the latest subject broken, the crying and the begging for the pain to stop – the spider was irritatingly stubborn in the belief that his Dad was coming to save him. “I’m sick of it, get it through your head that Dad isn’t coming Pete, you’re going to die here.”

“N – no. He is c – co – comin’ for me.” He shook his head weakly and closed his eyes against the onslaught of tears threatening to spill at the notion of his Dad not coming for him.

“For god’s sake!” Ryan’s hands slammed down on the metal table, inches away from Peter’s ears. Everything seemed to fall back into place as his hearing crashed back. With every sound dialled up to eleven, the slightest noise sent painful waves rocking through his skull. He whimpered quietly, scrunching his face and attempting to curl into himself as much as he could, the most he achieved was hunching his shoulders and ducking his neck slightly. It all seemed to aggravate his wounds and it hurt, so much. He was being thrown between bouts of deprivation and overload, his sensitivity to light and sound had always been an issue in the normal world. Despite how they worked in his favour as the red and blue clad vigilante, having increased senses was hell for a teenager stuck in high school and on the streets of Midtown Manhattan. Cars, screaming kids, the bustle of the trains and even just the scratch of pens on paper and the turn of a page made him cringe. “Fucking hell kid! Daddy isn’t saving you.”

He leaned in closer and Peter felt his breath over his skin, it was warm, and he wanted to cling to any warmth he could get, but it was Ryan, and he wanted to be as far away from his as humanly possible. “Dad. Doesn’t. Care. Think about how smart Stark is, think about how much power Iron Man has, especially when he’s teamed up with all of his Avenger buddies. If they were really that special, then they would have busted me a long time ago. Face it Spider, he couldn’t give two fucks about a freak like you.”

He wanted to say back that there was no way that was true, because he knew his Dad loved him, but he was so terrified of being punished that he just kept his mouth shut. “That’s what I thought, nothing to say to that.” Just because he didn’t have an argument doesn’t mean Ryan was right. He would have said that, but once again, the threat of more pain was constantly looming over his head.

“P – please jus’… jus’ stop.” He wanted to sink into the table and come out again when his Dad got here, no matter how cold the slab of metal under him felt, if it swallowed him whole just like how the darkness so often did he would be content. There was no pain when the darkness consumed him.

“You only want me to stop because you know it’s true.” His breath was hot on Peter’s ear and it rustled his hair, which was much longer since he had last seen his Dad and – oh.

Oh.

Ouch, it really hurt. ‘I miss my Dad’. How much he missed his Dad really hurt. ‘Just make everything better.’

“M’ sorry… jus’ wanna go h – home and see m’ Dad again.”

“That’s alright Spider just let go because you likely won’t be seeing him before you outlive your usefulness to me.” Peter felt his hands shaking and a lone tear trailed down his cheek as he untucked his chin and fell as limp as he could, begging whatever being was out there to just let him fall away into the table. Ryan swirled a curl around his fingers and watched as the teen tried to force himself into unconsciousness by focusing on the pain. “I’ll leave you to that while I set up the next test, but only because there’s just two or three more I need before you’re done.”

“I don’ wanna be done. Please do – don’ kill me.” Ryan smiled, and it was genuine, which was really the most unsettling thing about it. He gained real pleasure from hurting someone to the point where they begged for their life. Calling him a fucked-up person would be an understatement, Deadpool got it right when he coined ‘sadistic fuck’ so Peter stuck with that in his head. Never out loud, he was too scared, too intimidated by the idea of talking back anymore so he stayed quiet, spoke when asked direct questions and complied. He hated himself for complying like he said he would never, it just highlighted how much more pathetic and afraid he was than his Dad or any real hero. Why couldn’t he just be strong like his Dad?

‘Because you’re scared to die’ his mind helpfully supplied, and it wasn’t wrong. Peter was terrified of death, at least in this way, without getting to say goodbye – he didn’t even say ‘I love you’ before leaving for school that morning. He would do anything to just go back and say it, three words that made him feel that much better, and maybe, maybe, if he could tell his Dad one last time how much he loved him, and how much he’d miss him, maybe then dying here wouldn’t be so scary.

“You’re dying here Peter, you aren’t ever leaving, just like the rest of them. Accept it and move on.” A few more tears and he had lost the tiny amount of restraint he had left. Ryan was moving things around with the guards’ help and he didn’t even try to open his eyes when he whispered into the lab softly.

“Dad, if you can hear me somehow… I – I love you.” He tried to tell himself that as long as he had hope, he wasn’t broken, but his groggy and unfocused mind as slipping away from him and all he could think about was the notion of home.

He was sharply tugged from the recesses of his mind when freezing bond were secured over him. They clamped just below his elbows, knees and shoulders, joining the ones that were pressed against his wrists and ankles. A thicker band laced around his temples and neck, much like the one in his cell, and another two over his chest and waistline. Never before had he needed this many restrains, and it made no sense because he was weaker now, more than ever. Peter wondered why Ryan and the doctors thought he should have more cuffs for this experiment, maybe it was the worst, maybe he would be in so much pain that he needed something extra to hold him down. He shivered inadvertently at the thought but could barely move under the cool metal that was biting painfully into his skin.

“You can move around as much as you want, they won’t give.” Peter whimpered some more and tugged at the restraints, beginning to feel more and more claustrophobic under their tight hold they had on him.

“W – wh – why?” Ryan smirked and shook his head slowly, amused by the boy’s confusion.

“Because I can, and because you’ll need them for this one.” He felt sick, there was a feeling bubbling in his stomach and he was sure that if his Spidey-senses had been working properly, they would be screaming danger. He willed his eyes open out of pure worry for what he would see.

A larger second table sat a few feet away from his own, and a large, black box with multiple coloured wires snaking from its inside. The cords ran down and on the ends were metal clamps with jagged, serrated teeth. It reminded him vaguely of the bone saw that Ryan used for the biopsy’s. On the front side of the box there were multiple dials that ranged from zero to eight, all of the knobs were angled toward the zero and the entirety of the box was turned off. There were two extension cables that connected the box to electrical plugs and both of them trailed along the floor into the corner of the lab. Although Peter couldn’t move his head due to the metal wrapped over his forehead and neck, he assumed they connected to separate plugs in the wall.

“What is th – this one… w – wha’s gonna happen?” Ryan didn’t answer, too busy fiddling with the wires and cords attached to the box to respond. One of the doctors was jotting something down that must have been written on the side. Peter’s eyes slipped shut again on their own accord and he felt dizzy for the exertion of keeping them open for so long. He was so tired, and so drained of energy that it took up all his strength to just open and shut his eyes, so the idea of struggling with his bonds was farfetched, to say the least.

“Technically, Spider, this is the last real experiment we’re doing so after this it doesn’t matter too much if you die or not. There are one or two more experiments that don’t matter and then we really don’t need you anymore.” His implications were horrible, and pure fear was coursing though the teen, he would be wide-eyed if he had the energy to open them. Even closed, he could feel the hot burn of unshed tears. “Remember your first day, you said your Dad was coming and he wouldn’t let us kill or break you?” He moaned in response and it seemed to be enough for Ryan. “Yeah, I bet you feel naïve now… no matter hat you were always going to end up like the rest of the subjects.”

Peter could feel the tears now, they fell past his lashes and ran their paths down his cheeks, just like how they did almost every night as he thought of home and tried to stay awake enough to avoid the sprinklers.

