Chapter Text
“Should we be gettin’ ready to move out?”
“Not until she’s back with the cargo.”
“The deadline– that she instated, expired nearly two hours ago. And those vans and trucks shouldn’t take that long to load. What if she’s been compromised? We’re taking up too much time here and-”
“She’s got a plan. Don’t be the one to screw it up.”
“But we’re not far from the Avengers base, and if they- We can’t afford to wait-”
“Would you shut your Goddamn mouth!”
Along with some of the men’s rumblings, Peter heard someone take a strike across the cheek. It wasn’t like he wasn’t listening to his kidnappers' schemes, he was just occupied with some more pressing issues: the drugs in his system, the vibranium cuffs pinning his wrists and ankles to a vibranium chair, and the Heretic Fork he had shoved into his throat and chest.
Peter had awoken from his drug-induced sleep right as the two men he was currently trapped with were placing the medieval torture device. Keeping his face, his unmasked face, pointed straight up at the ceiling, as well as keeping his neck bent back sharply was imperative to keep the fork’s prongs from stabbing further into his chest, or into his neck.
The pain alone had nearly all of Peter’s attention, as well as the struggle to breathe.
He’d tried to get his carotid arteries out of the danger zone for a little while, even going so far as overextending his aching and arching neck to try and get the prongs out of his skin and shake the fork loose, but it was all to no success. All he had been left with was a strained neck, and blood oozing from four different points all down his front.
Peter couldn’t tell how long he’d been stuck in his current position, or how long he’d been stuck with these people. According to the men, it had been more than two hours. He couldn’t see much else from the ceiling he was forced to stare at, but he could tell that there was no natural light coming in. He could also hear the men’s voices and other sounds echoing across a big, wide open space. That made it seem like he was in a large warehouse or storage area, and that the structure was either windowless, or night had fallen.
It wouldn’t have surprised Peter if it was dark out; he’d been snatched away from his patrolling late in the evening. He’d been hit by several tranquilizer darts, all coming from more directions than his body could dodge, and gone down hard. Now, he was stuck with Beavis and Butt-head.
“You can’t just beat me around like some bitch! If she can’t pull this off, then it’s our asses on the line! I say we make the call-”
“She’s here.” While Peter had thought that all he was hearing was the blood roaring in his ears, he then realized that a vehicle, or was it multiple vehicles, were approaching. It didn’t sound like they were treading on a gravel road, but also not smooth enough for a paved road? It had to have been a dirt road. Maybe? Soon, brakes were hissing, and engines were being cut off.
“Did you get everything?” The man that Peter assumed to be the brainier, and quite possibly the brawnier, of the two lookouts guarding him spoke first.
“Of course. Did you ever doubt me?” A young woman’s voice answered.
God, how Peter wished that he could just catch a glimpse of whatever it was he was working with here. He’d been able to hear the vehicles so clearly, and he hadn’t heard this new person, this woman, open any doors to get inside. And, now that he was straining to focus on everything other than his pain, he thought that he could feel a draft, and cool night air, sweeping against his skin. Was one of the walls in this building knocked out?
“Never ma’am. Not for a second.” Peter heard the other man speaking. “We were wondering, however– if we should make the call sooner rather than-”
The woman shushed the man.
Peter held his breath, suddenly feeling everyone’s eyes on him. If only he hadn’t been stripped of his mask. He swallowed hard.
After a tense silence, the woman spoke again, “Why not take this outside.”
. . .
“Alright, let’s run it back one more time. Peter went missing approximately thirty-two hours ago. His belongings, including his backpack, wallet, Stark Phone, Stark Watch, webshooters, and his suit’s mask, were all found in an alley behind Delmar’s bodega, running perpendicular to 21st Street.” Steve Rodgers was pointing at a holographic map of Queens.
“All of the surveillance footage from the street’s cameras conveniently cuts off around 8:00pm. When I asked, the city told me that there was maintenance being done on the camera’s at the time.” Bruce Banner sighed. “So we have no footage of vehicles or license plates that belong to the people that took Peter.”
