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The first thing Peter registers is pain, a horrible pounding at the back of his head, radiating to his eyes and all the way down his neck. It feels almost as if the throbbing is in sync with his heartbeat.
Peter lets out a groan as he goes to reach up to touch his head, but he finds that he’s unable to lift his arms. He opens his heavy eyes, blinking away the stubborn blurriness he’s met with, only to find that he’s wrapped in thick rope, bound to an extremely uncomfortable chair.
That doesn’t make any sense... how did he get wrapped up in rope?
He sluggishly blinks as he lifts his head, only managing to limply roll it on his shoulder. He’s in a large dark space, the only amount of light coming from the small windows surrounding the place. There are a few stacked boxes surrounding him, looking a little like a warehouse of sorts.
What’s he doing in a warehouse?
The last memory he can recall is walking off stage with the decathlon team after they won the final round against Cal Tech... and that journalist walking up to him and wanting to ask a few questions on their win... but something ended up hitting Peter on the back of his head when they stepped out in the hallway.
Oh, right—the reporter knocked him out.
But why would someone knock out and kidnap a high schooler from a decathlon competition, of all places? Unless it has something to do with Tony or knowing that Peter is Spider-Man.
That’s not good. Peter distantly thinks, panic freely flowing through him at the sudden realization.
May and Tony were both in the audience, so they have to know he’s missing by now, right? They have to. They were going to go to that new Italian place down the street from the Tower after the competition. Peter wanted to get some cannoli for dessert, too.
Mmh... cannoli, stuffed with chocolate and vanilla, topped with deliciously fluffy whipped cream.
No no no. He can’t be thinking about food at a time like this. He has to focus on getting out of this place, wherever the heck he is.
Peter closes his eyes, trying to listen for any sounds that could give him a clue as to where he is, but he’s met with an unsettling silence. He can’t smell any traces of salt in the air, so he can’t be near the Hudson. So... maybe he’s someplace upstate? Hopefully that means the team will be able to find him faster.
Maybe he could try to get out of these ropes? Surely whoever took him would have used something a lot stronger than rope if they knew he’s Spider-Man. So maybe they didn’t know that little detail.
Peter weakly pulls at the ropes, wincing as they painfully dig into his arms. This isn’t right. He should be able to break out of these easily. Either he got hit on the head way harder than he thought... or they drugged him. That would explain why he can’t think straight at the moment.
Peter drops his head forward in defeat as he lets his impossibly heavy eyes slip shut—he’s so tired.
Tony will find him. He’s probably out there right now with the team looking for him, and May—she’s probably at home, freaking out about where Peter is. They have to know he’s missing.
For now, maybe Peter can get a little more sleep since it looks like he’s not going anywhere. Maybe all his super-metabolism needs is a little jumpstart to get rid of whatever sleepy drug he was injected with.
Tony’s coming. Peter hazily thinks to himself, feeling the last remains of consciousness slipping away from him.
It’s the last thought he has before darkness consumes him.
….
Awareness comes back to Peter all at once, as well as a painful stinging on his face from someone slapping him. He opens his eyes with a gasp as all of his senses come back on all at once, lights and sounds attacking him from every angle. He slams his eyes shut with a pained groan, letting his chin drop to his chest.
“Ah, welcome to the land of the living, Mr. Parker.”
Peter jumps at the sudden voice, as much as the ropes around him will allow. He weakly lifts his head, squinting against the harsh LED lighting, suddenly realizing that there are way more lights than there were before he passed out. There are at least three tripod work lights surrounding him, all facing him.
“Well aren’t you going to say hello to our captivated audience?”
A figure moves out of the darkness to stand in front of one of the lights, blocking a little bit of the light, but not allowing Peter to get a good look at them. The figure gestures to something to his right, and that’s when Peter sees it—a video camera hooked up to a tripod.
This can’t be good.
Peter licks his dry lips. “W-Where am I? Who are you?” He asks, hating how raspy his voice comes out.
The figure laughs. “So many questions and so little answers. I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, Peter.”
A cold shiver races down his spine hearing his name. The figure steps away from the light, their shoes clicking against the concrete floors and echoing throughout the space.
“Why did you take me?” Peter asks.
“One word,” The voice says close to his left, causing Peter to flinch. “Revenge.”
Revenge? Peter thinks. Revenge against who? Spider-Man?
The figure’s shoes click against the floor again as they slowly approach Peter, until they’re standing in front of him, blocking the light from him. Peter looks up into the face of his captor, only to see a somewhat familiar face. The man is short, unruly brown hair with glasses perched on his nose. Peter’s seen this man somewhere before… but he just can’t remember who he is.
“I’ve been keeping my eye on you for awhile now, Peter. You’re smart—you won your Decathlon team a slot into the finals. I was very impressed at you hitting that buzzer and answering correctly every time. You’re the top of all your classes, with one of the highest GPAs in your entire school as a sophomore. I can see why Stark hired you to be his personal intern.” The man tells him, flashing a pearly white smile. “But let me tell you one thing about Tony Stark. When he finds interest in something, he’ll play with it for a while… boast and brag about it, until he gets bored with it and throws it away.”