“I don’ w – wanna die… please. Please don’ k – kill me.” Ryan tutted from somewhere above him and he heard the sound of the table’s wheels rolling across the tiles stained in his blood. He heard humming, and it was the most casual and nonchalant noise and it ached how much it reminded Peter of his Dad.

---

‘Hi Dad,’ he dropped his bag at his feet and leaned in to hug Tony tightly.

‘Hey Underoos, how was school? Nail that physics test?’ Peter sighed heavily and fell back onto the couch, sinking himself into the cushions as far as they would possibly allow. The mechanic bent down beside him and reached a hand into his curls, scratching through them lazily. He hummed softly in understanding and continued to card his fingers through his son’s soft hair.

‘I did the test and it was pretty easy, but my day still sucked.’ His voice was muffled from where it was currently stuffed into the couch.

‘Mmmm, why’s that?’ Peter shuffled where he was laying, and the fingers dislodged from his hair as he repositioned himself. He turned to face his Dad and stared up at him, lashes fluttering as Tony diverted his distracted eyes over the purple mass surrounding it. ‘What the hell happened Pete?’ He sat, moving the teens feet aside as he leaned in and gingerly ran careful fingers over the wound, checking for cuts. The boy in question dropped his gaze and picked guiltily at his cuticles.

‘Just… Flash again.’ It was Tony’s turn to sigh as he brushed a stray curl from Peter’s forehead and angled his chin to the light, so he could assess the damage better. The bruise wasn’t serious, but the edges were turning a slight shade of green while the rest was an uneven shadow of purple.

‘I though you said he was starting to back off a bit?’ His brow was set in a frown as he stood to retrieve an icepack, but lying under the layer of annoyance the teen knew was a hoard of concern and worry.

‘Well he was, for a bit… I – I don’t know I guess I just ticked him off earlier today.’ He winced as Tony lightly pressed the icepack down on the wound, and he lifted up his own hand to take it from the man and hold it himself.

‘What did you do, mouth off? I was under the impression you didn’t mouth off to Flash, because you’re so busy saving all your sass for me.’ His humour veiled his concern for the boy, and this being the fourth time he had come home with a bruise from the bully was beginning to make him distraught.

‘No, no I didn’t mouth off, I didn’t even say anything to him – I just…’ he rubbed the unblemished side of his face worriedly before continuing. ‘I just… scored an 89 on the bio test this morning so he – I don’t know he must just get jealous and maybe I was too happy when I told Ned, because I mean I didn’t really think I did that well and he must have thought I was bragging and –’

‘Hey, hey, hey Pete, you’re rambling again.’ He closed his mouth and took a tired breath, leaning back against the couch while Tony leant forward and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. ‘Is that all that you did? You just scored better than him on a test?’ Peter nodded solemnly, instinctively leaning into his Father’s warm touch. ‘If all you did to warrant this –’ he gestured to Peter’s black eye, ‘then that kid is seriously a dick, and you need to know this isn’t in any way your fault, hm?’ He smiled and curled into his Dad’s torso, breathing in the smell of the workshop and coffee.

‘Yeah, I know it’s just… I guess I still feel bad, he has to be doing it cus he’s insecure about his intelligence, right?’ Tony huffed a laugh from above him, pulling his son closer impulsively and pressing his smile into the boy’s mop of wavy hair,

‘Oh Petey, so righteous aren’t you – always the one to give the blame of the doubt.’ He rolled his eyes from where he was huddled in the steady chest, opting to listen to the thump of heartbeats.

‘Yeah Dad, I’m suuuuuch a hero, aren’t I?’ He returned Tony’s sarcasm perfectly, executing the playful tone the way he had heard his Father so many times before.

‘You are to me baby, you are to me.’ He pressed his lips against Peter’s temple and squeezed him tight before sitting him up again. ‘Now, go change out of those school clothes and into pyjama’s or something while I sort dinner.’ He pushed him away from the couch and watched fondly as his kid shuffled down to his room, dragging his feet behind him as he did so.

Barely two hours later there was a groggy teen slumped against Tony’s chest again and two emptied pizza boxes stacked on the coffee table, a quiet TV rustling in the background.

‘Mm, tired?’ Peter mumbled something in affirmation. ‘Glad it’s Friday then huh? Wanna help out in the lab again tomorrow or do you have homework?’

‘Laaaab’ the half-asleep boy slurred.

‘Mkay then’ he said through a poorly concealed laugh. ‘Get some sleep, I’m changing the channel to something less newsy and more documentary.’ Peter made a high-pitched, contented noise in the back of his throat and snuggled closer into his Dad, smiling against his soft, grey shirt. His hands rested on the shirt, wrapped in the fabric, his head rested just below the shoulder, ear over the heart and eyes lightly closed. Tony hummed happily and the lulling vibrations deep in his Father’s chest combined with the fingers once again intertwined and scratching at his scalp slowly settled him into sleep.

----

Peter stared anxiously at the clamps, there were two pairs and another two which had circular disks at the end of them. The humming he had heard was Ryan’s way of imitating the audible buzz of electricity there was when the box was switched on.

“No, p – please, please. I don’ wan’ to be e – electrocu’ed.” He used all his energy to lift a finger on the hand closest to Ryan, in a pleading, desperate attempt of reaching out.

“Well too fucking bad, it need to be done.” He sniffled loudly, and his chest rose and fell unevenly, and Peter recognised that he was working himself into an anxiety attack but staying as quiet as he could in the hope of being unnoticed and fearful of punishment.

“Sir, if his heart stops should we revive him?” Peter let out a frightened intake of breath and whimpered as he held back sobs.

“No, no, no, no. Ple – please I don’ wanna die, please don’ kill me… don’ make my heart st – stop, please. Please.” Tears were openly flowing down his face now and his chest fluttered in tune to the gasping, panicked breaths he was trying to take. He cried out when Ryan’s fist slammed down next to his head.

“Revive him – but only so we can continue to experiment. He doesn’t die during this one, any of the following ones he can though.” His eyes were locked onto Peter’s and the grey in them caught the light and served to only emphasize the sadistic glint in them.

“No! No, please. Please no, don’ – don’ h – hurt me anymore I can’… I don’ wanna go. Pl – please, Please Ryan no, no, nonononono.”

“Then tell me why! Huh? Why don’t you want to fucking die Peter? Explain to me!” He choked on a broken sob and took heaving, not exactly steadying, breaths.

“B – because I… I wanna see m’ Dad and I wan’ see my friends, n’ finish school n’ grow up an’ be Spider-man an’ – an’ I jus… I don’ wanna die yet, I – I…” A fractured, cough-like sob retched up the back of his throat and a small amount of blood coated the inside of his mouth, tinting the inside of his lips as he spoke. “I wanna eat pizza with m’ Dad n’ go to school n’ sit with m’ friends. I wanna do tests an’ get pushed around by Flash n’ see the Avengers and train with m’ Dad… I jus’ wan’ my Dad. Please, I don’ wanna go, I won’ leave him alone, I gotta pro’ect the ci’y an’ be Spider-man n’ jus’ be with m’ Dad. Please, I wan’ Daddy… I – I don’ wanna die yet.” Ryan looked so pleased and satisfied with himself as he leaned in, pressing his face beside Peter’s ear and whispered to him privately.

“You should probably prepare for your goodbyes Spider, this is going to hurt.” He hadn’t even noticed the doctors clipping the metal clamps to his feet and hands, but when Ryan pressed the rough surface of the plates against his temples he did. He sucked in three more hysterical breaths before stuttering a final sentence.

“D – Dad, Daddy I… I love you an’ – an’ m’ sorry, m’ so sorry.”

