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It was bound to happen, really.
Peter’s a superhero. Ned is his best friend. At least one person on what is probably a lengthy list of enemies knows Peter’s citizen identity.
All things considered, it’s not exactly surprising when Ned gets dragged into Peter’s superhero business. Petrifying, yes. Infuriating, absolutely.
Surprising? Not in the slightest.
Oddly enough, they’re kidnapped separately.
He would’ve thought it’d be a lot less of a hassle to kidnap them together, seeing as he and Ned practically spend every waking moment attached at the hip, barring Spider-Man patrols. It’s the middle of July, so school is out, which means that Peter can be found at Ned’s house as often as his own apartment, and vice versa. MJ joins them, sometimes, but she’s busy with a summer internship - a non-superhero-related internship - so it tends to just be the two of them.
Like it was today, when May shooed them out of the apartment with specific instructions to get some damn sunlight, boys . They’d managed to kill a couple hours wandering around and laughing about nothing, eventually ending up sitting in companionable silence on a swingset in a park, both content to just exist around each other.
They’d parted ways with a see you tomorrow and their signature handshake, and that was that.
Until his spider-sense screams halfway between the park and his apartment.
Rough hands yank Peter into an alleyway, and a syringe is jammed into his arm before he can even think to fight back. He struggles, kicking and punching and scratching and even biting down, hard , on the hand that covers his mouth.
Nothing comes from his struggling but angry grumbling from what sounds like...six people? Seven?
It’s hard to tell when his senses are dulling and his limbs are going numb.
What did they give him? Normal drugs do almost nothing to him, and it took Helen Cho and Bruce Banner days to manufacture an anesthetic that would actually put him out in case it was ever necessary.
How did - how did they even…
He’s out like a light before the question is fully formed.
Peter wakes up in the dark to absolute silence.
There’s a long moment during which Peter can’t figure out whether there’s just no lighting or he’s actually blind. A long moment in which he is terrified that whatever was injected in his veins has permanently fucked up his senses.
Then, “Peter?”
No. No, no, no, no. No fucking way, absolutely not.
If he tells himself enough times that that is not Ned’s voice, small and shaky and scared, then maybe it’ll be true. Maybe he’ll be here alone, like he assumed he was, because that would be infinitely better than being here with Ned.
It’s not Ned. He’s hearing things. He’s on specially-made drugs, for fuck’s sake, and auditory hallucinations are the most common hallucinations.
There’s another hiss of, “Peter?”
“Fuck,” Peter breathes. He’s not hallucinating. He’s not deaf either, though, and he thinks his eyes are starting to adjust to the darkness, at least. He might not have all his wits about him, but he has all his senses, and that’s...something.
That something is negated by the fact that he’s chained to the wall. The realization is much less sharp than it should be because he still feels...groggy. Heavy. Like his whole body weighs three times it’s supposed to.
He’s unsure how long it’s been since the mysterious drug was injected, but it clearly hasn’t quite worn off.
All he ever wanted was to keep Ned out of this. He’d told him, the night he accidentally let Ned in on the secret, that this was dangerous. That knowing Peter and Spider-Man are the same person was going to get him hurt one day and that’s why he never told. He’d wanted nothing more than for Ned to be safe.
He hears shuffling.
It takes a minute, but Ned finds him. With no preamble and no words, he slips into place at Peter’s side, burying his face in Peter’s neck. Peter, on the other hand, doesn’t even have the strength to pull on his restraints to see if they’ll give.
There’s a certain type of fear reserved for being drugged, kidnapped, and locked in a pitch black room with no suit, no webshooters, and your best friend at your side. Peter didn’t know that type of fear existed until now.
He thinks maybe he should say something. Something comforting, something soothing. This is his life, not Ned’s, and if he’s as scared as he is, then Ned must be even worse off.
Just as he opens his mouth, Ned whispers, “This is really fucking cool.”
Peter’s jaw snaps shut, teeth clicking together. He must stiffen even more because Ned backtracks.
“Not - I mean, I know this is - serious. Dangerous. But, y’know…I just got kidnapped because I’m best friends with a superhero. You have to admit, that’s kind of cool.”
Maybe it’s best that the gravity of this is lost on him. As much as Peter wants to snap, it’s not fucking cool if I’m carrying your dead body out of here, Ned, he keeps quiet. Ned’s blind optimism has always been both one of his best qualities and the thing Peter thought would get him killed. It’s not like he’s not used to it.
Besides, figuring out what to say seems like a lot of work. Speaking in general seems like a lot of work.
Staying awake is starting to seem like a lot of work.
Ned is still talking. He should listen, but…
Peter slips into unconsciousness with Ned’s voice washing over him.
The drugs have mostly worn off by the time anything actually happens.
It doesn’t change anything. Being fully aware doesn’t make any fucking difference when four men come storming into the room (from where, Peter’s not totally sure - whatever little bit of mystery drug is in his system has apparently focused specifically on dulling his supersenses, because his spider-sense doesn’t even go off before the men show up) and pull Ned away from him.
It doesn’t dawn on him until they start dragging Ned in the direction they came from that it’s not Peter they’re here to take.
