First Spiderman fic. 'Nuff said. Never written one before.
Dedication: I'm truly writing this to annoy my friend. :) I hope you're annoyed. (He's a Spidey fan!) This is for you and your stupid puns. (And stop infecting people, it's annoying!) Hope you like. As much as you could like this anyway… And thanks for being much better than Wikipedia. You were a fantastic resource. :D And thanks for teaching me a bout Carnage… ;)
Four weeks ago he'd disappeared.
Three weeks ago his mask had been removed.
Two weeks ago he had been subjected to torture.
One week ago he'd tried to escape.
Five days ago he'd watch his kidnapper terrorize the city.
Three days ago he almost died.
One day ago he'd tried once more to escape.
Two hours ago he almost starved.
Five minutes ago he fell unconscious.
One minute ago he woke up.
And every second of it hurt.
o0o0o0o
The man walked down the New York streets, weaving into and out of the waves of moving people, his head kept low. People brushed past him, not really noticing him. His hands were stuck in his trench coat, a fedora covered his dark hair, which fell over his eyes. The trench coat was black and it matched the dreary, rainy day of the city. The fog obscured their view of the tall skyscrapers, and a light misty rain fell over them. People talked on cell phones, holding umbrella's over their heads and trying to juggle shopping bags. The wind was bitter cold, stinging at any exposed skin.
The man smiled as it blew and sat down on the park bench, flipping open a newspaper and swiping the wet rain off. He sat down, crossed his legs, and his black eyes swept over the paper.
Spiderman was missing. He had been for at least four weeks. There no was sign of anything, no random blood on the streets. Any evidence that they found had turned out negative, all the people coming up on the radar were being kept in prison. Of course, they didn't know who he was. How could they? With that mask covering his face, no one could tell. He'd been declared dead after three weeks. There were no leads, none that would be able to tell the NYPD where he was. He'd disappeared without a trace. There was no identification, nothing to use. No mask, no fingerprints. They couldn't tell.
On the side of page eight was a small column dedicated to a boy by the name of Peter Parker. He'd gone missing a few weeks ago as well, around the same time as Spiderman, more or less. His Aunt had reported it and she'd mysteriously died from a heart attack a few days ago. Miss Gwen Stacy had found her, going to the house to comfort and help around and reported it, crying and sobbing on the phone. (He tapped the line).
The man slowly shook his head and turned the page of the paper, not believing how either of them hadn't pieced it together. Wasn't Miss Stacy supposed to be a smart one? He knew she was bright, he'd met her; she was working for Dr. Connors. Well, had been. After the whole Lizard problem it was a bit difficult and they'd moved their lab to Florida anyway. So far, nothing.
But what was there to find?
He chuckled and threw the paper on the ground, standing up quickly and walking off. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, head down and fedora tilted toward the ground. A smile grazed his lips and then a small chuckle slipped out.
They were all idiots.
][][][ Four Weeks ago:
Spiderman leaned up against the wall, eyes under the mask grazing the men that were loading the bags into the dark SUV. He shook his head as he watched the main one, dressed like a cartoony thug, yell out orders. He wore combat boots and a ski mask and some type of fishing pants, probably for the cold winter that New York had gotten. It was the coldest winter in forty years and was pretty intense. Even now little snowflakes gently floated to the ground. Of course, they didn't affect how he worked. He could easily climb the walls as if it were summertime, though that was a little hot for his taste. Maybe spring… yeah, spring was nice.
The thugs worked, one was even sweating from the work that thug number one forced him to do. Swiping his brow, the man pushed harder.
Spiderman sighed and walked forward, thinking of the pie that would greet him at home later that night. Man, could Aunt May make pie. He sighed deeply and stepped into the light.
"Hey, is this a party! Why didn't you invite me!" he called out, leaning against the street light. It began to snow harder and he smiled under the mask, thinking of how easy it would be. He told himself, his subconscious, not to get cocky about it, because one day he might not always win, but he pushed it far back in his mind.
"It's Spiderman, get 'em!" Thug number one yelled, pointing and throwing another bag of who knows what in the large car. Two of them came at him and he poised himself for the fight, thinking of the perfect plan to win. Thug number one had a crowbar and he was continuously slapping it against his palm, which was apparently threatening. The other had his meaty fists, and a growl ripped from the man's throat. Waves crashed against the docks and Spiderman couldn't help wishing this was done and over with, but, hey, deal with it, you know?
He spun around the street light, pushing himself down and under it, his feet slamming into thug number two's shoulders and pushing the man down. The thug struggled but Spiderman took him and threw him against a wall, a web thoroughly keeping him down.
He turned toward the next one and smirked. "You know," he inclined, "it'd say you'd be a bit harder. You look a little smarter!"
The thug scowled and came at him with a fist. He flipped back onto the wall, poised and ready.
"Hey, that was a compliment!"
"Compliment my-"
The thug slipped on the icy floor of the docks. He fell to the ground with a thump and a grenade flew out of the man's pocket. It was obviously active, probably the man had intended to throw it out a little later. Spiderman's eyes widened and he jumped out of the way. But he reacted a little too slow, he was caught in the blast. Everything seemed to slow down, there was a slight ringing in his ears and he could see himself falling backwards. He hit the wall and suddenly everything zipped back into perspective. He fell to the ground and shook his head, waiting as the dust cleared so he could see the thug who dropped the grenade. A wind blew through and wiped it away, pushing the dust toward the water. Spiderman jumped up and blasted the thug, who was attempting to stand up while grinning sadistically. He was thrown back into the street light, his head cracked against the metal and he slumped over, falling to the ground, unconscious. Spiderman shook his head. "I stand corrected. You weren't smarter," Spiderman muttered, turning toward the main thug, who was staring at him like he was the Grim Reaper. He chuckled and launched himself at the thug, going for a head on attack. The man dodged, moving toward the right and grabbing the discarded crowbar from before. He got himself ready this time, however, and growled when Spiderman turned around and his eyes narrowed.