“Who was performing the maintenance? They must have been in on it.” Natasha Romanov asked. “Maybe we could pay them a visit.”
“I tried to find out, but I was told that finding the scheduled worker would take time, along with some other nonsense about it taking longer because of it being Labor Day Weekend.” Bruce rolled his eyes.
“Jesus, do they not care that a kid’s been kidnapped?” Clint Barton snapped.
“No, they don’t know a kid’s been kidnapped. Peter Parker hasn’t even been reported missing. We can’t risk someone linking his disappearance with that of Spider-Man’s disappearance.” Steve reminded.
Clint shook his head. “I think we’ve got this so backwards. His life is worth much more than protecting his precious alter ego. ”
Steve tried to ignore Clint. “It’s bad enough that he’s out there somewhere without his mask, but if we can make an effort to keep Spider-Man’s identity safe, Peter won’t have to cope with those kinds of repercussions after we bring him home.”
“If we bring him home.” Tony Stark spoke for the first time.
Everyone in the room, including Steve, was thinking this, but to have it said out loud just seemed too harsh.
Of course for Tony, he had begun fearing the worst the night Aunt May had called him, informing him that her nephew had not returned home. That, mixed with the knocked out security cameras, Peter’s discarded belongings, which included any and all ways for Tony to track him, and the traces of Peter’s blood found on site, had let Tony know that these kidnappers were not run-of-the-mill. They had been aware of Peter’s enhancements and knew how to counter them.
“Tony, he’s got the Avengers searching for him. We’re gonna find him in time.” Steve headed over to the chair Tony had been parked in all night. “Ya know, maybe you oughta get some sleep. It’s late and you’ve been up-”
Suddenly, F.R.I.D.A.Y. cut in. “Boss, you have an incoming call from an unknown number at an unknown location.”
Tony immediately jumped to his feet as everyone else in the room straightened their posture. “Put ‘em through, F.R.I.D.A.Y.. On speaker. Trace it.”
While Tony was secretly hoping that it was going to be Peter on the other line, maybe a little worse for wear, but okay, telling him where to come and find him, he knew that this would most likely be some sort of ransom call. He’d received one once before, but that kidnapper hadn’t known that Tony Stark’s special intern, Peter Parker, was actually Spider-Man. Peter had been able to get himself out of harm’s way before the bad guy could even make a request. If only these people had been just as naive.
Once F.R.I.D.A.Y. had answered the call, there was a brief sound of shuffling before a woman’s voice came through. “Tony Stark. Pleasure to be speaking with you.”
“Cut the shit. What do you want?”
“Excuse you, Tony. Watch the language; I’ve got you on speaker here and can’t have you upsetting my guest.”
“Just tell me whatever it is you want and give me back the kid.”
“Peter Parker, you mean? Spider-Man? Don’t worry, you’ll get him back soon enough. I hate to say it, but it’ll be hard to watch him go. He’s been such a great help to me. He’s quite the squealer. Only had to hit him a few times before he gave me your number.”
Tony grit his teeth, his eyes flashing with worry. It was possible the woman was only saying these things to get under his skin, but it was also possible she was telling the truth. His voice lowered, hardly concealing his anger. “What do you want?”
There was a long pause, as if the woman was debating on toying with Tony any further. “I’m sending you the routing number for an account of mine. I want a hundred million deposited.”
“Very original. Tell me where to find him and I’ll send it through.”
“How about you send it through now, and Petey here doesn’t get a bullet through his skull.”
The sound of a gun being cocked echoed throughout the Avengers common room.
“Tony,” Natasha gripped his arm, “we can’t even be sure that she has Peter, and if she does, he’s her only leverage. This could all just be wasting time.”
