Chapter Text
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((Day One of Captivity))
Peter woke up gasping for air, coughing as he slowly came to his senses. Sitting up, he realized he was locked in a small prison room, with just enough room for a little cot and a table with a chair. What looked like iron bars was the only thing separating his prison cell from the rest of the room.
He looked down at his wrists, or more specifically, the cuffs keeping them together. Peter tugged at them and panicked when he realized they were made of vibranium.
Peter scooted closer to the bars, and gave them an experimental tug, only to come to the same conclusion: vibranium.
He felt his breathing start to pick up, so he forced himself to slow down and focus on his breathing.
'Just like Nat taught you.' His heart ached thinking about the Avengers. 'In one two three, hold one two three, out one two three. In one two-'
The doors leading into the room containing his cell opened with a loud clang, and in came Dr. Connors. Peter glared at him, having to tilt his head up as he sat on the ground.
Dr. Connors didn't even glance up from his clipboard, holding a small audio recorder in one hand. He brought it up to his mouth and said, "The date is May 5th, time is 11:03 a.m. I am Dr. Curt Connors, and Subject is Peter Benjamin Parker. Subject is sixteen years old and has been unconscious for over twelve hours. Subject will be given a slice of bread and water to consume for its morning meal before the experiment begins."
Peter could only stare at him, confused and hurt. "Dr. Connors, what are you doing? Why are you- why are you referring to me as 'subject'?"
Finally, Dr. Connors looked down at Peter, but only very briefly as he clipped the recorder to his collar and scribbled something down on his clipboard. "Subject appears confused. Emotional distress is predicted-"
"Emotional distress!?" Peter cried. "Dr. Connors, you were my mentor, we were- we were lab partners!"
Dr. Connors sighed, eyes cold and face annoyed. "Mr. Parker. We used to be lab partners and I used to be your mentor, but now you are my experiment. I would prefer that we remain professional, from one scientist to another."
"That's it?! You're just gonna ignore me now?! See me only as another project?"
"Yes. I'm glad you understand."
"What about my parents?!" Peter cried. "You said you were friends, best friends!"
Dr. Connors smiled a little, his lips twitching. "Oh Peter. A good scientist knows when to remove emotion from the experiment in order to determine only facts and statistics. Peter," Connors put down his clipboard. "Do you really think your parents' deaths were an accident?"
Peter stared at him, eyes wide. "Wh-what. . .?"
"Your parents were incredible scientists, many organizations wanted them: the government, SHIELD, Hydra. But no matter how intelligent they were, they weren't able to remove their emotions from their work. They chose SHIELD over Hydra. Hydra needed locations and information, I needed proper funding." Connors' face went blank again. "I removed my emotions from my work, and told them everything."
Hot, angry tears pooled in the corner of Peter's eyes. His voice was shaking as he asked, "Did you ever regret it?"
"No, never. I'd do it again a hundred times-!"
Peter lunged at the bars, rage taking over him. "You bastard! You lying son of a-"
Dr. Connors sighed and backed away from the cage. His demeanor grew cold again as he returned to his experiment. "Subject was in slight emotional distress but has turned aggressive. Cause unknown, suspect is emotional trauma linked to his past. Subject will now be fed, and then experimented on."
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Two big men dressed all in black and carrying guns dragged Peter out of his cell, and into a room mildly resembling a surgery room. The smell of alcohol all medical rooms had burned Peter's nose as he looked around.
There was an operating table in the middle of the room with vibranium cuffs lined up at where a person's wrists, ankles, and torso would be once laid down upon, with a table on wheels full of knives, scalpels, syringes, and more sitting next to it. Centered on the farthest wall from the door was a chair, and just like the operating table, there were vibranium cuffs attached to it.
The men forced Peter into the chair and locked all the cuffs while Peter did his best to free himself. One of the guards grunted and backhanded him. "Stop it." He growled. Peter just glared at him.
Dr. Connors entered, but Peter could do nothing but listen and stare. "Subject has an unusual healing factor, higher than that of Captain America's and the Winter Soldier's. Today we will begin experimenting on his healing factor, starting with small incisions on his arms. I will be timing how long each cut takes to heal, and begin cutting deeper each time."
Dr. Connors grabbed a rather large knife, to Peter's disappointment.
"Dr. Connors, wait, please-" Peter whimpered as the blade sliced through his skin, each cut becoming deeper and larger than the last. "St-stop! Please!"
Blood bubbles up from the wounds, sliding down his arms. There was so much of the ruby liquid, Peter's arms wouldn't stay in place, slipping and sliding underneath the cuffs.
He bit his lip and blinked away the tears in his eyes. 'I can get through this. Don't give up- don't let them win.'
"Timer starts now."
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"Remarkable!" Dr. Connors was examining Peter's now healed arm. "Bring me a washcloth, there's too much dried blood to properly see his arms."
He wiped away the blood and was amazed to see smooth skin. "There isn't even a scar! It only took ten minutes, this is amazing!"
Peter rolled his eyes. "Great, you're done now, right?"
Dr. Connors shook his head. "Peter. Every scientist knows to repeat the experiment more than once! Hand me the knife."
