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One moment, Miles is midswing; weightless, at the highest point of his arc. The next, his senses are overcome with a monstrous wail of sound. He misses his next web, and the soaring sensation in his gut curls into the sick, sweeping feeling of freefall. He should be terrified, but he can’t focus on anything besides the misery of this awful screech. It’s the sort of sound he can feel throughout his entire body, but in the worst way possible.
When his spider-sense finally pulses in warning, Miles reluctantly peels one of his palms away from his poor, aching ear to slow his fall as he plummets towards a decrepit old warehouse. His web hits a piece of scaffolding surrounding some highrise in progress, catching Miles for a moment before the flimsy structure topples. He crashes through a tarp, which flutters hysterically around him as he falls into the abandoned structure.
Everything is black. The torturous sound ends. And then, Miles slams against the ground.
The pain is sudden, and he can feel the force of the fall shoot agonizingly out from the point of impact at his hip. For a long moment, he can’t move. The sound is gone, but all he can hear is a shrill ringing in his ears. His chest is heaving, but he can’t hear his ragged, rapid breaths. His spider-sense thrums steadily, and he knows he can’t stay here.
He opens his eyes, but there’s nothing to see besides a patch of sky. The air smells musty and damp. As his eyes adjust to the darkness, he can make out the dim shapes of beams, corrugated metal walls, and scattered trash.
The pain in his hip continues to pulse like a second heartbeat, but as Miles shifts to get up, nothing protests with the sharp, fierce, all too familiar pain of a broken bone. Slowly, he shuffles onto his knees, unsettled once more by his deafness. He has no idea what took his hearing away, but he knows it couldn’t have been a coincidence. There’s no way Miles is that lucky. He needs to get out of here before whoever knocked him out of the sky catches up to him.
As he staggers to his feet, however, a sharp, sudden warning from his spider-sense makes it clear that he’s already too late.
Miles scrambles forward frantically, but stumbles as he puts weight on his sore hip. Dazed and deafened, he fails to dodge a sharp, stinging pain that strikes his back. Miles reaches back, and grasps hold of something cold and metal. He pulls it out with a gasp of pain and examines the object. Immediately, fresh terror surges within him.
It’s the same kind of dart zookeepers use on animals, with stupid frills on the end and an obvious capsule that’s now empty of liquid. Anything could’ve been inside it, and now whatever it was is inside him. Whoever shot it is probably right behind him, waiting for the dart to take effect, and Miles still even can’t hear them.
“Not cool, dude,” he calls out, making a point to enunciate his words. Miles knows deep down there’s no way he sounds normal, but he doesn’t want whoever’s here to know he’s completely deaf right now. Then, he turns invisible and bolts forward. He can make out a thin line of light in one of the walls, and he figures if there’s an exit anywhere, it’ll be there. He twists to slam his shoulder against the metal, squeezing his eyes shut in anticipation of a burst of daylight. Instead, as he blinks rapidly to adjust to the light, he realizes he’s in a dimly lit tunnel. Shit. He’s underground.
With only one direction to go in, Miles sprints forward, the ache of his hip an afterthought as he races down the tunnel, away from whoever or whatever is certainly chasing after him. He may be invisible, but Miles knows he’s not moving quietly. Worse, his limbs are growing heavy, like clothes seeping up water, and an unnatural sort of exhaustion is creeping into him. Whatever was in that dart is doing its job. He can’t have long before he won’t be able to run at all.
Up ahead, he sees an open door in one of the walls, and he beelines for it. As he enters, he sees various dusty bottles of cleaning supplies, a stiff, rusted mop head, and crumbling cardboard boxes. Miles dives behind a shelf as quietly as he can just as his invisibility drops, and waits, paying rapt attention to his spider-sense.
A minute goes by. Nothing changes, but the thrum of danger is still present. He knows it wouldn’t have gone away with whatever he’s been drugged with working his way through his body, so he can’t tell if he’s actually out of danger. As he leans against the shelf, he can feel himself losing control of his body. Keeping himself upright is a challenge, and his head starts to droop.
Maybe he’s lost his pursuer, and the dart just had some kind of sedative, and he’ll be perfectly safe in this little room. He’ll wake up in a few hours feeling fine, and he’ll laugh the whole thing off with Ganke and Peter.