The thug ran at him, yelling at him to get away from his score. Spiderman shot a web blast at him and jumped out of the way of the swinging crowbar, which hit the concrete of the docks with an earsplitting crack. The snow came down harder and the wind bit at them. He lifted his arm up to see, as the fog had gotten denser and the snow flew down faster.
Once again the thug came at him and, blasting him with a web, he jumped up into the air with his strength and blasted him from above and pinned him to the ground. He dropped to the docks, next to the struggling man, and stood up, placing his hands on his hips.
"Well, that was fun, next time, ya'll throw a party remember to invite me!" he commented and then swung away when he heard the sirens getting louder.
][][][
Spiderman made his way toward his house, shooting webs and swinging off the buildings in the city. People stared up and pointed, trying to get a look at the vigilante and snap pictures of the boy. Of course, they didn't know he was a boy, they just thought he was a man; much like his title proposed.
Some cheered, while others stared up angrily. Yeah, so what if they didn't approve, not his problem, right?
Yeah. Right.
He landed in an alley, his head still ringing from the grenade, and looked around. Empty, as most were, depending on where you were in New York. The city itself wasn't that bad really. It was just a bit… intense. If you knew how to work the city to your advantage, every thing would be good.
"You know," a voice said behind him, causing him to turn around with such a force he almost toppled over. "You're cocky. I've noticed this about you. You use witty comments and make fun of the people you're fighting and act like nothing can hurt you."
The voice came from the shadows, it was low but calm and showed he was obviously in control of himself. Had he heard it before? He swore he had…
"Really?" he voiced, eyes narrowing.
"Mmhmm… it disgusts me really. I am impressed, you're strong, I must admit this. You're very persistent too."
"It's a gift," he commented, smirking under the mask.
"You see! You see what you did there?" the voice exclaimed, "you act all high and better than everyone else. Cocky, arrogant, egotistic; it disgusts me."
Spiderman, not angry, crossed his arms as he searched the shadows for the voice's origin. There was nothing, no sign of any movement. It seemed the voice was coming at all angles and his spidey-sense didn't detect any threat to him. Was it really a threat? Or just some prank? Scratch out prank, nothing was this coincidental.
"And what about you? You seem pretty sure of yourself," Spiderman said, his eyes darting around ferociously, beginning to get worried. He got into a fighting position.
"Oh… I know where I stand in the world."
He glanced to the left, spider sense tingling. Eight new thugs were coming from the black. He almost groaned and got ready for the attack which he knew was coming.
All at once, they came at him. He fought them off, but they were much stronger than normal. One even managed to get him in the stomach, most likely leaving a very nasty bruise to form there. It seemed each one of them was stronger than the next; obviously having genetic enhancements of some sort or perhaps metallic casing over their hands, it was hard to tell. They kept on coming and his mind was racing to get out of this. The walls of the alley were too far apart for him to jump, or so he thought. The men seemed to have a healing factor to them, or at least it seemed like it, he was still unsure. Four of them, rushed at him and he jumped up, blasting two in the face while hitting the other two with his feet. He smirked to himself and turned toward the other two. A blast of wind hit him in the face as he dropped to the ground. He coughed and almost fell over when one kicked him in the stomach.
And then before he could defend himself, the red and blue clad hero was on the ground, blood leaking from the bullet wound in his arm. There had been a loud bang and then he was facing the sky, having slowly fallen down to the ground in a shock. Why didn't his Spider-sense warn him? It should have, shouldn't it? Everything began to fade and he slowly closed his eyes, fatigue and needed sleep catching up on him and acting as a worst enemy.
"A world where you will no longer live in."
][][][
Gwen sat down on her bed, hands in her head and tears down her face, frustration evident as it rolled off her like waves.
She glanced down at the picture of her, Peter and Harry. They were all in eighth grade and Peter's arms were slung over their shoulders, a wide grin on his and their faces. It was so much more simple then.
Harry showed little concern to Peter missing, because he was a 'traitor'. She told him he was being stupid and stubborn, they both had been, and that certainly hadn't helped her case. She tried everything, even getting Liz to look around for her and MJ came over every day for help and for comfort. Peter went missing about five or so weeks ago.
And the whole city was dealing with the loss of Spiderman. He'd disappeared about four weeks ago. Crime went up and people were still making a big deal of the whole thing. The Bugle was even putting out a reward for his whereabouts. It wasn't something to be taken lightly, really. Spiderman was missing… missing. What happened? Who could've taken down the masked vigilante? Or was he actually taken? Had he gone on vacation? No, Gwen had seen him and what he'd done. He cared too much. Did he retire? Quit? No. She refused to believe that.
She glanced at the small column in the Bugle for her friend and her hand flew to her mouth, covering it as she gasped. She glanced at the front cover and of the picture of Spiderman flying through the air.