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Hours had passed.
Hours of, "Amazing! It healed already!"
Hours of, "Hm, it's starting to slow down."
Hours of, "How disappointing, it's starting to scar."
So many scars.
Peter was exhausted, from the pain, the anger, the loss of blood. He was tired.
"Perhaps we should take a break."
Peter let out a sigh of relief as Dr. Connors stared down at him.
"Wait- before you take It back to Its room, I want to see one more thing." Dr. Connors picked up the blood-stained knife again, and before Peter could even react, he slammed it straight into his arm.
Peter let out a cry, tears finally dripping down his cheeks.
"There. We will wait a few hours and see what Its healing factor will do while the object is still in It." Dr. Connors motioned for the guards to come over. "Don't let It take it out."
It. Peter wanted to laugh. He was an "it" now.
Peter wanted to fight back against the guards, but the knife in his arm was making it a little hard. Y'know, just a little.
The guards pushed him into his cell, and Peter barely managed to stop himself from falling down and landing on the knife sticking out of his arm.
He stumbled over to the cot and shivered. He didn't realize it was so cold here. He sighed as he realized there wasn't a blanket. Gently, he laid down, doing his best not to agitate his arm. He closed his eyes and did his best to sleep.
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"Peter." A man's voice whispered. It was soft and gentle. "Peter!"
Peter immediately sat up, as fast as his arm would let him. It was aching terribly, but that didn't matter because - "Mr. Stark, you're here-!"
Peter stopped himself as he saw it was not, in fact, Iron Man and the Avengers, but rather Mr. Osborn.
"Mr. Osborn? How did you get here?" Peter slowly walked to the bars. "A-are you safe?! What's going on?"
Norman let out a low chuckle, and Peter froze. "Mr. . .Osborn?" His laughter grew louder as he threw his head back.
"Oh, Peter ." Norman sighed. "My sweet, innocent Peter. Look at you, you're a mess! Tsk tsk, you shouldn't be messy when conducting an experiment."
Peter let out a sob. "Mr. Osborn, y-you have to help m-me, please, please, I need- I need help-"
Norman interrupted the boy's tearful blabbering with a laugh. "Oh Peter. Do you really think these idiots have the money and the brains to execute such a well-thought-out plan?"
His sobbing worsened. "Please, please I need help- Mr- Mr. Stark, please."
" This is Spider-Man?" A disgusted voice interrupted Peter's crying.
"Ah, Doctor Octavius, so glad you could make it." Mr. Osborn turned away from the distressed teenager and towards the Doctor. Doc Oct was staring down at Peter near the doors, a sneer on his face as his metal arms slithered around him. "Shall we go somewhere else to talk? Someone let Dr. Connors know he is awake, and to take a look at his arm."
As the men left, Peter's crying slowed down to a stop, allowing him to notice the burning pain his arm was in. He looked over at the knife and wanted to throw up. It was obvious the entire thing was infected, the skin red and inflamed. It had splotches of shiny white, yellow pus waiting underneath to ooze out.
Dr. Connors and two of his goons in lab coats entered Peter's cell. Dr. Connors looked at it with a frown. "It's a shame it became infected rather than healing. Feed It some food, but give It no medicine - I want to see if Its healing abilities are strong enough."
Peter let out a shaky breath as they left the room. His arm dammit, it hurts so much. His hand shook as he lifted it, and after a moment's hesitation, Peter gently poked the wound, causing him to let out a sharp gasp. White stars overwhelmed his vision, and Peter promptly passed out.
~~~~~~
"C'mon, Petey Sweetie! The waterfall is just up ahead."
Peter knew that voice. Looking around, he smiled when he saw her - Aunt May, holding hands with a smiling Ben.
"C'mon, Peter!" Ben waved his hand, beckoning the kid over. Peter let out a laugh and skipped over.
"I'm coming, I'm coming. It's just that we've been walking for hours!!" May and Ben laughed at the dramatic kid.
"Hey, you're the one who wanted to see the waterfalls in Hawai'i!" May teased. The grownups let go of each other's hands, and instead, each grabbed one of Peter's, so he was in the middle.
They were just a normal family on vacation. No spiders, alcohol, supervillains, or Avengers. Just normalcy.
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Peter woke up with a gasp, tears pooling in his eyes. He blinked them away and realized he felt much better than earlier. His arm wasn't hurting as much and his mind felt clearer than before the whole ordeal began.
'The pleasant effects of actually eating!’ Peter thought to himself. 'When was the last time I ate?'
Peter looked over at his arm that arguably should be in a lot more pain than it currently was, and paled when he saw it was healing around the knife.
He ran a hand (his less injured, less stabbed arm) through his air, letting out a shaky breath. "First, I got into a huge fight with Mr. Stark, then I broke up with the Avengers, then I got kidnapped, and lastly, I was tortured. Now, I have a knife stuck in my arm." Peter's stomach churned. "Ok, Peter, stay calm, don't panic. It hasn't been that bad yet. . ."
Tears sprung to his eyes. "Mr. Stark, I just, uh, wanted to say I'm sorry. And uh, now would be a good time to rescue me."
Where were the Avengers?
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