But that’s a hell of a chance to take. A pretty stupid one, honestly. Because he could be dying, maybe someone wanted to finish him off without a fuss. Or, someone wants to capture him. They could be standing right outside, waiting for Miles to fall unconscious so they can swoop in and take him.
There’s really only one choice to make. With an intense amount of effort and focus, Miles lifts his hand to his mask and calls Peter.
He can see the call dialing as he slumps towards the floor. His vision sways as Peter picks up, and Miles sees the comforting bounce of audio waves as his mentor speaks. He feels a pang of guilt. He’s about to ruin Peter’s whole day.
“Peter,” he says, trying to whisper but unsure if he’s succeeding. “I can’t hear. You gotta come get me. I don’t know what’s happening…”
Gravity finally wins against Miles’ deteriorating posture, and he falls onto the cold, tiled floor.
He can see the waves of Peter’s voice, but his vision is fading, drowning like an iris engulfed by a widening pupil.
“I can’t stay awake,” he says, longing for the familiar sound of Peter’s voice.
Terror strikes as Miles realizes how helpless he’s about to be — alone and unconscious and almost certainly in the company of someone who wants to do him harm. He needs help, he needs help right now, but he’s not going to get it.
“Pete, someone’s here, you gotta…”
His vision fades completely, and he mumbles into the dark, his cries fading into an unintelligible whimper. The last thing Miles feels is a sharp, sudden warning from his spider-sense before he’s enveloped by nothingness.
Miles goes silent just as Peter hops out the window, and as terrifying as it is to hear his final, petrified whine, it’s so much worse when, a few minutes later, the agonizing quiet is broken by a sudden, long shuffling, followed by the scrape of something dragging. He hears a quiet moan, and realizes that someone’s moving Miles’ unconscious body. Shit. Shit.
“Miles, buddy,” he says, his casual, playful candor tinted with obvious fear. “I’m on my way. Don’t worry, kid, I’m coming.” He knows Miles is unconscious, but he can’t just let the kid be alone, even if he’s unaware of his only company. “I promise. Just hang in there.”
On the other end of the line, he hears more shuffling and a sudden thud, before the call disconnects.
“Dammit,” he curses, swinging faster.
Miles wakes up in pieces. He blinks his eyes open, but all he can see is black. A blindfold is wrapped tightly around his face, blocking his vision. His cheek is pressed against cold concrete, and with a rush of horror, he realizes that he can feel the frigid surface against his bare skin. His mask is gone.
Even though the rest of the suit hasn’t been touched, he feels naked.
Miles reaches to pull off the blindfold, but soon realizes that he is well and truly restrained. His wrists and ankles are bound, and as he pushes against his restraints, he recognizes the grooved feel of rope. Normally, he’d be able to break them easily, but his limbs aren’t responding. He struggles fiercely, but he’s only able to twitch against his bonds.
As he feebly tries to free himself, a deep terror begins to take hold. He can’t see, hear, or move. He has no idea where he is, or who’s taken him, or why. His breathing quickens, and his thoughts dissolve into shrieking fragments of pure, animal emotion. He feels like a worm thrashing on a hot sidewalk, like a fish flopping on a dock, like something that knows it’s about to die, and there’s nothing it can do to stop it.
He feels footsteps approaching, and terror burns in his drowsy body like melting ice.
Maybe it’s just Peter , some part of him tries to rationalize, and this is all about to be over.
It’s a nice thought. But the screaming animal in his head knows it isn’t true.
As the figure draws closer, Miles attempts to squirm away, but a fierce kick halts his feeble efforts. He cries out as he jerks forward from the blow, and shifts to roll onto his back so he can at least face his attacker. A booted foot, however, once again stops him, before pressing against his shoulders and turning him onto his belly in a methodical, sadistic motion.
“What…” he mumbles mutely, “what do you want?” He knows it can’t be anything good, but he’s just so confused. Nothing about this makes sense. He’s hardly been hurt. He’s about as helpless as he could possibly be, but it isn’t like he can do much, in this state. He isn’t strapped to a metal table like he’s a science experiment, and he isn’t being asked questions, as far as he can tell. He’s just…somewhere, with someone who can do anything they want to him.
Still, his captor looms above him. His foot rests against the small of Miles’ back, clearly communicating his desire for the teen to remain still.