So this guy’s clearly out to get Tony. Tony’s made a lot of enemies in the past, so there’s no telling what this guy’s problem is. Judging by the guy’s expensive looking suit and tie apparel, this guy seems like he means business. And not the good kind.
“For years, I’ve spent my life trying to get back what I lost. My career, my reputation, but it’s too late. Stark ruined me! He took everything from me!” The man suddenly yells, causing Peter to violently flinch as his voice booms off the walls. The man turns away from Peter and walks back to the camera, grabbing it and something off of a nearby table before walking back to him. He stops next to Peter and holds the camera out with both of them in frame, probably live recording. “You took everything from me Stark… so now I’m going to take everything from you.”
The sudden press of cold metal against the side of Peter’s head has him freezing, the air caught in his throat. He’s been in this position far too many times by now to know it’s a gun—but it’s somehow more scary this time around.
“I’m giving you until midnight, Stark. I want you to meet me at the Cold Storage Facility in Albany—just you, none of your fancy suits, no Avengers and no police. If you fail to meet my demands, the kid gets it.” The man says into the camera before abruptly turning it off. He turns to Peter, pressing the gun further against his temple. “And if you try anything funny, I’ll shoot you.”
When the gun drops from his head, Peter lets out a shaky breath, keeping his eyes on the man as he goes back to the table across the room, tossing the camera on it.
“What do you want from Mr. Stark?” Peter asks.
“I just want to have a little chat with him face-to-face,” The man answers with a grin as he grabs something off the table and walks back to him. “I’ll have him right where I want him—alone, weaponless, desperate, and completely vulnerable.”
It’s a trap. Peter knows Tony would do anything for him but he’s not stupid like this guy think he is. The team will be waiting nearby for the right time to strike and take this nut-job down.
The man bends down next to Peter and puts something underneath the chair he’s tied to, flipping something with a faint beep.
A bomb.
There’s an actual bomb underneath him that could go off at any second.
The man stands up and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small roll of duct tape. “Just so you don’t ruin all the fun.” He says with a grin before he rips a piece off and shoves it on Peter’s mouth despite his weak protests. “You have approximately three hours until this bomb detonates, unless I come back and turn it off. So you better hope the next person who comes in here is me, or else it’s curtains for you.”
The man bends down and grabs a thin string, which is probably attached to the device, and walks across the space to an open door and ties it to the knob. Without another word, he slips outside and closes the door behind himself.
The warehouse is engulfed in a tense silence, the only sound being from the ticking bomb underneath Peter, taunting him with the very real and terrifying threat of going off at any second from just the slightest tug of that string of someone were to fully open the door.
…
Peter doesn’t know how long he sits there, listening to the sound of the ticking, trying to carefully wiggle his way out of the ropes. He can feel them going a little slack around him until he hears a noise outside. Peter freezes, tear-filled eyes widening as he stares at the door the sting is attached to. There’s another noise, sounding almost like someone walking on gravel.
“...has to be here. Sam, Clint, on my mark…” A familiar voice says from outside the door.
It’s Steve.
Before Peter has a chance to feel any kind of relief, fear shoots through him when he sees the door handle begin to twist.
“MMMH! MMMH!” Peter tries to yell around the tape.
When the door suddenly swings open, Peter’s stomach drops when he hears the string snap off and the bomb lets out a shrill chorus of beeps. He sees Clint run inside with Steve right behind him and before Peter registers what’s happening, Clint grabs him and throws them away, just as Steve drops his shield on top of the bomb, taking the brunt of the explosion.
Peter’s ears are ringing horribly as he lies on the ground, distantly aware of the hands on him, untying him from the chair. He opens his eyes as someone helps him sit up and carefully take the tape off his mouth, only to see Steve kneeling in front of him.
“S-Steve? T-Tony—he...he’s going to—”
“I know. We caught the guy that did this to you. Tony’s safe. He’s back at the compound.” Steve tells him in a gentle voice, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
Relief crashes into Peter like a tidal wave, flowing through every vein in his body. He closes his eyes as more tears spill out and throws himself at Steve, wrapping his arms around the soldier as a sob escapes from his lips.
Steve wraps his arms around him in return, rubbing a hand up and down Peter’s quivering back. “You’re alright, Peter. You’re safe now… you’re safe.”
…
It’s dark outside when Peter walks down the Quinjet’s ramp with Steve close at his side, stepping on the landing pad at the compound. Peter hasn’t been able to stop shaking since they took off in the jet, making it a little difficult to walk with how wobbly his legs are.
Peter looks up from the ground and his eyes settle on Tony, who’s already jogging over to meet them. Before he knows it, arms are wrapping around him, the familiar and calming scent of motor oil and cologne meeting his nose.
Tony.
A sob escapes Peter’s lips as he clutches the back of Tony’s shirt in his hands, feeling a hand at the back of his head. “T-Tony…” Peter cries.
Tony only hugs him tighter, his chin resting at the top of Peter’s head. “I’m right here, kiddo. You’re safe… I’ve got you. You’re safe.”