“How sweet, I’ll be sure to let Daddy hear that,” Ryan cooed above him as he adjusted his grip on the plates, forcing them further against Peter’s trembling form.

When they switched the box’s power on he didn’t feel anything for a moment. Then, his mind finally caught up with his body and the pain registered, he realised it was him that was screaming. Honestly, the boy didn’t know or understand ho he was capable of making those purely guttural, pained noises with the state his throat was in – courtesy of the intubation. The pain was so much worse than anything, it was worse than the intubation, the speakers, lights, bone biopsy’s, drowning, preliminary healing test, broken bones, bruises, everything, anything. It was absolutely the most excruciating thing Peter had ever experienced in his entire life. The sensation was white hot, blinding, burning spasm. He convulsed, and the paroxysm of agony made his once weak body thrash against the restraints. Somewhere, through the mind-numbing pain, Peter understood why he needed the extra bonds and cuffs, because although he had felt so useless and helpless beforehand, he probably would have snapped the wrist and ankle restraints.

Electricity flowed through the teen and made his once still body struggle and writhe with the current, and fight against the bonds. His struggling combined with the voltage reopened all his wounds and the strength he was using to yank at the metal was slicing open his flesh. The noises he was making was animalistic at best, they came out gurgled and warped through his misused and injured throat. They weren’t even on the highest setting and Ryan couldn’t tell if Peter was consciously fighting the electricity, or if he had passed out and the convulsing was just the current passing through him. He twisted the knobs back down to zero and watched as the boy’s body stilled.

His bruised chest rose and fell hurriedly, the blood from his re-opened wounds was joined by a sheen of sweat, likely caused by the exertion of struggling. The plates and clamps where the box made contact with his skin had left small burn marks, which weren’t deep but they were patterned by the jagged teeth. Peter was conscious, and his eyes were wide and terror-filled, his lips were parted and the amount blood from earlier had increased from all his screaming. The band across his neck was so buried in the flesh that was so bruised it was practically black, and blood was dripping around the wound, slicking the metal in a sickly coat. He had tried to lift his head up from the table, but the most he could succeed was arching his back, mere inches. It made sense why he had fought against the bonds, the amount of pain he must have been in accounted for how he managed to summon the energy to do more than blink and lift a single finger.

The taser had been unpleasant, and powerful enough to knock him to the floor of the warehouse, but the level of pain the box had induced was unimaginable. Sure, Peter had expected a likely unmanageable amount of injuries and aches when he first realised he had powers, or when he really became Spider-Man, but this was more than any being should ever, in a thousand lives, ever have to endure. ‘Nobody deserves this.’

“We’ll do more this time, he can take it.” Ryan was talking to the doctors over Peter’s body, his grp on the plates was loose, casual, as if he weren’t holding something capable of creating the worst agony imaginable. It took his frayed mind awhile to process what was being said, and what the words meant.

“Oo – o… N – o. No.” It was surprising, how hard he found it to form words. His lips wouldn’t move, and his tongue sat uselessly in his mouth, his brain knew what he wanted to say but it wasn’t making the sounds like it should have. ‘Oh god what if I’m brain damaged? How will I talk to Dad?’

Dad. Daddy…

----

Tony bounced his leg intensively, biting at his thumb nail and watching the New York skyscrapers dissolve into bleak highways outside the window. Rhodey craned his neck to watch the anxious man from the passenger seat, exchanging a quick look with Steve before he turned back to the road, pressing his lips into a taught, vaguely encouraging smile.

“How much long –”

“Still an hour Tones.” He sighed and leaned further forward in his seat, hating how long the drive was taking. He turned to see Nat and Sam trailing a few cars behind them and he shuffled in place, his restless energy translating into constant repositioning and movement.

“W –”

“Tony, I get it, you’re feeling restless right now, but if you’re about to ask when we’re going to arrive I swear to god…”

“Okay, okay. I just – I don’t know, what if he’s worse than the photos and videos show? How the hell am I going to deal with that?” He bit his lip and ran a hand through his hair rapidly.

“The same as I’m sure you always do when Peter gets hurt, keep calm and just be there for him.”

“I – Cap this situation is a bit different to when he’d fall over or cut his finger…”

“The same principle applies,” Steve replied calmly.

“I… Yeah – I think I’m just going to call Cho and notify her of the, uh… of the condition he might be in and make sure she’s prepared.” He did just that, and she was as professional and understanding as he remembered her to be, despite the fact that she still believed Peter was just an intern to Tony.

He turned back to face the window, watching as more building silhouettes and highway signs flitted past. He sighed and fiddled with the seatbelt before switching on a Stark Pad and looking into the history of the building the security camera photographs had come from. It was in Bridgeport, of course, and according to the records Tony was able to dig up, it had previously been a scientific research centre, before it was shut down and subsequently abandoned years ago. With no currently listed owner of the building, he assumed it was being occupied illegally, which really made no difference considering the fact that kidnapping, experimenting and torturing a minor – not to mention Tony Stark’s son – was pretty illegal on its own. He figured Natasha would have no qualms against being put in charge of the interrogation of the piece of shit who decided hurting Peter was a good idea.

“We’re three quarters of an hour away.” He looked up at the rear-view mirror and locked eyes with Rhodey and nodding curtly, shuffling in his seat once again, beginning to bounce his leg in nervous anticipation once again.

----

“Hold these and go again while I send something off to his Dad.” Ryan pushed the rough plates into one of the guard’s hands and dutifully told him to ‘ignore his tears, all they do is conduct the electricity.’ All the boy could do was cry harder at the comment.

Peter was still desperately trying to force himself to form words, so he could beg and protest, plead, or do anything to make the pain stop. The best he managed was a weak moan as the cool metal was pressed harshly against the sides of his head. His whimpers grew in intensity as the unmistakeable hum of the box started up again.

He couldn’t even open his lips before the current began again and he was convulsing once more.

----

“Half an hour Tony.” He didn’t bother to respond. His attention was solely focused on the email that slid onto the screen in his lap. He swallowed.

“R – Rhodey, Steve?” Something in his voice must have caught their attention immediately because Rhodey turned in his seat and Steve glanced away from the road briefly to see the colour beginning to drain from the mechanic’s face. “They sent another one… a – another email I mean.”

“Do you think you need to see it, you can give it here and I’ll read it.” His leg braces made a small noise as he fully repositioned in his seat to face his friend.

“He’s right, there isn’t any point in reading it now, we’re almost there anyway.” Although his eyes were on the road, the suggestion was clear – don’t upset yourself anymore than you need to before we get to Peter.

“It’s fine. I need to, it could be important.”

‘Mr. Stark,

I fully expect you and the rest of the ‘team’ to continue the pointless search for your child, however I suggest you quit while you, aren’t, ahead. His time is running out and he understands this.

I will admit, Petey is an optimistic shit, and it’s taken this long to get him to fully grasp the fact that me and the rest of my staff are almost done with him. His usefulness and usability to us is almost out, and after this experiment, he’s done.

Not surprisingly, you haven’t been astute or resourceful enough to locate your son, and he is suffering the consequences of a broken promise.

Hope is a strange thing, when the subjects have it, they have something to hold on to, and when they lose it, so too do they lose themselves. Well, that’s a beautiful sight, shattered innocence one may say.

I hope you look forward to finding the Spider’s corpse.’

The car was silent. Steve set his jaw and sped up noticeably, passing several cars in a feeble attempt to reach the location in time. Rhodey looked at a loss for words, but his eyes scanned over Tony, assessing his stability and mental state before cautiously saying his name.