“I don’t understand,” Miles whimpers. “What do you want? This isn’t…” He gasps for breath. Words aren’t coming easily. Everything feels wrong. He feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and he inhales through the beginnings of a sob. Why is he crying right now? What’s going on with him? He’s so scared, but he’s not supposed to be. He’s Spiderman. How could he have let this happen?
“I don’t know what to do,” he confesses to no one. Hot tears disappear into the blindfold.
He shifts again beneath the stranger’s foot, but his weary limbs don’t want to cooperate. The effort is swiftly followed by an increase in pressure, and Miles falls still again, breathing rapid, shallow breaths. He’s so tired. His brain is wrapped in fog. Everything takes more focus than it should.
He just wants whatever this is to be over.
The stranger takes his foot off Miles, but Miles remains absolutely still, stiff with anticipation and dread.
His stuttering sobs intensify as he feels a featherlight touch on his hair. He pulls away, but a hand firmly grasps ahold of his shoulder, keeping Miles in place. Fingertips flutter across his scalp, just like his Mami’s used to when he was small. But the touch feels so wrong, and Miles tries to tell his captor to stop it, but he’s not sure if the words are at all understandable, given the force of his sobs.
Tears soak into the blindfold, snot runs into his mouth, and his chest heaves beneath him; spasming uncontrollably as the stranger’s light touch shifts to trace Miles’ jaw before brushing against his tear-stained cheeks. With a final, patronizing pat to his head, the touch is gone. But Miles knows they’re right next to him, right above him, he would’ve felt their footsteps if they’d left, they’re right here and they can do whatever they want to Miles, because he’s absolutely, utterly helpless.
For the next several minutes, Miles cries. He rolls successfully onto his side without intervention and curls his knees up to his chest, wheezing for breath as his chest spasms with flickering sobs. He’s so afraid, and he feels overcome with shame. This isn’t who he’s supposed to be. Spiderman doesn’t cry like a little kid. If Peter were here, he’d be able to keep his cool, even if he was scared shitless. Miles knows he’s not better or worse than Peter. He’s still learning, and that’s okay. He believes that, most of the time, but he really, really doesn’t like the person he is right now. He wants to be different.
He wants things to be different.
But he doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t know what his captor wants. They have to be waiting for something . An extra set of hands, maybe? Transport? They’re going to take Miles away somewhere, he just knows it. He can feel the danger all around him, his spider-sense pulsing in tune with his rapid heartbeat.
Then, out of nowhere, the steady thrum pulses sharply, and he feels hands on him again. He’s pulled onto his back in a swift, tactical motion.
“Wait, wait-” Miles cries, tugging uselessly against his restraints. “What’s happening?” he asks, despite knowing the answer wouldn’t help him, even if he could hear it.
A moment later, a tremendous force smashes into his leg, and with a burst of hot, sharp, sparking pain, he feels his femur break.
Miles is screaming.
His wail splits the musty silence of the tunnel, and dread cascades into Peter’s gut. He thunders down the tunnel, sprinting towards the awful sound. It’s a throat-tearing kind of scream; a desperate, agonized noise he’s never heard Miles make before. A moment after the scream fades, it begins again, split with frantic, almost unintelligible pleas for whoever is hurting him to stop.
“Miles!” Peter shouts back, cursing that the tunnel is too low for him to swing. “Miles, I’m coming!”
“NO, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE—“ Miles’ cry is cut off by another scream, and Peter feels the familiar weight of failure. He should’ve prevented this, should’ve kept a closer eye on Miles, should’ve taken anyone capable of overpowering his mentee off the streets.
Whenever he put on the mask, Miles was Peter’s responsibility. No one else could help him the way Peter can, and no one but Peter could’ve prevented this from happening.
But he hadn’t. And now, whatever is happening is on him.
Miles’ hoarse pleads fill the tunnel, intercut with loud, ragged sobs.
“I’m almost there, I’m coming, Miles,” Peter calls. Ahead, there’s a sharp right turn, and his spider sense thrums with danger as he draws closer. The feeling only makes him run faster. He’s close, he’s got to be.
He rounds the corner, and feels a rush of bittersweet relief as the sound of Miles’ sobs grows louder. There’s a door up ahead, and even though Peter knows Miles can’t hear him, he calls out the kid’s name once more. Someone’s there, someone’s hurting him, but Peter doesn’t feel any fear. Just a fierce, sick sort of anger, thrumming alongside his spider-sense and filling his mind like fog.