Ned, for all his damn optimism, fights his hardest, he really does. It’s still too dark to see the struggle, but Peter hears a few blows land and hopes at least most of them were thrown by Ned.
The restraints don’t budge. He pulls and pulls and pulls until his wrists ache and he thinks he feel drops of blood running down his arms, but they don’t budge.
Vibranium. Nothing else could hold him.
Their kidnappers don’t even ask him anything. He’d figured this had to be some sort of fear tactic to get him to spill whatever it is they wanted to hear, but no one says a word to him.
He’d like to say he’d never cave, anyway. But he’s only ever really let himself consider what he’d do if he was kidnapped alone, and if he’s being honest, he thinks he’d cave pretty easily if they would just tell him what the hell they want.
Ned cries out for him to help, all of the holy shit I’m best friends with a superhero enthusiasm flying out the window, and all Peter can do is squeeze his eyes shut and plead to a God he’s not even sure he believes in to not let him be the cause of his best friend’s death.
At first, Peter counts.
The seconds add up to minutes, the minutes add up to hours. He counts because it keeps him from thinking to hard about what Ned is going through right now.
He has ideas. But thinking about any of them for too long makes his heart rate spike, and that’s not helpful for anyone.
He counts until the screaming starts.
Eight-thousand, seven-hundred, and sixty. Two hours and twenty-six minutes.
Ned lasted longer than Peter would’ve expected any non-superhero to. He can’t be sure what’s happening, wherever Ned is, but he held out for two hours and twenty-six minutes and that might be the most impressive thing Peter’s ever seen.
He’s always known his best friend was brave, but standing up to a high school bully and being tortured because of your association with a superhero are two entirely different concepts.
Peter wishes he could cover his ears, even though he knows it wouldn’t do much. Ned could be a mile away right now, and Peter would still hear the screams.
Peter may never stop hearing the screams.
The screaming stops about seven minutes before Ned is brought back to the room, and those seven minutes are no doubt the worst of Peter’s life.
The screaming was indescribable, but at least he knew Ned was alive. As long as Ned was screaming, he was alive.
Peter didn’t cry through the screaming, but he sobs through the seven minutes.
This time, his spider-sense does go off before the unseen door open. The hairs on his arms stand straight up and his spine tingles, and Peter wants to tell his powers to stop fucking taunting him. There’s no point in warning him when danger’s coming when he can’t do anything about it.
Ned is dropped, unceremoniously, on the other side of the room. Peter can’t tell if he’s conscious or not, but he can hear his heart beating, albeit erratically. He’s alive.
There’s a certain type of relief reserved for having your best friend returned to you alive after being taken and tortured. Peter didn’t know that type of relief existed until now, and he hates it more than anything he’s ever felt.
This time, there’s a question.
A deep, gravelly voice says, “Peter Parker. Spider-Man.”
Peter shivers, but doesn’t speak.
“You’re a teenage superhero with level 10 clearance at Stark Industries. No one else but Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, and James Rhodes have that level of clearance.”
So?
“I didn’t bother asking before. Figured if you’ve got that high clearance, you’re not gonna give up information easily. But now that you’ve heard what I can do to your little friend -“
Peter bites his tongue so hard he tastes blood.
“ - I’m thinking you might be a little more open to talking. So tell me, Mr. Parker…where are the rogue Avengers?”
“What?” The word tumbles out of his mouth before he even knows what he’s saying.
The rogue Avengers.
This is about the rogue Avengers?
Someone really thinks Peter Parker, a fifteen year old high school sophomore, knows where the rogue Avengers are. Tony Stark doesn’t even know where the rogue Avengers are.
The question might be repeated, Peter’s not really sure. He can’t focus on anything other than the fact that someone tortured his best friend for information on the rogue Avengers that Peter doesn’t even know.
“I don’t fucking know,” he says, throat scratchy and fingers numb. Maybe he should be a little more polite, but the anger has boiled up and is now spilling over. “Why the fuck would I know anything about the Rogues? I’m fifteen. I’m sure you think Mr. Stark knows and told me, but you’d be wrong for two reasons, seeing as one, Mr. Stark doesn’t even know and two, he doesn’t tell me shit, anyway.”
He wonders, for a moment, if running his damn mouth is going to be the thing that gets one of them killed.
But the man just hums. “If you’re sure, Mr. Parker. I’ll leave you alone with your little friend, then.”
I’ll be back, is unspoken but heard. Definitely heard.
The door swings shut behind the man.
Ned doesn’t move. Or speak. If not for his superhearing, Peter would think he was dead.
As is, he knows that a part of Ned is dead. Lost. Never to be seen again.
But Peter will do his damndest to keep the rest of him going.
The restraints don’t let him go to Ned, but he finally finds the comforting words he was searching for before.
“You’ll be okay. Everything will be just fine, Ned. We’ll get out of here alive and in one piece, because someone will come save us. Or we’ll find a way out, together. We’re both geniuses, yeah? We can figure it out.”
The words all sound fake to Peter, but he just hopes they’ll mean something to Ned.