Somehow he's transported to a dilapidated warehouse that smells like a revolting mix of gasoline and urine. Two men tower over him, laughing as they kick the living shit out of him and all he can do is try to protect his skull from being crushed in. The distinct cackle reverberates in the hallowed building and he thinks madly that it would be better suited for an evil woodland creature than the ugly guy whose half his size. He remembers rolling onto his back, feeling his eyes swell shut and waiting to see if he'll die that day.
He didn't—but he thinks it wouldn't have been entirely a terrible thing because it would have saved him from enduring his brain boiling in his skull at this moment.
It feels like a two-by-four colliding with his nose and he clutches his face instinctively, staggering into Olivia and knocking her off balance as she tries to keep him upright. Focusing his eyes is a test in futility; the pain little spots of exploding light speckling his surroundings.
Olivia exclaims somewhere behind him and shouts his name as hands grip his jacket and spins him into the cold brick of the building and slamming him hard against it. He feels the whoosh in his chest as the air is forced out of his lungs.
"Welcome home, Bishop," a voice cackles low in his ear and Peter's pain turns instinctually into fear. He reacts without thinking, clenching his hands into tight fists beside his head.
He pushes against the wall as adrenaline fuels him, forcing his eyes open as he pivots to throw a punch at the man holding him, connecting with a wet thud to the side of his jaw. He heaves a foot and kicks, the gunman losing his balance and slipping backward on the ground, freeing Peter.
He spins on his heel to search for Olivia, finding her as she throws an uppercut to the dark-haired guy who's got a hold of her. Peter feels a surge of pride watching as the man's head whips back, but it's short-lived. She doesn't stand a chance: the guy's size dwarfs her and he's cocking an arm back when Peter breaks into a sprint and wraps his arms around him; his momentum propelling him against the concrete of the sidewalk and away from Olivia.
"Get the hell out of here," He shouts as he struggles with the massive weight of the guy beneath him. She whirls in the other direction, pulling her cell phone out of her coat as she's sprinting, but the two men from the bar have caught up to them; the big one stepping from around the corner and Olivia notices a second too late.
She bounces off him with a grunt, he grabs the front of her shirt and clamps a hand over her mouth—her phone slips and lands on the sidewalk, Peter prays she got the call out before the second guy stomps on it, crunching it against the concrete.
"Not so fast there, sweetheart," he chuckles as he leans close to Olivia's face as she struggles against him. The other man watches with a sickening bemused expression, engraging Peter and he's up and running toward her in an instant, but he's stopped in his tracks when someone tackles him from behind, knocking him against the ground with a thud and he tastes blood.
He tries to call out to her, but he can only spit blood, trying to shove the arms that are pinning him down. He's flipped onto his back gruffly, and his attention is focused intently on the barrel of the gun that's pointed at his face and he stops; raising his arms in surrender. The man holding it is greasy and dark-haired; his foot pressing hard on Peter's chest as he chuckles like a weasel. Peter remembers the last he saw him it took two weeks for his ribs to heal.
"Nice to see you again, Bishop." The gun is pressing hard against his temple, adding to the excruciating pounding from his broken nose.
"Hey there, Tony—didn't notice you there." Peter deadpans, sparing a glance above him to check for Olivia. She's close; the big guy wrenching her arm behind her and clamping a hand over her mouth, but she was alive, for now.
Tony flicks his head and Peter is jerked up by the very sour looking guy he punched earlier; he feels a little smug at the red imprint of his knuckles on his face even as he's being shoved back into the wall and patted down angrily.
"Easy boys," Peter warns; his voice dark and dangerous. His mind is whirling furiously, leveraging the probability of his chances of surviving if he made a swipe at the gun Tony had fixed on him: the way Tony's finger twitched around the trigger told him it was a poor bet. He stayed pinned against the wall and started figuring out a new plan.
"Aren't you going to introduce us?" Tony asks airily, like they were old friends running into each other at the supermarket. Peter's blood boils as Tony makes his way over to Olivia—keeping his gun pointed at Peter as he gives her the once over. Olivia's eyes are hard and cold, the rest of her face obscured by the massive paw clamped over her mouth, smothering her nose and forcing her breath to come out in shallow little whistles.
"What's your name, love?" Tony asks. Olivia rebukes with a nasty stare and Tony cocks his head as he looks at her, muttering a mild, "Marcus, see if you can get pussycat here to answer " and the guy holding her arm twists it, muffling her scream as he bends it at an awful angel and Peter's pushing against the arms holding him, rage and disgust bubbling through.
"Go to hell!" Peter yells, heaving himself away from the wall and slapping away the arms holding him. "She's just some piece of tail I was trying to score at the bar. She's nobody." His face feels hot and he's almost sure he could breathe fire at the moment.
Tony has the gun aimed at his chest again, but Olivia's screaming stops—she sags against Marcus and Peter's brow is furrowed low on his forehead, he's hunched over and murderous; trapped by the gun pointed at him.
Tony scratches the barrel of the gun against his temple, eyes shooting between Olivia and Peter, trying to piece together their connection. He focuses back to Olivia, his face painted between forced regret and amusement as he leans too close to her, running the barrel around her face delicately and watching Peter with a quirked eyebrow when he shoves it to the underside of her chin, pushing her head backward. Peter takes a heavy unintended step in their direction, and it was all the clarification Tony needed.
"What's the name, love? Please don't make my associate snap your goddamned arm off this time." The hand is removed from her mouth and she spats out, "Olivia."
"You have a last name, Olivia?" Tony rolls her name around on his tongue as he continues to wind the gun around her face. Peter's back is rigid; his hands sitting roughly on his hips as he bores his sight onto Olivia, praying she knows where this is going. He's practically shouting, You're not a cop! so loud in his mind that he's given himself a new wave of nauseating pain.
Olivia's eyes dart to Peter briefly before back to staring at the man holding the gun below her left ear.
"It's Scott. Olivia Scott."
Peter balks for a moment. Something about the fact she uses her dead ex-lover's surname as her cover bothers him more than he'd care to deal with at the moment. But he dismisses it—focusing on his breathing instead, she was playing along.
"And what do you do, Olivia Scott?" Tonys asks, leaning low to her face.
Olivia smiles grimly, her lip twitching like it had in the bar. "I work at the Container Store."
Tony leans and flashes a wicked smile at Peter, pulling wrapping his hands around Olivia's shoulder in a seemingly friendly way; but it was much more menacing the way he glared at Peter. He cocks the gun and shoves it hard against the side of her face, his eyes never leaving Peter's face.
"C'mon Tony—fuck yourself!" Peter's anger is rising again, running his hands through his hair gruffly to keep him from losing it. Tony pulls the gun away from Olivia's face and strides back to where he was standing, and Peter breathes a little easier—up until the point Tony shoves the gun against the bridge of his nose. Peter fears his head might split open from the pain; he hears himself yelling, but it sounds distant and foreign. His eyes slam shut against the pain and the laughing continues around him.
Through the haze and darkness, he hears Tony directing the others: "Take 'em both," and he barely has time to register the implication of the words before the butt of the gun connects with the back of his skull, turning the barely contained fire into a raging inferno. Peter hears Olivia calling out to him, but he's unable to respond; his eyes are rolling back and he loses himself once again to the darkness.