“Tony?” He was glaring at the screen still in his lap. He gripped the tech so tightly that his knuckles were white, and his hands visibly shook.

“He’s going to fucking suffer. He doesn’t even deserve to die, I swear if he thinks I won’t find him –”

“Tony!” The car didn’t slow as it pulled off the highway and took its exit.

“No Rhodey I don’t care I – there’s another one with an audio file.”

“We aren’t going to listen, we’re only twenty minutes out fro –” He played the file without even hesitating.

‘No, no, no, no. Ple – please I don’ wanna die, please don’ kill me… don’ make my heart st – stop, please. Please.’

The sound of Peter’s rapid, hysterical breaths filled the small space, and Tony hated that he tried to hold onto the sound of his breathing. There was a sudden, metallic banging and Peter’s resounding cry of fear or pain, nobody could tell which.

‘Revive him – but only so we can continue to experiment. He doesn’t die during this one, any of the following ones he can though.’

‘No! No, please. Please no, don’ – don’ h – hurt me anymore I can’… I don’ wanna go. Pl – please, Please Ryan no, no, nonononono.’

‘Then tell me why! Huh? Why don’t you want to fucking die Peter? Explain to me!’

The choking sound of an incomplete sob and more heaving breaths.

‘B – because I… I wanna see m’ Dad and I wan’ see my friends, n’ finish school n’ grow up an’ be Spider-man an’ – an’ I jus… I don’ wanna die yet, I – I…’

A wet cough that obviously didn’t help Peter’s breathing echoed in the car.

‘I wanna eat pizza with m’ Dad n’ go to school n’ sit with m’ friends. I wanna do tests an’ get pushed around by Flash n’ see the Avengers and train with m’ Dad… I jus’ wan’ my Dad. Please, I don’ wanna go, I won’ leave him alone, I gotta pro’ect the ci’y an’ be Spider-man n’ jus’ be with m’ Dad. Please, I wan’ Daddy… I – I don’ wanna die yet.’

The next threat was whispered, and Tony and Rhodey had to strain to hear the words.

‘You should probably prepare for your goodbyes Spider, this is going to hurt.’

Three more rapid breaths.

‘D – Dad, Daddy I… I love you an’ – an’ m’ sorry, m’ so sorry.’

‘How sweet, I’ll be sure to let Daddy hear that.’

The audio ended, and the man stared into the now dark screen of the Stark Pad. He knew it was bad, he knew it was a fucked-up situation and Peter was going to be haunted by what he had endured, much like Tony had himself, but he didn’t know that it would get to this point. His son was begging for his life and saying his goodbyes. Did he truly believe he was going to die? Had he really lost hope like the email said? Did he actually think he had something to apologise for, when his Dad was the one who hadn’t saved him soon enough?

“Steve how lo –”

“Less than fifteen minutes.”

“Fuck it.”

“What do you mean fu –”

“I’m giving this psycho a taste of his own medicine.”

----

Three more sessions. Three more times they had turned on the box and increased the voltage. Peter felt dead. Maybe he was? He couldn’t feel his body, only the pain – if that even made sense. He couldn’t say where his fingers ended, and his hands started, where his skull began and where his neck started. It was like he was numb, but the pain was still there. The pain was definitely there, all of it. Every single bit of pain he had felt these last two weeks and five days was rolled into one sensation and he could feel it all – but not his body.

At some point, he must have bitten into his cheek enough to draw a considerable amount of blood, because someone shoved a makeshift gag into his mouth to either staunch the blood flow or give him something to bite down on as he screamed. It was scary to think, but he wasn’t entirely sure when he was screaming, or when the current was on and when it was turned off. There was too much pain to discern anything except fleeting voices and sounds every now and then, although nothing was clear.

“There’s a response email Sir.”

“Read it, I’m busy checking if this kid’s still breathing.” Now that he mentioned it, there was something touching his neck, maybe that was where his pulse point was, but he couldn’t be sure.

“I have found you, we’re coming, and you aren’t laying another… fucking hand on my son or you’ll seriously regret it more than anyone had ever regretted anything in this reality. Bridgeport – check and mate.”

The not really there sensation on his neck moved away, and the sounds of muffled but hurried footsteps filled his mind.

“What? Give me that – who, what the fuck. How did he – shit, shit.”

“Sir?”

“Go – get everyone and – shit – get everyone together and meet me outside, pull the van’s up and make sure everyone is armed and –”

“Sir? Has – has Stark found us?” There was silence, and Peter assumed Ryan nodded in reply. After the silence, there was chaos assaulting his defective senses, almost the like calm before the storm he thought. He lay there and was somehow functional enough to be relieved the sessions of electricity had stopped for now.

The pinching clamps were removed from his toes and fingers, the plates disregarded and shoved to the floor. His restraints and gag were left untouched as the table holding him moved. They didn’t bother to cover his head with a burlap sack as he was wheeled down the hallways. Even if they had, it wouldn’t have made much of a difference because he passed out sometime after the third direction change.

“O – no the back, we are not loading him into the van’s out front you incompetent shi –”

“Sir, everyone is gathered, and their weapons are ready.”

“Good. It could all be a lie but I’m not taking chances and the fact that Stark knew about Bridgeport is just… get him outside before I change my mind and just kill him right now.” Peter made a small whimper behind the fabric stuffed in his mouth, but nobody heard, or more likely, nobody cared. If nobody cared, he could say anything he wanted – maybe he could scream for help. All he could manage was a single, meek word which was unintelligible with the gag.

“Daddy.”

----

“Nat, how much further behind us are you?”

“I can see the car, maybe a hundred feet?”

“We’re pulling up now Tony.” He already knew, he could see the building that he had first looked at on the Stark Pad. It was a lot less conspicuous than the pictures made out, but everyone knew what had happened inside those walls.

Steve barely turned off the engine before everyone was out of the cars and standing, geared up, weapons at the ready in front of the structure. Natasha was ready, her hip was cocked, and multiple utilities leant against her belt, Sam had his wing suit on, a gun in one hand and Redwing compacted away in his suit in case needed. Rhodey’s leg braces weren’t seen from inside the War Machine armour, and even with his faceplate down, his eyes almost appeared as narrowed in determination. Steve had an earlier shield prototype that Tony had given his for the fight, and he held it in his arms, not bothering to attach it to his back in case of a surprise attack. Iron Man’s armour was sleek, and the sun bounced off it, reflecting red and gold beams of light which served to enhance the anger that radiated from him. Inside the suit, his eyes and jaw were set, a dark expression clouding his face and only two thoughts racing through his mind – save Peter, make them pay.

“I have picked up a cluster of heat signatures around the back of the building Sir.” He didn’t bother to thank F.R.I.D.A.Y, she understood the severity and weight of the task ahead of everyone. The group split without words, Tony and Steve to the left, Rhodey and Sam to the right, and Natasha through the building that F.R.I.D.A.Y confirmed was devoid of any life.

“Hit hard, get the kid out and safe. First priority is Peter.” Steve had dropped into his mission-focused persona, and no emotion showed in his voice as he gave direct orders over the comms.

“Understood,” was the only reply he received from everyone before they had reached the corner of the building, which was shrouded in four dense bushes. Tony crouched in front of him, the eyes of the suit giving away the same, non-existent emotion as Steve’s words as its eyes locked onto the scene in front of them.

