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There was a terrible chill in the room. That was the first thing he noticed. The second thing he noticed was that his entire body ached. The last thing he remembered was walking home from school… no, walking to the tower with a sandwich from Delmar’s. It was Friday, lab day with Mr. Stark. But from there, things went blank. He was pretty sure he hadn’t made it to the lab.
Squinting at the light that shone down on him, Peter blinked heavily. Testing his arms and legs, he pulled on what he already knew to be restraints. Peter strained, seeing if he could break the, his head pounding. He stopped to catch his breath. The chains weren’t moving, and he was quickly succumbing to the panic.
“Peter!”
He would recognize that voice anywhere.
“Mr. Stark?” he responded, glancing through the room. He seemed to be inside some sort of glass box. He was sitting on a chair that was bolted into the concrete floor, and the glass box he was in wasn’t big, just far enough out of reach that he couldn’t get to reach the edge it.
Peter found Mr. Stark sitting against the wall outside of the glass box, chained to the cinderblocks of the room. The man was just in an undershirt and jeans. He looked disheveled. Peter did a quick examination of him; he seemed relatively unharmed. He was sitting up and there was no visible blood on him.
“What happened? Are you okay? I don’t remember anything other than being on my way to the tower, and that-that’s it!” Peter exclaimed as Mr. Stark continued to stare at him, something in his eyes making Peter uneasy.
“I’m fine, they grabbed me while I was stretching my legs outside of the tower. Are you hurt?” Mr. Stark asked, the worry evident on his face as he tried to lean forward and see Peter in the poorly lit room, the only light present being the one hanging directly over Peter’s head.
“No, I’m fine,” Peter lied. His head was pounding and he could feel a sore spot on his neck. His best guess was that whoever these guys were had drugged him up and thrown him into this chair. Mr. Stark obviously didn’t believe him, but they didn’t have time to waste. “Who are these guys?” Peter asked, glancing around the room.
It was a cinderblock room, roughly the size of a storage unit. There was one door to Peter’s left, but there was no handle on the inside and Peter was certain the door would have been locked from outside of it. As the single light above him continued to shine in his eyes, his headache grew worse and worse. He tested his restraints again, trying to see if there was any way he could break out of them.
“I don’t know, I didn’t get to see their faces. Probably some douchebags trying to get back at me for whatever godforsaken thing they blame me for.” Mr. Stark spit the words out. Peter read the worry that laced Mr. Stark’s face, his own heartrate speeding up in panic.
Peter was about to ask Mr. Stark if there was any way he would be able to break out of the chains or pick the lock on them when his spidey-sense began to scream at him. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and chills ran down his arms. Peter began to craned his neck, alarm written all over his face.
Then he heard it.
Water flowing through a pipe.
The water hit the bottom of the glass box.
Peter jumped, eyes widening rapidly as he saw a pipe that was beginning to pour water into the box with him.
Now, Peter typically did his best to remain calm in bad situations. It was a requirement if you wanted to be a superhero. But right here, right now, facing the possibility of drowning while completely helpless had him panicking.
“Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark!” he cried out, not knowing what the man was going to do. Peter began to thrash in his chains, the water already coating the floor of the glass box. It hit his feet and he gasped.
It was freezing!
Peter continued to yank, pulling so hard that he felt blood begin to drip down his wrists. He jerked and pulled and strained, doing everything he possibly could to get the hell out of those chains.
“PETER! STOP!”
Mr. Stark’s voice cut through the panic and he froze, staring at the man with his mouth hanging open as he panted in pain.
“Hang on, okay? Just breathe, and stay as calm as you can! I’m going to get you out of there, but I need you to stay calm.”
Peter watched as Mr. Stark began to look around the room, doing his best to find something to pick the locks with.
The water hit Peter’s calves and he felt himself shiver. It was painfully cold. He looked down at the base of the chair. If he could get the screws to pop out of the ground, maybe he could burst through the glass with the sharp parts of the chair. It would be uncomfortable, and he would undoubtedly get cut up, but he would prefer that to drowning.
Peter placed his feet firmly on the ground and began to rock the chair to the best of his abilities. It didn’t move much at first but as he continued rocking, he felt it begin to give more and more.
He rocked back and forth, back and forth, and the water rose higher and higher. It hit his stomach and Peter gasped, shivering in earnest now. But he focused everything he could on getting the chair out of the ground. He was sure Mr. Stark was busy on his rescue plan, but he couldn’t sit there and do nothing.
Peter felt the chair beginning to give when the water hit his chest. He stopped being able to get the momentum he needed. He was gasping for air at this point, the water sucking the warmth from him. The chair was barely moving, not enough for him to break it loose.
The water was close to Peter’s collarbone.
He found Mr. Stark. “I-I-I can’t g-get this thing l-l-loose!” He cried, his teeth chattering.
Mr. Stark was showing clear signs of panic now, which made Peter’s already racing heart double its pace.