He'd disappeared around four weeks ago… Peter having been gone for around five. Peter… he would have been noticed immediately, he had been. But Spiderman… Spiderman was different. No one knew who he was, they didn't know where he lived… it would take a while for them to notice he was missing. It had. How long had it been? A few days, no one was really sure actually…
And now…
Gwen glanced at the photo again and wiped a small tear away, tearing her eyes away, she turned toward her computer.
Who would she tell?
It would help… would Peter appreciate it or would he disapprove of it when they found him? Should she tell anyone? Mary Jane maybe, she would definitely want to know something like this… or not. Gwen frowned and turned away again, back toward the picture of her friend on the paper.
Wiping a tear away once more, she laid down and fell into a much needed sleep.
][][][ Three weeks ago:
His head hung, eyes downcast under that mask.
He knew who the man was. Daniel Marks. He'd failed to save his family, causing him restless nights for two months. His wife, his child; dead while he'd been saving others. He didn't know how much grief the man had gone through. One could only guess.
He was chained to a wall, arms strung up and legs pinned to it. He didn't know what the chains were made of, but he couldn't pull them from the walls. The only thing he could think of was adamantium. Maybe it made him weaker, because the more he tugged the more it hurt. Or maybe that was just his wrists; the chains dug into his wrists, causing him to bleed. His web shooters lay discarded and broken on the dirty, charred ground. A small barred window let in grayish light and gave no indication of where he was. No waves; he wasn't by the docks or warehouses near there. There were no car signs; he wasn't in the city. Nothing. Absolute silence except for the clanking of pipes above his head.
A steel door was at the end of the 6 x10 room. It slowly creaked open, years of rust causing it to get stuck. He was used to the sound and barely lifted his head when he heard it shut and footsteps walk toward him. He didn't move, made no indication if whether or not he was alive, no sound.
He felt someone grasp his jaw and he was jerked upward, a sharp pain in his shoulder from the bullet wound flashed through his body and he went rigid for a few seconds. Luckily the man had cleaned it out, poorly, but he'd done it nonetheless. Marks had explained it to him. The reason he was taken down so easily. The wind, that stupid wind, had done something to subdue his Spider-sense. It probably hadn't even been a real wind, most likely a chemical concoction that Marks had made. Peter grunted, shaking his head.
He felt a hand on the top of his mask and it was slowly taken off his face. It slipped off, sweat making it much easier than it should have been.
"Do you… really want to do that?" he asked, straining himself as he lifted his head to speak.
"Oh… I'm sure," Marks replied, and tore off the mask and threw it across the room. He turned back to the scared face of Peter Parker and frowned when he saw a mere teenage boy.
"I don't know who you are…" he muttered and then brightened up, a sadistic smile breaking on his face. "You're Peter Parker, the boy who went missing a few weeks ago…" Marks mused, a smirk crossing his face.
Peter's face got a pained look to it, yet he hung his head up high. unsure of what else to do, he glared at the man. Marks moved away and kicked the mask onto the ash covered floor. Peter glared at him and even struggled a bit against the restraints, but alas, it was a feeble attempt with a poor outcome. Marks laughed and walked out the door, slamming it so steel smashing against steel would echo across his holding cell.
Peter winced and looked down toward his mask.
Another thing lost.
Another second of it hurt.
][][][
Should Harry feel guilty?
Because he felt guilty.
He should be worried sick for his missing friend. Five weeks. He'd been gone for five or four weeks. Every time he thought about it, it seemed like the first time Gwen had told him. At first he'd been angry and then he didn't care and then he'd cried and then he had to apologize to Gwen for slamming the door in her face and then he just sat there in his bed trying to think of something.
When Gwen called he always snapped at her, telling her to bug off and that he didn't care. Yet he did.
How could he not? Peter had been his best friend since basically forever. And it was true, it wasn't his fault that Norman Osborn, Harry's dad, seemed to favor him.
Yeah, guilty was certainly the correct feeling.
Still he knew Gwen and her father were doing everything they could. Mary Jane ignored him at school, as did most everybody. Gwen tried to be nice, but he could tell she was angry with him.
Yeah, who could blame him. Well, nevermind… everyone blamed him.
Of course, he had been such a stubborn jerk that he hadn't gone to May Parker's funeral, which happened a week and a half ago. He'd gone a few days after it, just to pay his respects for the older woman. But, if they found Peter… he would be horrified. He didn't know now, and Harry knew that Peter was alive. He had to be.
He couldn't feel guilty.
But he did.
][][][ Two weeks ago:
Peter was awoken abruptly, his head being slapped to the side, jerking toward the wall and cutting his cheek by a nail sticking out.
His Spider-sense didn't seem to want to protect him, yet he felt a slight tingling in the back of his head. Maybe he was too weak to notice it, or maybe he couldn't move. It didn't matter, however, because he was still hurting either way.
Marks stood there, grinning. A table had been set up behind him. And there was a burlap sack placed on it next to a hose, which led out of the room. Peter had a sneaking suspicion of what it was.
"You see, I want to make this worthwhile, Because, I truly like your company. You're quiet, complain little, a little snarky here and there. But I've certainly broken you down. Now, just a bit more…" Marks laughed, slapping his right hand against his knees. Peter glared at him and bit back a stupid comment that would probably get him hurt even more.
Ah, screw it. What more could he lose?
"Aw, thank you so much. You warmed my little heart!"
Marks glared at him and stopped laughing, straightening himself and moved forward with a fist raised. With a surge of energy, Peter moved his head to one side and Marks's fist hit the sooty, black brick wall. It left a dent and a few of the bricks cracked, pieces falling to the floor. Peter blinked, having not known that Marks was that strong.