The courtyard was filled with guards, in total there looked to be around fifty of them, and they were clustered around the doors of two transport vehicles similar to the ones that took Peter in the first place. They were all dressed in black gear and wore masks to cover their features. The vehicles were far away enough that Tony and Steve could make out the four other people obviously not dressed in black. Two figures in lab coats, holding clipboards stood beside the man that was currently bent over the small form tied down to the metal bench, with his hands fisted deep into a familiar mop of wild curls. The man was clearly the one in charge, he had no weapons but held the most authoritative and threating stance. His knees were bent, back curved in order to reach the helpless body on the metal table.

From their position about one hundred feet away the injuries visible on Peter’s obviously trembling figure were no clearer than those seen in all the photos and videos they had seen. That being said, he looked like death come alive. The boy’s frame was so small, skinny and fragile looking. There was not an inch of his skin that wasn’t covered in bloody wounds or bruised skin, in fact, there was no part of him that looked unharmed. There were metal restrains pinning the teen down, and it was painfully clear how hard they had been fought against, due to how bruised and bloody the skin underneath them seemed to be, especially the neck. He was crying, and the choked sobs could be heard by anyone and everyone around, and the only people who didn’t seem to be pleased by the sound of a broken child was the people coming to save him. Peter’s soft, heart-breaking litany of whimpers and cries were muffled and subdued by the gag in his mouth. It looked to be a bundle of fabric, maybe a rag, that had been lazily shoved into his mouth to quieten him. The man in charge was saying something, and Tony couldn’t make out what he was whispering into his child’s ear, but judging by the disgust present on Steve’s face, it wasn’t for the light of heart.

“What’s he saying Cap?” No reply, just the feeble shake of a head. “Cap?” He whispered as angrily as he could, staying as quiet as possible at the same time.

“Tony he – uh, he’s just… trying to get Peter to…” He trailed off as he stared ahead at the scene before them. Tony gripped his arm as gently but as demanding as possible in his armour. “Uh… he’s trying to get Peter to say goodbye to you, because you’re bluffing? Yeah, he’s trying to convince Peter that your email was a bluff and that you aren’t coming…” He left his mouth open as if to say more but shook his head slowly.

“What? What else is he saying?” Steve turned to face him, the eyes met those glowing blue of Tony’s suit.

“He said that nobody would ever come to save a, uh – uh, ‘freak, mutant’ like him from death…” From under the mask he bared his teeth and Steve seemed to realise what was about to happen before Tony even did himself. Not even bothering to stop the furious man before him, the soldier pressed the comms and connected to Clint’s feed.

“We have eyes, going in now – get the jet over here quickly.” Then, as Nat, Sam, Rhodey and Tony listened to Steve’s signal, they all surged forward into battle.

Rhodey firstly blasted the vehicle, sending it careening into at least ten of the guards surrounding it. Sam flew past him and slammed his feet into one more, the weight of his landing managed to throw the guard into two more and they fell like pins at a bowling alley. Natasha was strategically taking out the men closest to the entrance to the building, effectively blocking off the only path of escape for unwilling fighters. Steve sprinted forward and hurled his shield like a frisbee, catching it expertly as it bounced back to him from the now upturned van after having pounded two men. Tony increased his repulsors and picked up as much speed as possible before blasting himself directly into the chest of the main man, the force of his hit throwing them both into the two doctors and knocking them aside roughly.

It wasn’t satisfying enough to just hear the surprised yelp of fright that escaped the man’s lips as he was pummelled to the asphalt by the Iron Man suit.

“Stark” he called from underneath Tony, flashing a psychotic grin at the man through now blood-stained teeth. The words didn’t reach the Father’s fury-clouded mind as he brought his fists down.

“You want to fucking take my son?” He slammed his fist down. “You think it’s okay to torture a sixteen-year-old?” Again, he shoved his armour-clad hand down. “To experiment on someone so innocent!” Ryan’s face was bloodied, and Tony was crouched above him, holding his shirt collar for leverage as he rained his blows. “Or put your disgustingly filthy hands in his hair?” A bloody smile despite the punches. “Do you? Do you fucking care how messed up you are? Do you understand how much you’re gonna pay for laying a finger on my baby? Huh! Huh?” He shook the man below him angrily, the unsupportive neck made his head flop side to side viciously as Toy waited for an answer.

“That’s a beautiful kid you got yourself, too bad I made him scream so pretty like. I did what I had to, it’s my responsibility to take care of my subjects and make sure the tests gather the best data.” His smug face held its ground even in the presence of the furious and positively murderous Stark.

“Peter isn’t your subject – he isn’t a fucking object for you to experiment on!” He shook his again, trying to shake the point into the stubborn man’s head.

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law, Mr. Stark.” His grin split wider and he spat blood to the side, rolling his head back only to smirk proudly once again.

“That’s not a thing! You can’t go around and treat people – especially my kid – like fucking lab animals! He isn’t yours in any way, that’s my son – mine! You hear me, you psychopathic asshole!” Tony spat, and he was sure if he lowered his faceplate his spittle would hit the man’s already bloodied face.

Meanwhile Steve ran to Peter. After clearing the guards that stood between them he slid to a halt and briefly took in the injuries, assessing whether or not the boy’s wounds had the danger of making him bleed out. His frame was so much smaller than Steve had ever remembered, and in the moment, he felt utterly taken aback that the teen in the red and blue suit who caught a shipping container at the German airport could look so little like himself. He looked so… hurt, not just physically, but emotionally. If the tears rolling down his cheeks and the hyperventilating sobs were enough to go by, the kid had gone through hell.

“Hey, hi kid, it – it’s Captain America. I’m gonna get you out of these restraints now, okay?” The boy’s lids fluttered open, and the tears made his eyelashes stick together like spider legs. He looked up with glassy eyes, pupils blown wide from what he assumed to be a concussion. He sniffled, his sobs stopping for a moment as he seemed to realise what all the noise was. “Peter, did you he – can you hear me?” He thinks that the teen tried to nod slowly, but the metal band around his neck and forehead didn’t allow for enough movement so he tried to speak.

“E – ye… es.” His voice was shaky, ruined and it cracked on almost every word. Steve tried not to picture the tube being forced down the kid’s throat.

“Okay, that’s – this is good, I’m gonna take the, uh… the gag out.” Peter let his mouth fall open in response and remained still as it was gently pulled past his lips. The edge that had been closest to the back of his throat was soaked in blood, and the top half was drenched in tears and saliva. It was hastily thrown to the ground, out of sight. “Will it hurt too much if I get that band off your neck?”

“Wh – where’s m’ Da…ad?” Steve looked up from where he was carefully looking over how dangerous it would be to get the neck band off. He flicked his eyes over Peter’s and let his face soften. When he turned behind him, keeping one hand over the boy’s wrist pulse, he watched as Tony dealt with the man in charge.

“He’s here kid. He’s just over there, we’re gonna get you out I pro –”

“N…no. I – I jus’ wan’ m’ Da – Dad.” His eyes were unfocused and didn’t really seem to be seeing everything that was there, but they stayed firmly locked onto Steve, his face set in a pleading expression.

“Okay, okay I’ll get him – I’m getting your Dad now.” He turned over his shoulder and yelled as loudly as he dared with the frightened boy in front of him. “Tony? Tony! I – we need you over here!” Peter couldn’t help but flinch at the noise, bracing for a blow that so often came with the yelling. The movement didn’t go unnoticed and Steve pulled his attention back to the cowering teen. “Hey, Peter? We aren’t going to hurt you, it’s okay. I’m here to get you out of here, alright? Nothing else is going to hurt you now.”

“O – okay. I jus’… jus’ wan’ Dad.”