“I’m going to figure it out, Peter. I promise, just hang on.” Mr. Stark seemed to zone in on something to his right, and he began to scramble for it. “There’s a screw on the ground! Give me a minute and I’ll be out of these chains!” Mr. Stark was pulled taut against the chains around his wrists as he did his best to reach the screw that seemed placed just far enough that he couldn’t quite grasp it.
Peter was worried that he didn’t have a minute. He continued trying to rock his chair, his shivering slowing down as the water hit his throat. He could feel the chair wobbling, but he remained attached to the cement floor.
Mr. Stark grunted as he strained against his restraints, his fingers shaking as they managed to wrap around the screw. Without hesitation, he began to go after the cuffs around his wrists. The man would look up every once in a while, keeping a wary eye on the water level.
This time when Mr. Stark saw Peter’s eyes, dread settled in his chest. The kid’s lips were tinged blue; his eyes were glazing over as the water slowly rose to his jaw.
“Hang on, Peter! Hang on, I’m almost there!” Tony cried, his fingers bleeding from the pressure he was applying to the screw. One cuff popped loose, and Tony cursed in relief as he worked on the other.
But Peter could see how far the man had to go. The other cuff on his hand and the two around his ankles. The water was above his jaw now, much too close to his mouth for comfort.
“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, barely able to hear himself over the rushing water.
But Mr. Stark heard him. The man paused, looking over to Peter, and shook his head slightly before resuming his work on his cuff. “Absolutely not! Don’t you dare give up on me right now, Peter Parker!”
The cuff popped off his wrist and Tony moved to his feet, praying to every god out there that the cuffs would magically fall off.
“I-I’m sorry! Mr. Stark, I love you!” Peter cried over the rushing water. The freezing liquid hit his lips and Peter tipped his head back, forced to stare at the ceiling that loomed too close to him. He gasped for air.
Then, like a wild animal caught in a trap, he began to thrash. Panic seized his entire being, and he fought with every ounce of his strength left, his body sluggish from the temperature of the water.
The water hit right above his nose and Peter took in a desperate gasp of breath as Mr. Stark yelled out, “NO!” from his place on the wall.
Peter was fully submerged now, and he went still.
There was a serenity that lay in the quietness of his fate.
Peter watched Mr. Stark who worked frantically on the last cuff.
Peter jerked one last time in his chair, and finally, finally, it came loose from the cement floor.
But it was too late.
Peter’s vision blurred. He could barely make out the faint sound of someone yelling his name, see Mr. Stark pounding on the glass in front of him.
That was funny. Mr. Stark was supposed to be chained to the wall. When did he get out? Peter’s chair tipped over to the side, slowly settling on the bottom.
The pressure in his chest was too much, and finally, against his will, Peter sucked in a deep breath of water.
And everything went black.
There was a terrible pressure on his chest.
Something snapping inside of him.
It hurt.
Peter heard someone screaming his name, saying something about not giving up. Peter had never been one to give up, but he was so tired. And he hurt so much.
Something warm scraped down his throat, then there was a rush of water bursting forth from his mouth.
He coughed and gagged, spitting the water out as several hands quickly turned him on his side. Someone was raking their fingers through his hair, bracing his head so it was elevated from the hard ground.
“Get me an oxygen mask and blankets, stat!” It was a voice Peter faintly recognized. He continued to cough, his eyes blinking open of their own accord.
“Okay. Okay, buddy, you’re alright.”
That was Mr. Stark. Peter knew he would be okay if Mr. Stark was there.
“Hey, Pete. Stay awake for me, okay?” Then something was placed on his face, and despite the burn he felt from breathing, the air was an absolute godsend. Peter coughed again as something blessedly warm was tucked around him.
“Let’s get him on the gurney.”
Peter blinked his eyes open to see Sam Wilson, and Steve Rogers standing over him.
“Wh-wha--?”
Peter began to cough again when he tried to speak and Mr. Stark hushed him.
“Steve and Sam got a message from FRIDAY when I didn’t arrive back when expected. They tracked us down and got here as soon as they could. Bucky is in the ambulance waiting to drive us back, and before you ask, no, we don’t want to know where they got an ambulance from.” Mr. Stark gave a pointed look to Steve who blushed a bit.
“We’re borrowing, technically,” he said, but Mr. Stark just looked back down at Peter.
Peter was exhausted, and as Sam placed an IV line in his arm with warm saline he felt himself slowly drifting off. Strong hands lifted him onto the gurney where straps were loosely laid across him as Mr. Stark readjusted his blanket.
“We’re going to get you to the med-bay, alright? Just take a breather.” Mr. Stark didn’t seem to realize what he’d said until Peter gave him a glare. “Pun intended,” the man added and Peter let out a soft laugh that turned into a cough. “Okay, okay, no more jokes until Helen gives you the all clear. Just take it easy, kiddo.”
Peter closed his eyes, Mr. Stark ran a hand through his hair, and he fell asleep to the overwhelming feeling of being safe.