Was he an enhanced human too?
Because that would seriously suck.
"Quiet. You're lucky you're still alive and that you'll still be alive after this!" Marks snapped, eyes narrowing dangerously as he glared at Peter. The boy shrugged but inside he was panicking. Sure, he'd gotten death threats before. He'd worried over them but then the actual threat would always pass over once he'd defeated it. But this time he was trapped, weak, tired and hungry with a death threat. Maybe he should take it a tad bit more serious.
"Now, let us get started," Marks said, grinning. He took out a key from a pocket of his Armani jeans (Peter couldn't help but wonder why he would wear those while torturing someone but, eh, to each his own) and, before Peter could react, he punched him.
Groggily, his head fell down and black dots danced in his vision. He began to fall, but strong arms caught him and he was suddenly facing upward, more restraints. They kept him to the table, which was not tilting, his head on the lower end and his feet above him. Yeah, he had the strangest feeling he knew what was going on.
Marks stood over him and slipped the burlap sack on. Peter struggled, trying to get away, but his strength had depleted horribly and it was a trifle attempt.
"Get ready, I heard some spiders don't like water."
][][][
Mary Jane sat down next to Gwen at their table at lunch.
The blonde girl smiled up at her faintly, but then her head fell back in her arms. Mary Jane smiled back and rubbed the girls shoulder, not saying anything as they sat there. Ever since they realized Peter was gone, Gwen had been in hysterics trying to get people to find him. Harry certainly hadn't been any help in making her feel better. Gwen had called one day sobbing into the phone telling her that Harry had basically yelled at her and slammed the door in her face.
MJ called him and then yelled at him for yelling at Gwen. He hung up.
And now, it wasn't their problem if he was having stubbornness issues. Screw him and his jerky ways.
"Hey, how ya' doing girl?" she asked, hoping to get something out of her. Surprisingly, she did.
"I found something. They're connected."
MJ blinked and leaned forward, pushing her lunch away.
"What's connected?"
"Them being missing. Spiderman and Peter."
"Are you saying Spiderman took Peter and that's why he's missing?" Mary Jane asked, unsure of what else to say, as she couldn't see Spiderman doing such a thing.
Gwen shook her head, turning toward Mary Jane and sitting up. "No, I'm saying… just, follow me." MJ blinked when Gwen pulled her up and led her from the cafeteria.
They turned the corner, only to bump into Harry. Their old friend stood there staring at them and they at him for a few minutes. None of them moved. Harry swallowed and opened his mouth to speak. Gwen glared at him, pivoted on her heels and then gripped MJ's hand tighter and stalked off in the opposite direction. She should not have worn heels today. MJ sent a look toward Harry, one that said "not now" and then turned back toward her friend.
Gwen led her to the science room and closed the door. Mary Jane sat down on one of the tables.
"Okay, talk girl. You've got me curious."
Gwen nodded and breathed, by her facial expression she seemed hesitant to talk. "Okay, what I meant by "they're connected" is I meant… well, okay, you can't tell anyone! Got it?"
Mary Jane nodded, staring at the girl with curious but wide eyes.
"Okay, I figured out Peter and Spiderman… they're the same person."
Mary Jane blinked, staring at her friend like she was insane. "Huh?" Honestly, how could Peter be Spiderman. He couldn't climb walls… couldn't spin webs… heck, he couldn't even jump a fence!
"How-?"
"Look, I just… I guess I knew it all along… but not really, oh, I don't know! But don't you see it! Mysteriously disappearing, sudden bursts of strength, it's all there! Come on, MJ, you have to believe me!"
Mary Jane had to admit, now that she truly thought about it, Gwen might be right. But still, if he was Spiderman… they'd declared him dead after three weeks. Did that mean Peter was dead? No… that couldn't be right. He was strong… but he wasn't, but Spiderman was. And since Peter couldn't be dead… Yeah, okay, it was horrible reasoning but it was only what she had.
"Okay, so what now? We still have to find Peter… but, they've found nothing-"
Gwen's face fell downcast as this realization dawned on her. She nodded and sighed, sitting on the desk and pulling her knees to her chest. MJ smiled softly in her direction and sighed, standing up and giving her a comforting hug.
"Come on, we better get to class."
][][][ One Week ago:
Peter cracked one eye open, his eyes scanning around the room.
There was nothing really to see other than white light flooding in through the windows. His eyes racked the door and then he glanced at his restraints. He tugged lightly at the left one and then at the right. He thought about Aunt May and how she was holding up. She had lost Uncle Ben… it would hurt so bad if she lost Peter too. He couldn't let her down…
His thoughts flew to the chains as he tugged a bit once more. Had they simultaneously weakened? Or was he somehow getting stronger? He was hoping for the latter. He breathed deeply, getting ready to pull. Mustering up all his remaining strength he pulled on the right restraint. With an ear splitting crack he felt his arm almost be pulled from his socket as it was thrown forward by the chain, which was no longer against the wall. He smirked to himself and then managed to free, with the help of his left hand, his hand from the restraint.
His right then let his feet free and with his new found strength, he got his left arm free. He sat on the floor, rubbing his cut wrists and glancing around the room. The door might be a problem. Sure, he seemed to have a new found strength from no where, but that door was still made of steel. Normally, that wouldn't have been a problem for him. Marks was most likely drugging him. But he also had absolutely no clue who or what was on the other side of it. Marks could be standing there, or a few of his goons with their stupid enhancements (copycats) or guns. Frankly, he was wary to open it.
