Chapter Text
Peter was trapped, his limbs pinned by the rubble of the warehouse, his home-made mask half-submerged in the water puddling below him.
He gasped for breath, he had to get out, he needed to get out or he was going to die, alone and trapped beneath the consequences of his own failure.
He opened his mouth to scream for help, to beg for help, knowing it was futile.
No one was coming to save him.
Peter forced his eyes open to the cold cinderblock room, his head pounding. He leaned as far back as he could from where his arms were chained, tilting his head against the wall.
“It’s not going to work,” he said to the ceiling, “I know what you’re doing.”
He didn’t, actually, but he had a pretty good guess. They were digging around in his mind for something, probably the codes to FRIDAY or anything they could leverage against Tony Stark.
They had started by trying to trick him, making him think he’d escaped, or the Avengers had come to rescue him, the illusions becoming more and more realistic each time. But Peter Parker wasn’t stupid, he always knew that something was off, he could feel it.
He couldn’t remember when they switched to torture, dredging up his deepest fears into his own personal horror movie. He wondered why, if they were trying to chip away at his sanity until he broke and gave up what they wanted, or so he’d be so relieved at the next illusion of rescue, he wouldn’t question it. Or maybe it was because he couldn’t pull himself out of it as easily, giving them more time to root around in his brain before it finally fried for good.
Judging by the pain in his head that worsened every time he broke an illusion, it was probably the third option.
Not that it really mattered anyway. What Peter did know was that any way he spun it, he was going down with the ship no matter what.
Something strange and broken simmered in his chest, a wild, unhinged laugh tearing through him. He grinned at the cinderblock with the kind of freedom that only comes from being damned.
“It’s not going to work,” he muttered to himself this time. “It’s not going to work.”
His head throbbed, and he let his eyes slide shut, waiting for sleep or the next illusion, whichever came first. He didn’t care enough to wonder which it would be.
No one was coming to save him.