Tony knew that Natasha could be right, but he couldn’t risk Peter’s life like that. “Send it all through, F.R.I.D.A.Y..” He then addressed the woman on the phone. “I want to talk to Peter.”
. . .
“I want to talk to Peter.”
That pulled Peter from his agony. The woman hadn’t been lying earlier about Peter taking hits, but the beating hadn’t been a means for him to expel the phone number– a phone number that she already had. She had just wanted to turn the hero into the sniveling mess that he was, squirming in his chair, unable to keep still with the waves of pain slamming into him.
Peter was taking in short, gasping breaths, incapable of doing anything else. There were tears from both suffocation and fear, as well as sweat, spit, and snot plastered all over his face.
Shortly before the call was made, the two eagar guardsmen had been tasked with brutally whaling on the teen’s exposed chest and abdomen. While Peter would normally hunch over to guard himself, or he would just naturally double-over from having the wind knocked out of him, the Heretic Fork didn’t allow for that. It had been impossible for him to keep taking hit-after-hit, unable to draw in air or keep any air in his lungs, unable to plead, unable to see an end in sight, without breaking down.
The men had finally quit right before the point of Peter passing out.
Now, Peter was desperately trying to pull himself together; he didn’t want to be forced to play along with this woman’s plans, and he didn’t want Tony to see him as the weak, defenseless hostage he’d suddenly become.
Peter also knew that this was his only chance for rescue; he needed Tony to find out his location somehow. After all, he knew he was being used for more than just ransom.
Earlier, when his three captors had stepped out, believing they’d left Peter out of earshot, Peter had put all that he had into listening in to what they were discussing. It had been extremely difficult, but with his enhanced senses, he had been able to pick up words like “rendezvous”, “trade-off”, “Spider-Man”, and “bounty”. Wherever these people were planning to take him, he was not going.
The woman paced lazily as she holstered the gun she’d cocked. “I suppose I could let you talk to him. We’d have to see if he’s able to get a word out, of course.” She then snapped her fingers at her men, pointing them to Peter.
Peter stiffened in his chair, his eyes widening in panic, as he heard the men barreling over. He couldn’t have these men hurt him anymore, he couldn’t. He just needed to talk to Tony. “Please-”
One of the men gripped Peter’s jaw tightly, silencing the boy’s words. A hoarse whimper came out instead.
Taking care not to loom over Peter, giving his captive the opportunity to see his face, the brawnier man threatened, “If you say anything, anything, out of line, I’ll shove this fork through your throat, and out the back of your neck.”
Before Peter could begin to ponder what he could say before it was deemed “out of line”, the other man slammed him in the solar plexus. “You got that, Spider-Man?”
Peter wheezed out whatever air he had had in his lungs, scrunching his eyes shut as his bruises collected bruises. He had only just gotten his breath back, and now, he was back at square one. After a few moments of silence, with Peter twitching in his seat, his mouth wide open but catching no air, he was finally able to take in a gasp.
Peter felt tears drip down his temples as he fought between taking panting breaths, of which his body did not believe was providing enough oxygen, and long, deep breaths, of which his body was writhing in pain over. The man’s hand never leaving his jaw wasn’t making his decision any easier.
Then, Peter heard the sound of lighter footsteps approaching. This was it. This was Tony. This was his only chance. But he wasn’t ready yet. He needed more time to collect himself. More time to come up with anything to say. Anything that would get him out of here. Anything that wouldn’t get him killed. He needed more time to show Tony he was not weak.
“Nothing out of line, right?” The man still holding on to Peter pulled the teen from his jumbled thoughts.
Peter hiccupped, trying to make a “yes” or any sort of sound of affirmation come out, but everything kept getting trapped in his throat.
The man dug his fingers into Peter’s jaw painfully, spitting in his face. “Answer me!”
“N-No! Nothing!” Peter cried out.
The woman placed the phone against Peter’s ear.
. . .
“I suppose I could let you talk to him. We’d have to see if he’s able to get a word out, of course.”