“I know, I know – he’s coming.” He turned away again, worrying more as he noted the pulse weakening slightly, “Tony!”

Tony looked up from where he was pointing his charged repulsor at the man’s head. The suit whined as it powered down.

“Natasha? You’re in charge of him, that cool?” She nodded and smiled predatorily, stalking toward the pair with intent glowing in her eyes.

“It would be my pleasure” she purred, lifting her arm and firing a taser disk at the man, who grunted before slumping in Tony’s hold. He dropped the man unceremoniously, letting him drop to the ground before curling his lip in disgust.

“Tony! Get over here, now!” His anger dissolved into fear and concern as he snapped his neck around, trying to see past Steve to get a look at the form on the table below him.

“Cap, what’s happening?” He called worriedly, standing and running over to the soldier who was frowning at him in urgency. Tony ran faster. He let his suit retract from his form and he skidded to a halt just beside the metal bench.

“Tony, he wa –”

“Da… Daddy?” Peter had opened his lids again, and although his pulse was weakening, his eyes were wide and hazed over with confusion.

“Hi baby, yeah it’s me. I’m here now.” He reached out and brushed Peter’s loose curls back, being careful not to press any bruises. He was surprised to find that despite almost three weeks without washing them, they were still one of the softest things he had ever felt. The boy leaned into the touch as much as he could under the restraints.

“Get these off him Steve, let me hold my kid.” Tony reached out and gripped Peter’s hand, folding his palm over the finger he had curled out towards his Dad. “Hey, hey I know Pete, I’m here. It’s okay, I’m here now.”

“Pl – please… I wan’ go h – home.” He weakly squeezed his fingers and Tony instinctively reached out and rested the hand not clutching Peter’s and tucked in into his hair, providing comfort for the shaking boy and also checking for head wounds.

“I know, we’re going home, I promise. I promise I’m taking you home. Cap get them off, please get them off him.” It was Tony who looked at him with pleading eyes, both of the Stark’s seemed to have a talent for it.

“I – I’m trying they’re just really enforced. I think we’re going to need your suit for this as well.” He was experimentally pulling at the bonds, which weren’t budging under his grip. “Jesus Tony, get your laser and I’ll use my shield.”

“I don’ wanna be on the t – table any – anymore…” Tony slipped his fingers away from Peter’s and let the suit’s arm form over his hand again, making sure to continue stroking through the boy’s hair soothingly.

“We’re getting you out okay, just hold still and I’ll be really careful.” There was still commotion behind them, Sam and Rhodey were still working on taking down the rest of the guards, who were yelling and trying to retreat back into the building.

“How far out are you Clint?” Steve heard Clint’s reply through Rhodey’s suit.

“About fifteen minutes, how bad is it?” The suit turned to face the two men huddling over the table and didn’t even need to look at Peter before he replied.

“Just… get here soon.”

Tony set the laser to a setting where it wouldn’t cut through all the way, just scoring the metal so that Steve’s shield could snap it apart. He worked on the cuff on the ankle which wasn’t broken, going slowly and trying to stay as precise as possible under the stressful circumstances. It took longer than he would have liked, but once the metal had been scored the shield was able to break through in less than three blows. After the leg, arm and torso restrains had been removed he had to deal with the ones still pinning Peter’s neck and head to the table.

“Okay, I’m turning the heat down and going much slower on these ones, okay Pete? How much does the one on your neck hurt?” His hand that wasn’t holding the laser slid over the boy’s cheek slowly, wiping away the last of his tears.

“I – I don’ kn – know… M’ sorry.” He closed his eyes and another tear slipped down his cheek, to Tony’s dismay.

“No, no it’s okay. That’s okay I swear. I’ll be more careful with the one on your neck because it looks the most painful, okay Pete? It’s okay, you don’t need to be sorry.” Peter bunched his now free hands into his Dad’s shirt and clung to him desperately, squeezing his eyes shut as the laser slowly began to burn through the band over his temples. It took longer, and the extra caution was worth it, but all Tony wanted was to hold his affection-craved child.

“I don’t think I need the shield for these last two, I can just pull them apart.” The mechanic nodded his permission and Steve began to separate the second to last band. When it fell away, Tony surged forward and pressed a kiss against Peter’s temple, running a shaky hand over the side of his face, winding around the worst of the bruises. The boy shuffled meekly in place and let one hand fall from Tony’s shirt to scratch at the metal around his neck.

“M ‘ I – it’s hard t – to breathe… hur’s.” Now that he mentioned it, Peter’s breaths did sound strained and the air whistled when he sucked in and blew out.

“I know, we can fix that once I’ve gotten this off. I’m gonna start cutting through it now, okay?” He felt the second hand clasp his shirt in agreeance and he began to work away at the metal. The neck took the longest to cut through, by far. Partly because of how slow he was going and partly because of how tight it was against the skin. When Steve finally pulled apart the piece of metal and let them fall to the ground Tony was pulling Peter fully into his arms, taking all his weight and practically climbing onto the table to embrace his son. His first arm wrapped around the boy’s back and his hand buried itself in the brunette locks, the second wound around his hips and pulled him closer to the worryingly cold body. Peter nuzzled his face into his Dad’s chest, pushing his cold nose into his neck and breathing in the familiar scent.

“A – addy,” he whispered into the warm chest, his blue-tinted lips brushing against Tony’s collarbone. He hugged his Dad as tightly as his exhausted body would allow and relished in the feeling of finally being safe.

“Hey baby…” Tony rested his chin against the fluffy curls, letting them tickle his face softly. He scratched small circles into Peter’s scalp and rubbed up and down his back with a feather-light touch, keeping away from the still sluggishly bleeding cuts. “Baby I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have taken this long to get you back and –”

“S’ no – no’ your faul’ Da… ad,” Peter rasped from where he was tucked securely under Tony’s chin. “I – I missed yo – you,” his voice was getting softer, and Tony moved the hand buried in his hair to check his pulse hesitantly.

“You feeling tired Petey?” The teen hummed in response and red flags buzzed in Tony’s head. “You gotta stay awake just for a little bit, kay? Can you keep your eyes open until the jet gets here, please Pete?” He didn’t hear a response from below him, and he pulled back to look at his son only to receive a high-pitched whine at the loss of contact.

“M’ feelin fu – fuzzy… sle – slee… py.” His words were becoming more slurred, and it was harder to understand what the boy was trying to say, but Tony ran a gentle finger over his eyelids and pressed another kiss to his forehead. He shot a look at Steve who was checking over everybody else and taking stock of the bodies that now laid in the courtyard.

“Clint should be here really shortly, maybe another five – ten minutes?”

“He doesn’t look good Cap. F.R.I can you figure out why he said he feels fuzzy?”

“Scanning now Sir.” There was a pause and Tony used the time to reposition Peter’s pliant body, back resting against his arm and head being supported by the crook of his elbow. The teen’s eyes were staying shut for longer periods of time and he was becoming less responsive. “It appears Peter is suffering from severe symptoms of hypovolemic shock. He may have meant lightheaded rather than ‘fuzzy.’ Due to the extensive trauma his body appears to have undergone, I am unable to provide a sufficient estimate of how long he has, although I highly recommend he receives immediate medical attention.”

“Pete you need to stay awake” he tapped the boy lightly on the nose, trying to rouse him, but all he got was a quiet sniffle. “Hey, hey Pete?” The teen’s pale skin was cold and clammy, his breathing was concerningly shallow, but rapid, and his pulse continued to weaken under Tony’s fingers. His lips and fingernails were a deathly shade of blue but when his lips fell open as his body was repositioned, there was dark blood coating his lips and tongue.

