Chapter Text
Peter sighed, cleaning a stinging wound a certain Man of Iron(TM) had slashed across his shoulder just a few hours ago. Great, just great. No matter what he did to convince them HE was a good guy, they didn’t care.
He’d had been on the run from the Avengers for nearly two years, but Shield seemed to have deemed him a threat long before that. Despite the Avengers constant efforts, they’d never been able to catch him, damage him? That’s another story. While HE had done nothing more than a few punches when he was being attacked, they’ve managed to stab him, burn him, throw him around, break a few bones, including a nose! Tase him, and SO much more. He was tired. It didn’t help it was all dealt by his hero’s. Every time, he couldn’t help but have a little thought that, “Holy shit, CAPTAIN AMERICA just sucker punched me into a wall! Awesome.” And he’d always tell Ned afterwards, his best friend for years, who— just like him, was a sucker for the Avengers.
Peter sat idly atop a steep stone building. Lazily scanning the city below, scattered with civilians. He hummed to himself, drumming his fingers against the fibers of his suit. His shoulder stung. Peter had been patrolling for a for about an hour after the Avengers attack, a good escape from his apartment. Not that he didn’t love May, but since uncle Ben’s passing, she’d been nothing but a tyrant.
(“Peter.” May hissed as he slipped through the door, clicking it softly behind him. He locked eyes with her, she was leaning against the counter with a drink in hand. Peter suppressed a sigh, she was drunk, again. It happened often, and hardly ended up well.
“You’re late, you understand?” She slurred slightly, clenching her teeth together as if to help her focus.
“I know-“
“Come here.” She had interrupted, Peter took a tentative step forward, glancing out the window, wondering briefly if he could escape this interaction and swing through, he shook away his thoughts and nodded at May, walking up cautiously.
“Look I’m sorry, I lost track of time an-“
She cut him off again, this time with a harsh slap across the cheek. Peter bit back a squeak of surprise. It didn’t really hurt. No, not when he spends everyday fighting baddies, not when she’s done it hundreds of times before. She usually gets her point across. He brought a hand to his cheek and stared, stared at her. She looked unsteadily back. There was a long pause before—
“Room.” She demanded. Peter complied immediately.)
Peter was yanked through the memory when a sharp scream rang through the air, swirling around his senses and spiking his attention . He lost no time, leaping off the building towards the sound, cold air biting his face before pulling the mask over his head and tucking it under his chin. He rushed towards the ground, letting go of his web and landing with a steady jog towards a small, ware-housy building. Why did villains ALWAYS have to be in a ware-housy building?
He gently creaked the door open, a long, white room with four walls, some weird circles on the wall and… he narrowed his eyes and sighed. No one was here. His eyes caught a staircase and he took a breath in, ready to jog as he listened for any sort of telling something was happening. Man what a boring room-
He snapped from the thought as his spider senses spiked what seemed like 10-fold, he could throw up if he wasn’t so focused.
“What the-“ He murmured, a sense of growing unease swirled in his stomach, something wasn’t right.
Just as he was about to check out the upstairs, a loud flip of a switch came on…
An ear splitting shriek came from— what he now realized where speakers lining the walls. He screamed, the sound reverberated in his ears, it hurt, oh god it hurt so badly. The lights already bright fluorescent hue increased as well, with a screech of the technology. He squeezed his eyes shut and doubled over, it didn’t matter, the whistling tone and blazing lights didn’t cease. He was in danger. He heard some sort of muffled talking around him. He needed to fight. He thought immediately, gasping and forcing himself upward, stumbling and hitting the wall.
“H- st-ll….u-p”
He heard fragments of speech. Curse his enhanced senses.
“Tur- it -p!”
A second later, it got worse. Oh it was so much worse. He thought he was in pain before, he was dead wrong. He screamed again, and hit the floor, he couldn’t tell if he was still screaming, what was coming from the damn speakers or from his own agony. He repressed the urge to tear off his mask. His eyes hurt, hurt, he needed it to stop. He clawed through the fabric and at his eyes, digging his nails in with blinding pain. He was crying, he knew it, tears steamed down his face and hit his lips with- no… no that was blood, was he-….bleeding from his eyes. Warm wet began to trickle down his ears. He was dying wasn’t he? He continued to claw at his face until someone strong hands pulled them away from him and he blacked out, head hitting the floor.
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“Was that um, intense?”
Clint mumbled. Clint, Natasha, Sam, Bruce, Thor and Bucky were all staring down at the, now collapsed, Spider-Man
They’d done it, they’d caught Spider-Man, though many in the room were uneasy about how it was put about.
“I thought it was just supposed to put him out? Not…” Bucky shuddered “Torture him?” Bucky let go of Spider-Man’s hands, no longer having to worry about keeping them away from his face. He wasn’t sure why he’d done it, Natasha had yelled at him not to, but he looked like he was in so much pain.
“We didn’t torture him.” Natasha snapped, though, she supposed they had. She didn’t feel bad for the man, it was necessary.
Clint cleared his throat and took out his ear plugs, which were saving him from the noise. “I mean, a lot of superhero’s have enhanced hearing, I couldn’t imagine-“
“He’s not a superhero Hawkeye.” Nat spat. Sighing. “Sorry, let’s just call the others and get him back to the tower.”
“I’d like to check his injuries if that’s fine.” Bruce chimed in.
“You’re not even a medical doctor?” Bucky narrowed his eyes, Bruce shrugged.
“Fine, fine, do whatever. We can do a face reveal or what not at the tower, Sam, you pick him up and take him.” Sam shrugged and scooped the Spider-Man into his arms. He was so incredible light. Sam didn’t mention it.
Nat had stepped aside to call Tony and the others, who had responded with a string of delightful curses and praise. Bucky lingered behind all of them, this didn’t feel right. He never had wanted to fight this guy, and now they’re just tortured the guy. On the run or not, he didn’t think he deserved this.
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Sam set him down on a table, the Avengers were bustling around him, excited, but equally uneasy at the unconscious man in front of them.
Tony cleared his throat, “Soo, let’s crack this guy open eh?”
Nat rolled her eyes and leaned over, peeling the mask of this man’s face and- no. Not a man, a boy, a teenager. She’d recoiled like she’d been burned, the rest of the teams confused glances wandered from Nat to the Spider-man on the table and-…
He was a teenager, no older than 16 or 17, his eyes were closed but his face, oh god his face. Littered with cuts and bruises, presumably from when he hit the floor, a large gash torn through his forehead, and probably the worst was nail marks raking down his face and eyes, creating a horrific strain of blood that soaking into his eyes and hit his lips, a trail of blood from his ears to match.
Gasps, lot of gasps. Bucky’s back hit the wall. Wanda, who had not wanted to come now looked suspiciously like she was crying from the door, she had already set to leave. Thor looked mostly confused, Tony looked horrified and conflicted, as did Sam and Nat. Bruce was more paying attention to the scars running up and down his face and down his neck, disappearing into his suit. Strange kept silent. No less than half the team left, nobody wanted a part of this.
“What did we do.” Clint asked from somewhere in the room. The Spiderman- no. The kid started to stir.
When he woke up, he woke up with a pained yelp, mumbling something incoherent. A nightmare probably. He lurched himself up and rubbed his eyes, rubbed them again, and again, and again.
“I can’t-I can’t… see.”
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