Tony winced as the rest of the team held their breaths. The woman had finished speaking, but they could all hear some kind of commotion going on in the background. Someone, their voice much too deep to be Peter’s, was yelling.
Then, coming through the speakers sharply, “N-No! Nothing!”
Tony called out, “Peter?! Peter?!”
A short cry came from the other end of the line before, “Mr. Stark, please, ‘m here.”
“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”
“‘M alright. I’m okay.”
The entire team could hear Peter panting and straining into the phone, confirming that the boy was in fact, not “okay”. However, it could be that the boy was not seriously hurt, and that he was just scared. Wishful thinking.
“That’s good, okay, Peter? That’s really good.” Tony was speaking quickly, looking around at the others in the room. “Listen, Pete, I don’t know how much it is that you’ve been hearing, but we’re going to come and get you soon, alright? It may take a little time, but we’re going to come and get you.”
Silence was Tony’s only answer. “Peter?”
Raspy sobs punctuated through the phone.
“No, Peter, don’t worry. It’s going to be alright. We’ll find you and-”
The sobs were replaced with muffled sounds and voices, including those of the woman and the man who had been yelling earlier.
Tony didn’t want to lose his connection with the kid when he was so upset. “Peter?!”
“Tony. Quiet.” Natasha and Steve ordered nearly simultaneously.
Tony only had a moment to glare at them before he noticed how intently they, and the rest of the team, were listening to the sounds coming from the call. While their eyes revealed their concern for their missing comrade, every aspect of their body language showed that they were Avengers, simply on another mission. They were not acting or speaking out through their emotions. They were focused. Peter wouldn’t benefit from any of Tony’s reassurances. Peter needed that focus from him.
Gathering himself, Tony quickly started communicating with his A.I. via Stark Pad. He couldn’t have the woman overhearing him, so he quickly typed out “enhance audio” and “call trace update”.
Blaring white noise suddenly filled up the room as F.R.I.D.A.Y. followed its orders. As troubling as it was to hear Peter’s weak cries being amplified, the voices were also coming through much more clearly.
“Let go of him.”
“ But ma’am, he’ll-”
“He will be just fine. Now, the both of you, outside. Help the others clear some space in the back of my van for him.”
“Yes ma’am.”
The woman’s shrill voice filled the Avenger’s space as she spoke directly into the phone. “Have to be going now, Tony. Unfortunately, we’ll be keeping Peter around a while yet.”
Tony’s face pinched in confusion. They were keeping Peter? What more were they hoping to gain through the kid? “Why’s that? You have your money. Let him go.”
“Just keeping him around until I get my payroll sorted. Surely you understand, being a billionaire yourself.”
Tony glanced down at his Stark Pad. F.R.I.D.A.Y. had responded that the call trace was still pending. He needed more time, he needed to keep the call open. “Let me talk-”
“You’ll be getting coordinates to him eventually, or whatever other ‘original’ thing I can come up with. Goodby-”
Tony paled. “No, wait!”
“‘M near the Compound! A warehouse! Broken down!” Peter’s voice shrieked, the volume high enough to blow out some of the speakers. “They’re gonna trade-”
Peter’s voice was quickly cut off, and the woman’s voice came filtering through again. “You bastard!”
All of the Avengers, except for Clint, who had bolted from the room to get suited up the moment he’d heard Peter, waited in dread for the sound of a single gunshot.
Instead, they heard the sounds of Peter gasping and coughing. Peter choking.
. . .
“That’s good, okay, Peter? That’s really good. Listen, Pete, I don’t know how much it is that you’ve been hearing, but we’re going to come and get you soon, alright? It may take a little time, but we’re going to come and get you.”
In that moment, Peter had wanted nothing more than to scramble out everything he knew, everything he had picked up so far. He needed Tony to understand just how wrong he was. There was no way the Avengers were going to be coming for him, not when he was being traded off.