“He’s got blood in his mouth, what do I – shit, shit! Hey Pete? Peter!” He sat the boy up further and leant his head forward, massaging circles into his back and patting lightly to try and wake him up. “Hey, c’mon you need to spit the blood out, so you can breathe better.” The wheezing breaths were decreasing into incredibly shallow inhales, and there was no doubt if he didn’t get more oxygen intake he could suffocate.

Peter moaned weakly and heaved suddenly, coughing as blood dripped past his lips, running down his chin and dripping into his lap. His eyes remained shut and Tony wasn’t even sure he was conscious anymore. “Peter? Baby? You awake?” No response, just the empty, useless coughing that just let more blood fall. “Shit, shit – where the hell is Clint?”

“He’s coming Tony, just try and prop him up more, let his head rest on your shoulder – yeah like that – just until the blood all comes up.” Rhodey and his emergency aid classes didn’t sound like such a bad idea to him anymore. He did as instructed, and shushed Peter gently as he whimpered some more, feeling slightly better when his small hands wrapped around his neck tiredly.

“Ad?” Peter’s voice cracked but Tony understood what he was trying to say.

“Yeah baby? I’m right here for you.” He started to stroke the ends of his hair again, at the nape of his neck.

“M’ no’ fe – feelin’ v’ry g’d.” That one took longer for his head to pick apart, but he thinks the boy murmured something along the lines of ‘I’m not feeling very good.’

“The jet’s nearly here, I promise, can you just hold on a little bit longer? Please Pete, just stay conscious a little more…”

He wanted to curl up into a ball, he wanted to hug his Dad more, but his eyelids were getting heavier, his vision was fading away and the pain was ushering the bleak darkness to envelop him once more. The dark had never held pain before, and he knew his Dad would forgive him for napping just a little bit before he got home, so he sunk into unconsciousness.

“Peter? No, no, no, come on and wake up.” Something was humming loudly but Tony didn’t look up from where he was cradling his son.

“Clint’s here, we need to get him to the jet now.” Someone had their hands on his shoulders, he thinks it was Steve, but he wasn’t sure. “Can you carry him, or do you need me to.” He hooked his arm under Peter’s knees and moved more of his opposite hand onto his back, pulling him completely off the table with ease.

“He’s too light, he doesn’t weigh anything… it – it’s not good how easy it is to hold him like this.” The hands pushed lightly, and he realised they were guiding him toward the humming that grew louder and louder. His footsteps echoed, and he recognized the feeling of the Quinjet’s ramp beneath his shoes. “Can someone get the med gear, he’s still bleeding, there’s – there’s too much blood and it’s coming from everywhere, he isn’t breathing properly, he – he passed out and F.R.I.D.A.Y said he’s going into hypovolemic shock…”

“The flight’s only half an hour Tony. Cho said she’s ready and the team’s prepped for his arrival, they have a stretched and everything. It’s going to be okay.”

“I – how can I help him now?” It was worrying him more the longer he was holding Peter, because normally his arms would be burning, and he’d have to put him down again, but not now. Now it was scarily easy to keep the small body tucked against his chest and wrapped in his arms.

“Sit down and I’ll position the kid so he can breathe better, then we’ll give him an oxygen mask and try to staunch the bleeding, you just need to try and stay calm.” Rhodey was out of his suit, and impressively level-headed but that could probably be accredited to his experience as a soldier.

He sat and stretched Peter’s body out while Rhodey repositioned him, keeping his head elevated and knees bent using Tony to prop the teen up. Sam was running Clint down on everything tat had happened, Nat was cleaning her gun obsessively and counting her remaining taser disks while Steve flew the jet at maximum speed back to the compound. Rhodey rested an oxygen mask over Peter’s face, and Tony pulled the strap behind his face and made sure his breathing evened out in the slightest. “Clint could you hand me some gauze, like, a lot of it?” Tony glanced up at Rhodey who was preoccupied with searching the boy’s body for the most severe cuts and gashes. “Thanks. Alright Tones, the deepest ones are his right knee, hip and shoulder, but it looks like part of the bone is missing so be really careful applying pressure, so we don’t fracture it any more. His entire back is cut up pretty bad, but the worst ones are focused lower down, so you’re gonna have to reach that while I deal with the hip and knee, you with the shoulder.” He looked up and read his friend’s face, before softening his own into a concerning expression, understanding how overwhelmed the Father must be. “Still remember the first aid training I forced you to do?” Tony swallowed and bobbed his head without words before doing what Rhodey had told him to without jostling Peter too much.

“What do I do about this one?” He pointed to the dark, bloody mess that was Peter’s neck and Rhodey hesitated briefly before handing him a section of gauze.

“Let me clean it and assess how serious it actually is before you apply pressure.” Clint already had a bowl of room temperature water at the ready and Rhodey dipped a handful of gauze into it and wrung it out.

“I’ll do it! I – I can do it, I’m gentle with him…” Rhodey was confused but relented, eventually understanding the man needed all the physical contact with his son as possible after having been separated for weeks.

“Around the wound first to get rid of the dried blood then over it, call me when you’re done. It’s probably better than it looks, or at the very least it will look less serious once it’s cleaned up a bit.” Tony smiled thankfully before leaning back a bit and pulling Peter closer to his chest, hoping the body heat could help warm him up.

“Hey baby” he whispered as he very carefully began to dab around the furthest edges of his neck, slowly washing away the dark, crusted blood. “Everything’s gonna be okay now… I swear.” He snuggled his hand around the boy’s small hips, hating the way he could feel the ribs protruding. After what must have been at least ten – fifteen minutes the majority of the blood had been cleaned away and Tony had rinsed the wound until the water ran clear. “Rhodey, I’m done.” He was joined by his friend once again and was greeted with a pleased smile, “you were right, it looks a lot better now that there’s no blood.”

“We don’t need to put pressure on that anymore, plus we’re landing in a few minutes, so Helen can take over. Just sit tight for now, almost there.”

If Peter hadn’t just bled out, or wasn’t covered completely in bruises, cuts, burns, dried and fresh blood, then maybe Tony would have relaxed. If he closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall he could probably imagine nothing was wrong, and it was a normal trip.

----

‘C’mere Spiderling.’ Peter rolled his eyes but leant into Tony’s arms regardless.

‘M’ Spider-Man Dad,’ his voice didn’t contain any real heat, and it was muffled from where his face was buried in his Dad’s suit. ‘How was your meeting?’

‘The same as always, Pepper was stressed out about it for no reason, I nailed it and could even slip a text you under the table.’ The mechanic pulled away from the hug and brushed a sweaty curl from next to Peter’s ear. ‘Let me guess, you just had P.E?’

‘Yeah, we played dodgeball again’ he frowned and picked at the sleeve of his sweater.

‘So, you let yourself get hit and the coach made you run laps again?’ Peter smiled guiltily and looked down, nodding his head, loose waves bouncing slightly as he did. ‘Too self-sacrificing, but then again…’

‘I get it from you?’ He interrupted swiftly and his hair was ruffled in response and he giggled, half-heartedly pushing the hand away.

‘Sure, that and your brains, let’s hope the comparisons stop there kiddo.’

‘Hey Hap?’ He tapped a finger on the dividing glass twice and it rolled down slowly.

‘Yup?’ He sounded tired, but today was Friday, so everyone was a bit tired of the week.

‘How bad is traffic this afternoon?’