Glancing toward the window, a new idea popped in his head. If he could remove those bars, he'd be able to climb out; as he was lithe enough (and able) to get out. Struggling, he stood up. His legs feeling like jelly after being there for three or so weeks. Honestly, he didn't know. He jumped on the wall and climbed toward the window. Blinking, he looked again.
He was in a warehouse, in a self built room that Marks had probably made just for him. The warehouse was dank, dark, wet, smelly and empty. As most of them were, honestly. It seemed as if the stereotypical warehouse had to have standards checked by evil villains around the world. Must be dark: check. Must be dank: check. Must be wet(ish): check. Empty or full: either one is susceptible.
He gripped two of the bars and placed his feet on the wall, having no problem with staying up. He pulled with everything ha had (at the moment) and suddenly he was flying to the opposite wall. Flipping backwards, he pushed off with his feet when some strength returned and landed on the ground, two small metal poles in his hands. He stood up and laid them on the ground, hoping he hadn't made too much noise. He snatched the web shooters and glanced down at the warily. Examining it closer, he realized that they weren't broken to bad and he could fix with them without any special equipment. Once done, he sighed deeply and stared at the bar.
It hurt.
It really did.
Being held captive, really. Maybe not physically all the time, but sometimes mentally too. How was Aunt May holding up? Gwen? Mary Jane? He couldn't even bring himself to think about Harry. Guilt overrode him. Was Marks hurting them? He really didn't know if it was night or day, how long he'd been here; he could take an educated guess on that one and it would probably be wrong.
He jumped at the window once more and gripped the last bar, feet placed securely on the ground. He pulled, concentrating hard on the bar. He ripped it from the brick, pulling it loose and throwing it across the room all in one movement. Grinning he flipped to the back wall, hands against the wall. Shooting out two webs, he launched himself from the room and out the window.
Having not expected light, he shielded his eyes as a ray of sunlight hit his face. It was to bright to be sunlight… probably artificial light too confuse him. He smacked into the wall that had been across from the window. Sliding to the floor, he groaned and rubbed his eyes. Glancing around, he noticed someone had spraypainted "ACME Bubble gum Factory" on the wall. Rust from nails covered parts of the wall and slid down from the rain, as if they'd been painted there. Rubble and dirt made up most of the floor, though some places were flat and pretty clean.
Hey, at least he was out, right? Well, partially out anyway.
"You know, it'd be futile to run. There's nothing to run to anyway," Marks's voice rang around him. He jumped up and looked around, spotting the man as he exited the shadows.
"What do you mean?" Peter asked, glaring at Daniel Marks with ultimate hatred. It seemed Marks was the only man, other than Uncle Ben's killer, he truly hated. He steadied himself as Marks walked closer, he was donned by a trench coat and fedora and a pair of very nice loafers.
"I mean, there's nothing anymore. Your, er, Aunt May, was her name? Yes, well, she's dead," Marks stated bluntly, shrugging as he continued to move in a circle around Peter. His animalistic rage overwhelmed him and he snarled at the man, "You're lying! What did you do to her!"
"Lying, am I? My dear boy, Tt. Shame on you. Respect your elders dear boy. He flicked an old newspaper toward Peter. The boy didn't move to pick it up, simply glaring at Marks with a deadly look in his eyes. He was ready to faint, his legs wobbling as he stood there.
"Well, pick it up if you want to know."
Peter continued to glare at him but finally bent down slowly toward the paper. The page was open to number 16 of The Daily Bugle, "58 year old May Parker dies of heart attack". Peter stumbled back, dropping the paper on the dirty ground. He blinked a few times before finally looking at Marks. "You… you did this! How?"
"How, you ask?" Marks laughed, "Nothing. I suppose it just happened, God works in mysterious ways, dear boy. Now, you can leave or…"
"You think I'm going to stay?" Peter asked, actually laughing for the first time in weeks, yet it was a bitter cold laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. "I can easily get out of here. I've fought bigger things than you. Watch me," he growled and then leapt up in the air. He jumped up onto the wall and climbed to the ceiling, it ached his body, but he ignored the pain. The moment his hands touched the metal ceiling, shocks ran through his body. Bolts of electricity arched over his body and he screamed. It was bloodcurdling.
He fell to the ground, his head cracking on the cement. He feel unconscious, the face of Daniel Marks smirking over him his last sight.
Screw you.
His last thought.
][][][
Liz Allen stood outside of the school, waiting for Gwen and Mary Jane.
Normally, she wouldn't have hung out with them, especially after Peter broke up with her. But ever since he'd gone missing, she had been really supportive of the two girls. Sally couldn't understand why she was nice to them, but Liz had promptly told the girl to back off and then stalked away.
Both she and MJ had to help Gwen. The girl had been on full panic mode when they'd first heard the news from Aunt May. Liz couldn't blame her, really.
"Liz, can I talk to you for a few minutes!"
She turned to see Harry Osborn running toward her with his arms waving. She groaned and glared at him, the jerk. He had been no help on helping Gwen feel better. She remembered MJ having told her that she had yelled at him over the phone and he hung up on her. Rude.
"What do you want Harry? I have better things to do, like not talk to you," Liz replied dryly, glancing at the red head with a wary eye. Harry sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.
"Yeah, uh, hehe. Look, it's about Gwen and stuff… can you tell her-"
"If you're gonna ask me to pass on a message, don't. You have a mouth, use it."