Peter was struggling to find the way to signal to his mentor his whereabouts. His kidnappers had said it themselves that they were not far from the Avengers Compound. They were so close! But what to say? What could he say? He had to tell Tony-
Peter’s dilemma must have been written all over his face, because suddenly, the man holding his head began to pull it down. The moment the fork’s prongs breached new territory in his neck, and he could feel warm, fresh blood dripping down his skin, Peter put what little strength he had left into resisting, and froze.
“Peter?”
Peter couldn’t keep his sobs from breaking free. The sharp pins and needles and stabbing pain that resulted from him trying to use his abused neck muscles, the deep aches resonating throughout his body, and the fact that a faceless, nameless man was about to impale him was all too much.
With his own blood pounding in his ears, Peter could only faintly hear Tony trying to speak to him as he continued to cry.
The woman had pulled the phone away, holding it carelessly at her side. Her attention was now on her men. “Alright, that’s enough. They need him alive, remember. We’ve got a long ways to go, and I won’t have him bleeding out.”
While the smaller man had backed away from Peter’s chair, the bolder man still kept his grip on Peter. “But ma’am, you saw it. He was about to break. He would have told Tony where-”
“But he didn’t, so these kinds of services are no longer necessary.” The woman’s voice tightened. “Let go of him.”
“But ma’am, he’ll-”
The woman reached forward to remove the man’s hold herself. “He will be just fine. Now, the both of you, outside. Help the others clear some space in the back of my van for him.”
“Yes ma’am.” They both replied, one more begrudgingly than the other. Their footsteps receded.
After the brief exchange, which had felt more similar to an eternity for Peter, he could feel his adrenaline spiking to new levels. His sobs quickly subsided. He was free, or, as free as he could be. It was just himself and this woman, and she wouldn’t shoot him. She wouldn’t kill him. No one would. Whoever “needed” him had needed him alive, right?
Peter was finding it hard to keep the excitement off of his face. Doing his best to school his expression, he switched his attention back over to the woman. He could hear her continuing her conversation with Tony.
“Why’s that? You have your money. Let him go.”
Peter jerked as the woman patted his shoulder. He thought he’d maybe caught a glimpse of sleek, white hair, in the corner of his vision.
“Just keeping him around until I get my payroll sorted. Surely you understand, being a billionaire yourself.”
Peter could hear from the woman’s tone that she was wrapping things up, but the words he was planning to blurt out were running away from him.
“Let me talk-”
“You’ll be getting coordinates to him eventually, or whatever other ‘original’ thing I can come up with.”
This was it.
“Goodby-”
“No, wait!”
“‘M near the Compound! A warehouse! Broken down!” Peter screamed out whatever short thoughts his brain could keep a hold of. “They’re gonna trade-”
All of Peter’s hints and clues were cut off as the woman drove her fist deep into Peter’s gut, driving inwards and upwards. “You bastard!”
No amount of rush from Peter’s adrenal glands could counter this agony. There were ripples of pain cascading around where her fist had landed. It felt almost as if the woman was trying to reach inside him, and rip out his entrails. Where was this strength coming from? Was the woman enhanced?
Peter would have been asking himself these questions if it weren’t for the vomit gushing its way up his throat. With gravity working against him, half of the sick was collecting on his face, running down the sides of his jaw and chin, while the other half stayed pooled in his mouth, beginning to slide down his trachea.
Peter’s face began to turn red as he coughed, gagged, choked, and panicked. They had needed him alive, right?
Suddenly, Peter felt himself falling backwards. His spidey-sense was going haywire as he was unable to right himself. His vision blacked out as his head connected with concrete below him; fortunately, the fork’s prongs were not lodged any deeper.
Ugly, wet coughs erupted from Peter’s chest as he was finally able to clear his airways of the stinging bile. Arching away from the back of the chair, desperate to get more air in his swamped lungs, Peter opened his eyes.
While everything was upside-down, Peter could identify everything around him clearly. Planes. He was in a-