Chapter Text
Peter awoke with a groan.
He felt something soft under him, a fuzzy object tucked under his arm. The room he was in smelled like baby powder and vanilla. Opening his eyes was difficult–they were crusty and his thoughts felt sluggish, too fast and too slow all at once.
“What’s…” Peter groaned, reaching up to rub the crust out of his eyes only for something to stop him halfway.
“What the fu…” His eyes locked onto the handcuffs, thick and heavy, chaining his left arm to the bed.
Yeah, okay. It’s time to freak out.
Peter sat up, taking in his surroundings.
He was in a blue room, obviously meant for a kid. Action figures, race tracks, a few toy dinosaurs, everything around him screamed Hallmark Movie set design for a Male Child. The fuzzy thing under his arm was a stuffed elephant, wearing glasses and a vest. Would be kinda cute if this wasn’t so fucking creepy…
“Hello…? Anyone out there? An evil 7 year old, perhaps?” Silence answered his tentative call. He looked down at himself, noting the soft cotton shirt with matching sweatpants that he was definitely not wearing the last time he was conscious. The last thing he could remember was walking to school. He didn’t remember a sting in his neck or feeling dizzy or anything. Just… walking, then waking up here.
Looking back at the handcuffs, he tried to work through some options.
-
Break handcuffs and try to flee
- A. CONS: Captor might not know he’s Spider-Man, so breaking metal handcuffs would be suspicious as fuck, and theres no guarantee that the door is unlocked or easy to break down.
-
Sit still and wait for someone to come in
- B. CONS: Whoever managed to kidnap him is, at the very least, a Bad Guy, and at the most, an Extremely Creepy Bad Guy
Looking at the situation he’s found himself, Peter can admit that he’s probably got about zero good options. But the most appealing one, breaking the chains, is also the most dangerous.
“Well, uh. Here goes my secret identity, I guess,” Peter said, using all his strength to pull the chain clean in half.
Or, well, tried to rip it clean in half. In reality, the chain slammed into his wrist, bruising the skin, and did absolutely nothing. Using all his strength didn’t even bend the metal of the bed frame.
Fuck. Which means whoever kidnapped him knows his secret identity and can also get their hands on enough vibranium to not only make handcuffs, but reinforce the bed frame. Double triple Fuck.
Peter felt the beginning of panic set in his chest.
“Okay, you got me,” He forced out a laugh, because now's not the time to lose his cool, “Great job on the bed frame, by the way. Most Bad Guys would have forgotten about it.”
“Thank you.”
The voice makes him jump. Husky and low, like a smoker. Peter looked around, trying to get a grip on the wild beating of his heart.
“No problem, man. Wanna let me out of these things so I can meet you properly?”
The voice laughed, sounding fond. “I’m sorry, but that’s not an option yet.”
Peter did his best to remain calm and collected, latching onto the “yet” part of the man’s reply. “So, eventually you’ll let me go?”
“Oh, Peter,” the man sounded borderline heartbroken. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, baby.”
A trickle of unease flowed down his neck. The hair stood up, and his shoulders tensed on their own accord. “Baby”? What the…
“Hey, man,” Peter chuckled, still trying his best to remain calm, even though his voice shook and his nails were digging into his palms, “I’m all for fun nicknames, but that’s a little too far, don’t you think?” He forced a grin on his face, trying to trick himself into fearlessness. There’s a sigh, disappointed and drawn out, but the man didn’t respond for a minute. Peter tried to look for anything he could use– a dozen kids books, an old TV with a stack of VHS tapes next to it, a few pieces of artwork with Disney characters on them– but he couldn’t form a plan around the constant ringing of fearfearfearfear in his ears.
Suddenly, Peter heard noises through the door. Metal on metal, like a key going in a lock, another scraping sound, maybe a deadbolt, then a few toneless clicks, like a keypad… Peter’s eyes widened in disbelief. How many locks are on this damn door?!
The door opened unceremoniously, like the guy just came home from a walk in the park. His captor was tall, his skin littered with serious scars. There’s a deep, puckered scar on his neck that looks like someone had sawed his head halfway off, and Peter has no idea how this man is still alive. His strawberry blond hair does nothing to hide the fact that his right eye is completely gone– claw marks around the socket make Peter wince, again wondering how the fuck is this guy alive – but his left eye is a soft brown, looking at Peter like he was the world’s saddest sob story.
Without his consent, Peter’s legs came up his chest and he wrapped his arms around his knees. Something about this man, with his caring expression and the horrifying story his scars told, rattled something in him that he couldn’t explain. Something primal, like a dog growling at a dark corner.
The man lifted up his hands, leaning towards a flinching Peter, and cupped the teens cheeks in his palms. All Peter could feel is the missing fingers, bones that had obviously healed wrong, and it took everything in him not to whimper in fear.
“You’ll be safe now, baby. Daddy’s here.”