Harry frowned, glancing down at the ground. Liz sighed and looked away, shifting her weight to her right leg, hugging her books tight to her chest.
"Okay… got it. But, will you at least speak to me?"
"We're talking now, aren't we?"
Harry's face went red, blushing as he realized this. "Uh, right. Hehe. Uh, look Liz. Thanks, but tell Gwen, please, that I really need to talk to her."
Liz sighed and glanced at him. The red headed boy was sending her a pouting slash puppy dog look. She groaned and stomped her foot on the ground, turning away and then spinning back toward him.
"Fine, but I really need to go. I'll pass on the message."
][][][ Five days ago:
He woke up to a TV screen.
Well, a television was set in front of him. It was blank, like the walls around him. It was pretty much pitch black, except for a flickering light from the outside. He was in a new room, with some sort of special glass that he couldn't break. It was completely concrete, with new restraints that completely covered his arms from his elbow past his hands.
They electrocuted them when he tried to move.
Hurt like crap too.
"Do you like it?" Marks's voice rang through the room, over the loud speaker that he had installed. "I figured you'd like something different for a change, Peter."
It was the first time since he'd been taken that Marks had actually said his name. It was either 'dear boy' or nothing at all. Frankly, it had annoyed him in the beginning. But now he was used to it. Being called Peter by Marks meant something that he really wasn't ready to acknowledge. At least it wasn't Stockholm Syndrome.
"Do we have Verizon now?" he asked out loud, his voice dripped with sarcasm, he glared around the room menacingly. He didn't know whether or not there was a camera in his room, but he figured there might be.
"Tt, dear boy. Don't get too excited now. Actually, I have a show for you. Hope you enjoy."
Suddenly, the screen turned on. It showed a part of New York City. People were walking, some calling cabs and others running through the waves of people. Peter glanced at the TV screen with longing eyes. He really wished he was being pummeled by those New Yorkers as he attempted to get through the crowd of people to school.
He glanced at the screen, curious as to what was going to happen. What was Marks showing him? Was there a point to this?
The screen was suddenly filled with fire as a building in the background exploded. Peter stared horrifyingly as he watched the flames fall on the hordes of people. He struggled against the restraints, yelling for Marks to stop. His heroes complex overcame him as he watched, a feeling of dread overwhelming his body. The flames, red and orange, died down. He continued watching, unable to pull himself away from the screen. People had died.
And he'd just watched.
][][][
Gwen had absolutely no idea what Harry wanted.
Frankly, she was fine on bailing on him at any moment. They hadn't talked in over a month. Heck, why now? Did he figure it out too? No, Harry despised Spiderman after what happened with his father. She'd wondered about that. Would Peter really kill his best friends dad? No. He wouldn't. Gwen knew that. So did MJ.
When Liz had told her Harry wanted to talk, she almost laughed. Yeah, why not? It was almost unbelievable as Peter being Spiderman had been. She laughed in her mind at least, and then Liz told her she was being serious and Gwen stiffened up and nodded. Then MJ changed the subject to clothes and they were off the matter altogether.
She had broken up with Harry a month after his father's death. The boy had just been too much. But, at least he was off the Gobulin Green. He was… a bit more uptight now, stubborn. A few more other things that Gwen didn't care to mention as well, but MJ had no problem saying them.
"Gwen, uh, hey!"
Gwen turned in the café seat and got a look at Harry. He was in his regular clothing and was grinning at her brightly. She smiled back, a bit more dryly, and turned back around, fingering her latte. Harry came and sat in the seat across from her. They sat in silence for a few moments, neither wanting to proceed.
"Hi, Harry," she finally said, glancing upward with turquoise eyes.
"Hey, um, we need to talk."
"No duh. Liz told me, that's why I'm here. Now go on, proceed."
He nodded immediately, wanting to avoid "The Look", and gulped a bunch of air. She stared him down, waiting for him to speak. The boy looked extremely confused and she couldn't blame him. But he really needed to get his act together. She needed help with Peter… she really did. He opened his mouth to speak, and, "I'm sorry."
][][][ Three days ago:
Even through everything, Peter couldn't help but wonder.
What if he'd never been Spiderman? Never got that stupid Spider bite, never dealt with anything other than school, bullies and a serious case of acne. It never had really bothered him before. At first, when he got his powers, it bothered him that he was a genetically enhanced human being that could climb walls, lift 60 tons and dodge bullets. But, after a while, it didn't bother him. Sure, that gene-cleanser had been pretty tempting at first, but he stopped Venom from pouring it down his throat.
He knew that if he hadn't become Spiderman, innocents would have died. Lots of them.
What about now? If he died here, which he didn't intend on doing, what would happen to everyone? Gwen? Mary Jane? His head hung at the thought of his Aunt May. It killed him inside to think that he hadn't been there to help, that he hadn't gone to her funeral. Who paid for it? They barely had any money anyway to begin with…
Still, he knew that if he got out of here, he'd make up for all the lost time.
"Peter, dear boy, you seem to be thinking about something. Nickel for your thoughts?"
"Nickel?" Peter snorted, "What happened to penny?"
"Inflation."
The teenager gave out a cold chuckle and looked away. His new restraints held him from lunging at Marks's voice, but he was at least able to glare around the concrete holding cell. He knew Marks had at least a few cameras in there, he would have had he become a villain and kidnapped someone.
"Okay, what do want Marks?"
