Author's Note: Apologies on the delay. Had some health challenges and lost my writing groove when I finally made it home.

Chapter 6 – To the Bone

It wasn't exactly a new game for Tony, playing to the media. His love hate relationship with journalists over the years had taught him how to tango, sometimes a little too literally. Today Pepper would technically be leading the dance. With some carefully worded tips to a handful of trusted media contacts, it hadn't taken much to make sure the anonymous leak would be treated with less skepticism than most anonymous information. Early Friday morning, all the major news networks had broken the internment scandal as someone had coined it early on.

Inside his suit, Tony could hear Pepper talking to a room full of media, spinning the story they agreed on, preparing them for what he and Vision had already confirmed was waiting inside the subterranean military base just beneath them.

They were about to break into an actual U.S. military base and were not planning to spend any time in jail afterwards. Pepper saw the loophole they were exploiting almost immediately. After receiving their anonymous information leak, the Avengers submitted a Request for Action through the accords council (excluding the U.S. representative) and received majority approval without a hiccup. Under sanction of the Sokovia Accords, the Avengers were investigating the unlawful detention of U.S. citizens outside Mesa Arizona, perfectly legally.

"The Avengers received the same anonymous cache of information that you all have been reporting about since early this morning. Rest assured that Ironman is personally investigating the situation and if there is any validity to these outrageous claims, the situation will be handled in a calm, lawful manner. As we speak, Ironman and Vision are inspecting the facility described in the released documents and I'd like to provide access to Ironman's helmet camera so that all of you can watch his visual inspection and judge for yourselves."

"Ready for your closeup, Vision? F.R.I.D.A.Y. is taking us live in ten seconds." Tony gestured for Vision to lead the way forward. A green light went on and Tony started talking, more to inform their television audience than anything. "We're going to ask politely for admittance and if we meet resistance, we're going use some basic non-lethal infiltration and restraint techniques."

Surprisingly or maybe not so surprisingly, the guards stood down when faced with two Avengers and let Tony and Vision enter with only a call to their commanding officer. Vision scouted ahead, phasing through walls and locating the detained civilians. Per Tony's request, he found the most mundane, innocent looking enhanced civilian of the group and led Tony directly there.

Middle-aged and balding, the man seemed ready to cry at the sight of Ironman outside his cell. "Are you here to help us? No one will tell me why I'm here. My name's Doug Newcomb. I'm from Virginia. They took my I.D. but you can call my wife, Debra, and she'll tell you who I am."

"Remain calm," Vision said. "We must determine who is here and seek clarification of the situation before taking action." Careful to not show any enhanced individuals that looked anything but wholesome and innocent while the cameras were playing, Tony moved from cell to cell, meeting people and assuring them that help had arrived.

"Pepper, I'm closing the live feed now. It looks like the shielding is going to block the signal when we go down the next level."

"Thanks, Tony." Pepper didn't comment on the signal they had discussed for when they found Bruce. A reunion with the Hulk might be simple and painless or it could involve a lot of painful smashing. The cameras didn't need to see that either way.

The Hulk's cell was by necessity quite a bit lager than the average. Sitting quietly with his hands gripping his knees, the big green guy gave no sign that he had sensed their arrival. If the report they'd been given was accurate, the cell was being constantly circulated with a three percent sedative designed specifically to work on the gamma radiation monster currently breathing it.

When designing the drug, his and Bruce's goal had been to create a gas that would knock out the Hulk and bring Bruce back. The result had a hypnotic effect on the Hulk, calming him but they had never been able to reengage Bruce while the hulk was under its effect. They had declared it virtually useless and filed it away as a dead end.

"Big guy, can you hear me?" Tony asked. Slowly the Hulk turned his way, but no sign of recognition or emotion sparked. "A lot of folks have been very worried about you. You want to go home, big guy?"

Even through the drugs, the Hulk seemed to hear that last bit and nodded once gravely.

True to his word, Deadpool didn't linger long the next day. On his way out the door, he had set Peter a task, a final exam of sorts.