“I don’t know…” Miles cries again, his words warped by hiccuping, wheezing sobs. “Why are you…doing this?” He sounds utterly miserable – confused, disoriented, and frightened beyond belief. “What’d I…do wrong?”
Peter’s spider-sense spikes as he slams the door open, ready to tear Miles’ tormentor away from the teen, but a quick sweep of the room only reveals old, rotting crates lining the walls, and Miles’ crumpled, bound form lying prone on the concrete floor.
Peter’s sense doesn’t fade, indicating that Miles’ captor hasn’t gone far. With no time to waste, Peter dashes to his mentee’s side. Immediately, he realizes with a stab of panic that Miles isn’t wearing a mask. They’ll have to deal with that later. He’s also bound with rope, which is an odd choice given Miles’ abilities, and a thick, tight blindfold covers his eyes. And, even at only a glance, it’s clear that multiple bones in Miles’ left leg are broken.
The injured teen sobs on the ground as snot and tears glisten on his unmasked face.
“Miles,” Peter breathes, sounding as heartbroken as he feels. “Oh, bud. You poor thing.”
He kneels at his mentee’s side, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. Miles flinches at the touch, letting out another miserable cry.
“I know, I know bud. I got you,” Peter says uselessly. He reaches for Miles’ blindfold, ripping the cloth apart in one quick motion. The teenager squeezes his eyes shut at the sudden light, whining. He blinks rapidly to adjust, staring up at Peter. His pupils are wide, swallowing his hazel irises. He’s clearly drugged, and whatever he’s on must be affecting his powers.
“Peter?” Miles says in a slurred voice, staring up at Peter with red, puffy eyes. It’s disturbing to see the teen this distraught. Peter doesn’t think he’s ever seen Miles cry before, despite practically meeting the kid at his father’s funeral. He can’t have been here for longer than a half hour, but he’s already this shaken up?
Peter nods reassuringly, pulling up his mask so Miles can at least read his lips. “I’m here,” he says slowly. He puts his hands in front of Miles face, signing. I’m here. Nothing else will happen. You’re okay. You’re safe. Miles had insisted on teaching him some ASL a few months back, and while this isn’t how Peter saw himself using it, he’s grateful. He does his best to keep his expression relaxed, but he’s unable to fully conceal his devastation at finding the teen in such a state.
“I don’t know what’s happening,” Miles sniffles, and he sounds so pitiful Peter’s throat tightens with grief. “You gotta help me. I gotta go home.”
I know, Peter signs, grateful he doesn’t have to speak with his throat tightening. I got you. We’re going. He reaches for Miles’ bound wrists, but his spider sense spikes as soon as he touches them. Knowing he can’t dodge whatever’s coming without endangering Miles, Peter scoops his mentee into his arms instead, ignoring the boy’s scream as his broken leg is jostled. However, Peter only manages to dash a few steps forward before a whistling sound is soon followed by a sharp prick of pain in his upper arm.
He pulls a dart from his arm, and realizes with a rush of fear that it’s already empty. Shit. It’s bound to be the same drug he hit Miles with. They have to get out of here.
“I cannot believe how perfectly my plan worked, little spiders,” a familiar voice calls, his booming voice shaking with joy. “You are just like the rest of my prey. Running without thought to the cry of your young.”
He turns to see the familiar form of Kraven standing behind the two of them, a wide grin on his face. The idiot showed up a couple of weeks ago, and although he’s been a real weirdo, Peter never thought he’d do something like this.
His hold on Miles tightens. “What did you do to him?”
“Nothing permanent. Just enough to make him frightened enough to call for you.”
Miles’ chest rises and falls rapidly with shallow breaths, trembling like he’s a civilian Peter snatched out of danger at the last second. The kid’s pressed against his chest so tightly, Peter thinks he’s probably just stuck to him at this point. “Frightened” is a wild understatement.
Peter feels sick. Miles is such a confident, brave kid. He’s navigated all sorts of scrapes without calling on Peter, oftentimes avoiding reaching out even when he really ought to. He knew as soon as he took Miles’ call how serious the situation had to be if the younger spider was asking for help. Thinking about the terror and pain Miles experienced at the hands of this sick man makes him feel a rare sort of complete and utter hatred.
“You’re sick,” he spits venomously. “A real piece of shit.”
Kraven just grins, his entire face bright with an eerily genuine expression of joy. “Does it matter? You’ve lost. And now you’re mine. ”
Peter has no idea what Kraven means, but he knows he doesn’t want to find out.