"Dear boy, you are in no position to make demands."
"Fine… Why are you keeping me alive still, at least?"
Marks didn't answer for a while and Peter was left there thinking of whether or not he was going to answer. Probably not, but Peter wanted to know. Shouldn't he be dead by now. Sure, he had a few stab marks, nothing too deep, and the Waterboarding had been an awful experience, but he was yet to be killed. He'd been expecting it any day now. His shoulder throbbed every time he moved it, from that bullet wound that Marks had given him. It'd been healed slightly, the bullet removed while he'd been unconscious and a gauze had been placed over. Still, no painkillers or morphine. Though, he wasn't sure he wanted any. If Marks was going to kill him, he could easily do it with an overdose of morphine. That would suck though. "Spiderman killed by overdose of morphine!" Already he could see the Daily Bugle's title.
"You see," Marks began, "I enjoy the company. And, it's fun to torture you. Are you feeling the pain, the regret? The guilt? Do you miss your family? Dear Gwen Stacy? Or perhaps the girl, er, Mary Jane Watson I believe her name is? Hmm, honestly, it makes me wonder what's going on in that genius head of yours."
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Peter growled, glancing around the holding cell.
"Yes, I would."
If Peter had been a bit more awake (and not being held in one place) and had his Spider-sense been a bit more… sensing, he would have been able to dodge the bullet that pierced his abdomen. With a strangled cry, he choked, glancing down at the blood that oozed out of his stomach. He felt sick, watching it drip to the floor and mix with the dirt and grime. But the pain was unbearable. He choked, black dots dancing in and out of his vision as his hazel eyes searched the room for the weapon that hit him.
Finding nothing, he slumped over, his eyes fluttered and he fell into unconsciousness.
Death at his door.
][][][
"It's hiding in the dark… it's teeth are razor sharp… there's no escape for me it want's my soul it wants my heart… no one can hear me scream, maybe it's just a dream-"
"Mr. Thompson, if you will please stop that horrendous singing and read Homer's quote on page thirty-two?
Flash Thompson, Midtown High's football star and Gods gift to all women, looked up from his bad sketches of Spiderman toward the teacher. He glanced around the room, at the smirking and laughing kids, and then at the teacher. Mrs. Samuels did not look too pleased, standing up at the front of the room with her arms crossed and her mouth set in a frown.
"Uh, sure Mrs. Samuels," he replied, moving the sketches away and bring the book toward him, trying to be inconspicuous. "Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another," he read and then glanced back at the teacher, a small sheepish smile crawling up his face. Mrs. Samuels nodded, obviously pleased that at least Flash had been somewhat paying attention, even if he had been singing. "Yes, very well then. Miss Stacy, can you please explain to us what Mr. Thompson just read?"
Gwen looked up and nodded. Her turquoise eyes fell to the book in front of her. Famous quotes by Famous Men. Homer made up most of the book, as did Socrates. Yet so did Winston Churchill, C.S Lewis, Abraham Lincoln, and a few more. Gwen had already read the book twice through, finding it interesting to determine what the men had meant. She, Peter and Harry used to do it before… before everything changed.
"Yes, Mrs. Samuels. My… own guess is that it meant Homer hates someone who hides behind a façade? He dislikes those who… are hypocritical?" Gwen asked, sounding unsure as she stared at the page before her. No one said anything, simply staring at the blonde girl.
Mrs. Samuels snapped out of it and quickly looked away when Gwen cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. "Uh, correct, Miss Stacy. That is precisely what Homer is implying. Uh, Mr. Glebe, please read C. S. Lewis's quote on page forty-five."
Don't let your victories go to your head… or your failures to your heart… -Unknown.
][][][ One Day ago:
He failed.
After everything… he'd failed. Somehow, this bothered him. How could he fail? He was the amazing Spiderman! This wasn't supposed to happen! He was supposed to live his life, to continue moving on; saving people and moving forward, not dwelling on the past. How could have this happened?
Peter pulled at his restraints and the electric shocks danced up and down his arms. He didn't even bother to scream, it hurt too much to open his mouth even to cry out in pain.
Was that sad?
He thought so.
He even failed to escape.
He failed.
][][][
Mary Jane stood outside the classroom waiting for Gwen to come out.
Everyone exited out, except Gwen Stacy. The redheaded girl looked for her friend, even pushing a few people out of the way just to make sure she wasn't being avoided.
"Flash!" she yelled, grasping him and spinning him around with surprising force. The jock looked at her and blinked, unsure of what to say. "Have you seen Gwen? She was supposed to meet me after Literature."
Flash shrugged, tugging himself out from the girl's grasp. MJ frowned and glanced at the classroom and then back at Flash, waiting for an actual response.
"Oh uh, she went to the bathroom and then never came back. Mrs. Samuels figured she was feeling sick. Can I go now?"
Mary Jane sighed and waved him away, dismissing him like some lost puppy. Poor boy, he'd been without his bag for four or so weeks, it must be torture. Mary Jane flinched and decided not to use that word, might be a bit harsh. There had actually been some sort of change in him. He wasn't as loud and obnoxious; nor as much of a sourpuss butt-face. Still annoying, but not as much.
"Thanks," she muttered to no one in particular. Turning, she walked down the hall to Biology, frowning all the way.
Gwen never bailed on her.
Ever.
Something was wrong.
][][][ Two hours ago:
He'd actually been rather well fed by Marks. At least he wasn't being starved to death, that would suck. If anything, he wouldn't like to drown. Being with Marks after the Waterboarding had been enough… he didn't need to experience it again.