‘Shit, like always – remind me again why you go to a school in Queens?’ Peter smiled and clipped his seatbelt, sliding a seat closer to his Dad.

‘Because he’s got my brains, clearly, and it’s the best school for him.’ Tony cast an eye over at the grinning teen as the dividing window rolled back up. ‘What’s got you in a good mood?’ He just smiled wider.

‘I like it when traffic sucks.’ Tony arched an eyebrow at him questioningly, ‘I don’t know why’ he answered with a very knowing smirk on his face. Of course, he knew why, and Tony completely agreed, the longer the drive was, the better.

‘Me too Petey, me too.’ He pulled his suit jacket off and folded it haphazardly, waving a hand over his face to cool down. ‘Aren’t you hot in your jumper right after P.E?’

‘No, I’m kinda cold.’

‘Right, Spidey side-effects, I forget. Come here then.’ He leant back against the door and Peter leant into his chest happily, nuzzling his cheek against his Dad’s shoulder and curling his hands around his neck and latching on tighter, a soft smile gracing his lips. ‘Here, I missed you today,’ Tony murmured into his son’s hair as he wrapped his own suit jacket around the boy and tucked it in like a blanket.

‘Missed you too Dad.’ Peter hummed quietly and snuggled impossibly closer, making a small, contented noise in his throat when Tony carded his fingers through his hair, before hiding his blush in his shirt shyly. ‘Love you’ he whispered after a comfortable period of silence.

‘I love you too baby.’

----

“We’re landing now Tony; can you lift him again?” He looked down at Peter, who’s face was scrunched in pain under the oxygen mask as he slept, and he wanted so desperately to wipe away that expression from his son’s face.

“Yeah, let’s get him to Cho now.” Rhodey nodded and lead the way, following behind Sam, Clint and Natasha who were standing at the ramp, waiting for Steve to land.

“He looks better without the bleeding” Natasha said, keeping her eyes locked forward as the jet came to a stop and the doors opened loudly.

“Yeah…” Tony muttered sadly, looking down at the small form coddled in his arms, “after Cho fixes him up his healing should kick in properly. It just needs food and water and rest to work – he didn’t seem to get much of it at that place.” When they all descended the ramp, it was obvious how much warning the staff had gotten, a large stretcher was waiting along with multiple EMT’s lead by Helen Cho. They bustled forward as Tony laid Peter down gently on the bed.

“Anything you can tell me about his condition?” She asked as they began to walk indoors and to the operating rooms.

“Uh, he went into hypovolemic shock and passed out not long before the jet arrived, we gave him a mask because his breathing got really shallow after he coughed up some blood. He has three really deep cuts in his knee, hip and shoulder and it looks – it looks like a bone sample was taken… Lots of cuts all over his back, the… restraints he was tied down with cut into his skin a bit but the worst is his neck and we’re pretty sure one of his ankles are broken.” Helen nodded and jotted things down on a clip board, one hand on the side of the bed to help push it in the right direction. Tony jogged alongside, his hand brushing Peter’s hair comfortingly and the other holding his limp hand unwaveringly. When they reached the surgery room Helen hesitated at the door, her gaze flicking between Tony and Peter, face apologetic.

“I don’t think we can have you come in with him –”

“I’m the only one who understands what medications and anaesthetics will work with his powers, and if he wakes up and sees… a bunch of doctors operating on him then – well I don’t think he’s fully aware enough to understand you’re here to help and he could… struggle. It would be best if I stayed with him for this, and I’ll keep out of the way.” She regarded him carefully, before relenting and ushering him in to get cleaned up and disinfected. Tony showed them which substances were matched to Peter’s DNA and was glad to know they all had a reputable understanding of what he was saying. “Can I help?” He asked seriously as they transferred the teen to the operating table.

“There’s cloth being prepped now, if you can wipe down his face, neck and maybe even some of his chest that would be helpful while we do the rest.” He busied himself with anything he could and wasn’t ashamed to admit he took his time wiping away the dirtied, bloody and tear-tracked face beneath him. He spoke softly as he worked, keeping his eyes on Peter, choosing not to watch what the doctors were doing.

“You’re so brave Pete, I’m so proud of you.” He squeezed some warmer water through his hair and massaged the damp locks to untangle them. His hair had gotten so long, and Tony hadn’t seen it so wild and unkept since the boy was much younger.

They were in surgery for almost four hours, and Tony stayed by Peter’s side every second of it. Rhodey watched through the window for about half the time, and everyone else came to check on the two Starks periodically, staying for a few minutes at a time. Steve cleaned the lab where they had all worked for the past weeks, and Natasha busied herself with organising holding cells in another facility for the men who took the boy. Sam and Clint filled the time with small remedial tasks, gladly helping Natasha out when they got bored or distracted. Tony never let his grip on Peter’s hand falter, and when he was finally out of surgery, situated in a large hospital bed and covered in rolls of medical wrap and bandages, he waited for the doctors to leave before he slid beside the unconscious form and curled around him protectively.

As he watched the healthier rise and fall of Peter’s chest, he couldn’t help but think of how close he had been to losing him. It was a hard concept to understand, let alone accept, someone was that close to killing his son for no reason other than the fact that he wasn’t human. It made anger boil inside him again, and he couldn’t force himself to feel any remorse as he remembered the feeling of the kidnapper’s nose crunching under the force of his suit. Nobody that was planning on murdering a child as innocent as Peter deserved pity or remorse. Don’t even try to believe that such a fucked-up person deserved anything even akin to commiseration, because he had thought that ending precious Peter’s life wouldn’t impact anything. That was absolute bullshit.

Don’t even try to say that Ned and MJ wouldn’t sit at the lunch table every day just to stare blankly at his old seat, wishing he was still there to crack jokes and inhale more food than the both of them combined. Or that they wouldn’t look off distantly at the gymnasium wall when the principal announced his ‘unfortunate passing’ and try to convince themselves he was just out Spider-Manning. Don’t say that Tony wouldn’t look into the mirror with trembling lips wishing he could be bringing him home from the hospital rather than cradling his lifeless body until it was cold. Or that the broken Father wouldn’t hide away in the lab and work throughout the night to distract himself from the silence in the Tower because his son wasn’t there, creeping through his window in the ungodly hours of the morning after patrol. Don’t say that the mechanic wouldn’t go into the teen’s room and put on the last old, oversized hoodie he wore to try and desperately remember the smell and feel of the soft fabric tucked against his chest. Don’t say that New York would miss its friendly neighbourhood hero, or that Mr. Delmar would miss his favourite customer, or that the decathlon team would make the final round of competitions without their best team member there with them. Because Peter Benjamin Stark was not allowed to be erased, he was forbidden from being removed so early, so young and innocent and optimistic and happy. A child so bright, so precious, who had been through so much and despite that always had a smile plastered across his face. Because that wasn’t fucking allowed. Not on this Earth, in this galaxy, in this entire reality. A perfect son and friend and hero couldn’t be taken away like that.

What pulled Tony from that string of thought was the steady beeping that clocked Peter’s heartbeat and the humming of all the necessary machinery and tubes hooked into the unmoving boy helped, and he knew they were there for his safety so he could be closely monitored, fed and hydrated through the I.V’s. Despite that knowledge, all he really wanted was an unharmed, tube and machine-free Peter so their hugs weren’t tainted in anyway by his injuries and complications. The process would take time, and once his healing started working again it would move along quicker, but Tony still swore aloud to himself and his son that he would be there with him for everything.

“Sleep well baby, you’re safe now… I’m sorry it took so long, but I’m here now and nobody’s laying another finger on you.”