Trigger warning: suicide attempt (spoilers, sorry)

When the teen woke the second time he was greeted by wary figures, the closest of which was more than a metre away. They were speaking to him. A cuff around his wrist fixed his arm to his chair, but gave him mostly free movement.

He noticed none of this, as he was too focused on the cold feeling of metal around his neck and the cold feeling in his blood of his missing powers.

He had known it would happen eventually. In all honesty, he was used to the collar, to the slightly stiff feeling of being seperated from his only defence. To being helpless.

He was even used to being terrified of imminent pain. Why else would they keep him like this, ready for torture? Absentmindedly, he ran his nails across the bare skin of his left forearm, drawing blood and reminding himself that the Disciples could cause far worse pain than these people, that he couldn't give into their demands no matter what.

He knew firsthand that they would do whatever it took to assure his loyalty. He knew that each scrap of information forced out of him was another hour of pain.

He knew that if he got it in his head that these people could offer him anything outside of his work for The Disciples they would take away the only thing he had made out of his life - his Secret. They didn't know about his Secret but he would lose it all the same, and that terrified him far more than anything else.

However, at that moment, the sinking feeling of knowing that giving in to the pain would only equal more pain, that was unfamiliar. That was what scared him.

"Pete, are you even listening?" Tony was at his wit's end. The kid had...had hulked out, for lack of a better word - his claws, his eyes, his anger, his savagery, they were all new and terrifying - but now he was acting like a zombie. Like nothing had even happened.

His only movement was the rhythmic stroking of his wrists, presumably something to keep him calm. He didn't need to worry about that, the collar would keep his powers from hurting anyone. He hated to use it, he really did, but it was the only thing that could regulate Peter's highly unstable powers, and they couldn't let him freak out again.

Natasha was draped over a loveseat, bandages around her front clearly visible, but at least not red. Clint had a bandage around his neck, but Peter had missed his vital arteries and instead dug his claws into minor ones. Bruce was the worst affected, actually. He had left to compare his blood with Peter's, afraid to be in the same room with the kid in case he hurt him again.

Steve kept talking to Peter in a calm, soothing voice. Everything he said seemed to be spot on, but Peter really did appear to be deaf.

Peter suddenly stopped stroking his wrist and covered it with his sleeve. He then pulled his knees in further so that he was in a ball and turned his head away from everyone.

Sighing, Tony go up and went over to the kid, making sure that his movements were slow so he didn't startle him.

Peter didn't respond.

"Pete."

The kid was quiet.

Tony placed a hand on his shoulder. Peter shoved him, hissing and baring his pointed teeth. Tony leapt away, then felt upset to have shown fear, certain it would just distress Peter further.

Sitting at the minimum safe distance, Tony said, "Nobody is angry with you. This isn't your fault. We can teach you to control this."

Peter growled quietly.

"We're not moving until you at least respond to us."

Peter stared into his elbow, pulling himself into a tighter curl that must have been painful.

"Pete, just say something, one word, and then we're done with this, okay?"

Peter turned to look at him, his expression blank. The only emotion that could be seen was in the red chips in his eyes, which were the same size as the brown.

"We only want to help you, Peter." Tony offered him his hand, wanting to comfort his friend. Peter's free hand remained around his knees.

Peter opened his mouth, his eyes wide and feeling for a second, the red chips shrinking, before the coldness returned and he closed it. His eyes regained their crimson and he turned back into the couch, shutting them out again.

Tony managed to blink away his tears at the dismissal. "Okay, kid, we can try again tomorrow. We're gonna watch a movie now, you want to join in?"

Peter didn't respond.

"You seem pretty tired, do you want to go to bed?"

He got a shrug in response, but took it as a yes.

Steve got up and removed Peter's cuff. The teen got up, staring at the floor and hugging himself for reassurance - some things never change - and followed Steve to his room.

Tony heard Steve's voice, low and encouraging, though he couldn't make out his words. The soldier came out a minute later, shaking his head. Tony rubbed his eyes, feeling old and tired.

"Jarvis?"

"Yes, Mr Stark?"

"Let me know if Pete...I don't know...just keep me posted."

"Of course, Sir."

They put on a film that nobody felt like watching and sat in silence.

Half an hour into the movie they stirred as the ceiling spoke again.

"Sir!"

Everybody leapt out of their seats, looking at Peter's door in unison.

"Mr Parker is severely injured."

They needed no further encouragement. They burst into Peter's room to find it empty, though the bathroom door was open.

Peter looked up at them, eyes wide with terror, when they entered, but they were too preoccupied by the blood on his wrists to notice. Hurriedly, Peter tightened his grip on a shard of glass and cut more lines in his pale skin. Blood flowed swiftly from his palm and from the deep scarlet slashes.

"Nonononononono." Tony threw himself forwards and pulled the glass away from him. Peter struggled, but, cut off from his strength by the collar, he could do nothing when Steve pinned his injured wrist and forced his right hand away. His hand opened and the glass shattered, the noise strangely loud.

Steve pressed his weight on Peter's wrist to stop the circulation. Peter's struggles grew weaker, which could have been a good thing if his face hadn't gone white and slack.

Tony said every reassuring thing he found think of, clutching Peter in a panic. Blood smeared on his expensive suit. Peter fought and growled and struggled with all his lessening strength, but they refused to let him die.

Bruce came in with a medical pack - he must have been alerted by Jarvis as well - and immediately injected something into Peter's neck, making him go limp. He cleaned his arm, stitched it, and wrapped it tightly in thick bandages. Almost as an afterthought, he dealt with the cut on his hand, which, despite being large enough to need stitches, seemed insignificant.

Unable to think straight, Tony kept his fingers pressed to Peter's chest, almost sobbing with relief every time he felt his heartbeat. Losing Peter after looking for him for so long was unthinkable.

When Bruce had finished his ministrations, Peter was carried back to his spot on the sofa, and his uninjured arm was cuffed there. Bruce went off to get some kind of blood substitute to give to Peter (his awkward genetics meant that normal blood wouldn't do the trick), and left the rest of them to wonder what they were supposed to do.

Yeah, so this is a thing I did. I'm very sorry. I think. Let me know what you think if you feel like reviewing.