But… he hadn't been fed since yesterday. His stomach tightened into knots and it hurt to breathe, the stomachache making it impossible to find a position to reduce the pain. But that might've been the restraints. Who knew? He didn't know what time it was… but he knew it might've been sometime in the afternoon.
The empty pit in his stomach grew the more he thought about food. Letting out a small whimper, he shifted in his restraints and let his head sag. He let out a deep sigh and glanced at the door, hoping maybe that Marks would walk through with that wonderful stale bread and crappy ham.
Food glorious food…
Yeah, that'd be nice.
His stomach growled and he groaned from the physical pain it was causing him.
He was being starved.
][][][
Gwen sluggishly walked toward the girls bathroom.
Her movements were muted, her eyes downcast, and she passed everything without truly looking at it. Things seemed to do that now; simply pass by and she never realized it. She answered direct questions and only talked when spoken to. The only people she would do otherwise is with Liz (they'd become friends) and Mary Jane. No, she wasn't depressed… just… lost. Besides, if anything… Peter was okay and nothing was wrong… he was just sick, or on vacation with his aunt…
That's what she told herself most days.
Suddenly, she felt someone roughly grab her arm. She struggled, her mind flying into panic mode as she tried to get the strangers arms away from her. Whoever it was put a cloth around her face. She remembered, in a brief moment of calmness, what the man/woman was doing to her. The cloth was probably drugged and, as she ran out of air, Gwen knew it was either fall unconscious from lack of oxygen or fall unconscious from breathing in the sickly sweet toxin. In a split second, she breathed it in and fell to the floor unconscious, her head cracking against the linoleum floor.
][][][ Five minutes ago:
Black dots danced in and out of his vision as he attempted to keep his head straight. They fluttered, hazel eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep and tears that caressed his face. He shifted, as much as he could, and tried to tug against the restraints. A bolt of electricity raced down but it didn't bother him, the numb feeling that overtook his body subduing the pain into the back of his mind.
It overwhelmed him and soon, he was unconscious.
][][][ One Minute ago:
Peter's head snapped up.
Struggling. There were shouts, movements, behind that steel door. Peter strained himself to listen, lifting his head up and moving the hazel eyes toward the door. The one thing between him and freedom… oh, and the restraints. One of the things between him and freedom.
He heard someone coming toward the door and a thump probably a few feet from the door.
The door.
Was it going to move?
Something clicked and the door slowly creaked open. Marks walked in, moving forward without a word. Peter said nothing, his head hanging. But… Marks left the door open. Why? Why would he leave it open. Marks walked forward and toward the restraints that kept Spiderman at bay. There was a hissing noise as Marks unlocked them. What was going on? Suddenly, he felt weightless and the floor seemed to get closer.
He hit it with a thump but made no move to get up. He knew he couldn't. It hurt too much. Every second of it…
He felt arms lifting him up and hauling him over their shoulder. His eyes fluttered shut, but he heard everything. There was a gasp, a very girlish one, and a chuckle. Clanking of pipes echoed in the background, and dripping water made a pinging noise. He was thrown on the ground rather roughly and he groaned.
Trying to sit up, he pushed with his arms and mustered enough strength to sit up. He turned around to glare at Marks… and a gasp escaped his lips.
Gwen.
He held her, a knife to her throat. "I… want you to suffer, just like I did," Marks yelled, his eyes narrowed as he pressed the knife in harder to her throat. Her eyes widened as she stared at Peter helplessly, stiff in her position. Her mouthed formed one word… Peter.
"Marks," he begged, breathing hard as he eyed the knife, "leave… leave her alone… she has noth… nothing to do with this."
"Nothing?" Marks screeched, "Nothing! She has everything to do with this! Just like my wife… like my son… I'll make you suffer… make her… suffer…" his voice faded and the knife pressed in just a little harder. A small speck of blood popped out and rolled down her neck. Peter let a growl rip from his throat and suddenly, strength surged through him. He stood up, glaring daggers at the man that held Gwen.
His hands curled into fists and his chest heaved. He breathed deeply, red rimmed his vision. Rage rolled off him like waves from the ocean. The drop of blood, the single dot of red against her pale skin… it spilled down like it was nothing.
In a split second of blind rage, Peter lunged at Marks. Everything moved in slow motion, his hearing went in and out, his sight set on one man. He hit Marks and sent him tumbling. Gwen fell over to the side and she scrambled away. He grabbed the knife from Marks… and then… it was all a blur…
There was a shot.
A scream.
He was falling.
He hit the ground, his body thumping against the concrete.
The knife had left his hand. Stuck in Marks's heart.
Peter glanced up, throbbing in his ears. Marks slowly glanced down at the knife stuck in his chest. He slowly moved to grasp the handle but his hand merely grazed the handle, his fingers brushing against the wood. He fell to the ground… dead.
Peter sighed deeply and rolled over. He breathed and Gwen's face appeared before him. Was he talking? He couldn't tell.
It was peaceful. No noise, it was silent. His vision began to fade, the darkness engulfing the already grey light. He grabbed Gwen's hand, watching as tears fell from her face. His eyes fluttered shut.
Four weeks.
It took four weeks, for Spiderman, for Peter Parker, to die.
I understand if I'm flamed or if it is disliked…
I hope you take your time to review the story that I wrote, that took me four or so, maybe five, days to write. Maybe a week. Thank you for reading. :)
Review.