He shifts his grip on Miles so he’s holding him in one arm, and shoots a web up at the ceiling, zipping up with Miles clutched against his chest. The petrified kid cries exhaustedly against his shoulder, and Peter shields him from Kraven’s gaze by sandwiching him between his chest and the ceiling.
Peter glances around for a window, a doorway, anything that could get them outside, and give him a chance to get Miles away from here before he, too, succumbs to whatever sedative Miles was injected with. As he sees none, he remembers with a sinking feeling that he’s underground.
“You should come down from there, you know,” Kraven calls, “You wouldn’t want to fall. I don’t need two spiders with broken legs.”
Peter’s rage at the cruel comment is dulled by a deep, heavy sort of drowsiness creeping throughout his limbs. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, Kraven’s right. If he stays up here, they’ll both fall, and Miles will just get more hurt.
The idea of hopping down and practically handing himself and his mentee over to this sicko, however, isn’t exactly an appealing alternative.
He crawls away from Kraven, determined to at least put as much distance between them as possible. He hears Kraven’s footsteps echo through the vacant hall as he follows at a tauntingly slow pace.
“Take your time,” he teases, and Peter’s frustration turns to fear as he reaches the corner of the room, and feels his grip on the ceiling start to weaken.
There’s no other choice.
With a sinking sense of dread, he clutches Miles tightly against his chest and slowly works his way down one of the walls with his remaining hand. He lets go several feet from the ground, landing behind a pile of crates.
He lowers Miles more harshly than intended, as his limbs begin to fail him. Miles cries out when he hits the floor, and Peter stares miserably down at him. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s supposed to get Miles out of here, but he can’t.
“Pete,” Miles gasps hoarsely. “Pete, we gotta go.”
I know , Peter signs sloppily, his legs shaking from the effort of standing. Soon .
His legs give out and he crashes to his knees. “Just need a minute,” he lies, even though he knows Miles can’t hear him. Who’s he even lying for? Kraven? Himself?
“Clever spider,” Kraven’s voice sounds frighteningly close. “But not quite clever enough.”
Peter sluggishly turns his head to see Kraven standing a few feet away from them. He shifts to block Miles from the hunter’s view, his limbs hanging heavy and his head beginning to droop. It’s a feeble protection, but it’s all he’s got to give.
He can’t let anything else happen to Miles, he just…he can’t. Miles is everything Peter’s worked for, everything he hopes the future will be. He’s funny, and sweet, and too brave for his own good. He’s an incredible Spiderman — talented, devoted, and strong — but more importantly, he’s Peter’s . He’s taught Miles nearly everything he knows about being Spiderman. He was there for Miles’ first swing, he built Miles’ first set of web shooters, he even made the kid do worksheets on parabolas.
He loves Miles in a way he’s never loved anyone else. Miles is everything Peter wishes could’ve been different. He’s the answer to his every lonely, miserable question. His protegee, his pride and joy, his kid.
Kraven doesn’t understand. He can’t understand, because no one who knows how much Miles means to him could do something like this.
He wants to call timeout, he wants to explain, he wants to find the honeyed words that will put an end to this. But Peter knows, deep down, that there are none. So, he snaps his teeth instead.
“Get…out of here,” Peter gasps, with all the ferocity he can muster. “Before I…make you pay…for what you did.”
Kraven grins a vicious, cheshire cat sort of grin in response. “We both know you can’t do anything of the sort,” he says, stepping forward and grasping ahold of Peter’s mask. He rips it off in one quick swoop, and Peter loses his balance from the suddenness of the motion. He topples to the ground, lying sprawled and limp on the concrete.
“Ah,” Kraven says, studying Peter’s exposed face. “Are you afraid? Do not worry, little spider. This is going to be fun.”
“Peter,” Miles whines behind him, his voice high and small. “It hurts. Pete, I wanna go home.”
Peter feels a rush of despair as darkness swirls in his vision. Exhaustion has settled in his limbs. When he tries to stand, his legs twitch uselessly.
There’s no way out of this.
“I know, Miles,” he murmurs, and his heart pulls with something animal. Through his fading vision, he sees Kraven kneel beside him. Feels his hands lifting Peter’s sluggish limbs, his gloved fingers binding him. “I know.”
Then, there is nothing but black.