"If you get out of the cuffs. I'll take you home when I get back. If they're still on, you stay, capiche?"

Deadpool hadn't exactly given him a chance to protest or complain. Forget that he had spent his first days here doing nothing but trying to slip his cuffs, Peter had drifted without a good idea for two days before it hit him. The small cache of tools he had used to fix Al's television hadn't made a single dent in the sturdily built metal cuffs, not in the beginning and not now, but Peter selected the claw hammer from the pile and took it to the kitchen. He could hear the familiar sounds of Matlock from the living room and he was glad Al would be at least a little preoccupied while he decided if he could do this.

The cuff ran from his elbow all the way to his wrist, tapering down cleanly so that there was a tiny bit of breathing room near the elbow and a snug fit at his wrist. The cuff would turn with a bit of effort. He didn't have tools to break down the metal, but all he really had to do was get his hand past the wrist hole. Placing his right hand flat on the table he chewed his lip and tried to decide how best to make his hand small enough to slide the cuff cleanly off.

Popular cinema encouraged dislocating one's thumb when faced with a cuff to slip, but that hadn't worked out for him when he tried it at the beginning of the summer. Aside from some unpleasant thumb pain, he hadn't gotten anywhere. Critically, Peter palpated the bones in his hand and wrist, comparing them against the tube he had to slip them through. Taking slow, measured breaths, Peter hefted the hammer with his left hand and took a swing.

He knew he hadn't swung the hammer hard enough, even when it ricocheted back painfully. Hissing, Peter pulled his right hand to his chest. "You can do this," Peter whispered. "If you don't get clear of these cuffs Deadpool is going to keep you here forever. You can't do that to May. You can't do that to yourself. It's a broken bone. You've broken bones before. As fast as you heal, it won't even be broken for that long. It's just a little pain."

He'd broken bones and it had been a shock and it had hurt and maybe he couldn't do this to himself?

"Have you thought about numbing it up a bit first?" Standing in the door to the kitchen, Al made her way to Peter. She patted his shoulder and gently lifted his arm. "Brachial plexus runs through the shoulder. You hit it hard, right there, the arm will probably go numb for a bit and give you a chance to work."

"This is stupid. I'm not going to break my hand the get the cuff off," Peter said. "He will just have to give me another final exam. This one is impossible."

"Maybe he will, but if you really want to go home, I'd suggest you slip those cuffs. Deadpool likes you and he's enjoyed you. Don't give him an excuse to keep you." Al held her hand out and waited for Peter to give her a chance to feel the problem for herself. "If it weren't so tight at the wrist or so damn long. You're going to have to break at least one metacarpal to squeeze it through. I can help you try and get the hand numbed but you're enhanced. I doubt I could break the bone for you even with a hammer. Do you want to try this?"

"Not really." Peter really didn't want to be stuck here, not for another day if he could help it. "But I don't have much of a choice. Let's try to numb it."

It took a little finagling, but they finally managed to stretch the nerve in his arm just right and all his fingers went tingly. Moving too fast to think about it, Peter slapped the numbed hand on the table and swung his hammer to snap the long, delicate bone closest to his thumb. A second later the hammer hit the floor with a single thump and Peter was screaming. Snap was such an inadequate word for what he had done to himself with the hammer. It felt Like a bomb full of knives had exploded in his hand. Their crude attempt to numb the operation had failed miserably.

Al grabbed his shoulder and shook his uninjured arm. "If we don't get the cuff off before you start to heal, it was a waste. I'll help you, but let's move."

Peter nodded but he wasn't much help, only barely managing to leave his arm extended as Al forced his broken hand out of the long cuff he'd been wearing for almost two months now. It hurt too much for him to feel any of the relief he should when the cuff slipped clear of his hand. Cradling his broken hand to his chest, Peter wiped the tears off his face with his good hand, ridiculously glad that Al was blind and wouldn't know he was crying.

"Kid, I need you to lay your hand flat as you can again so I can make sure the bones are lined up so they heal right." Al patted the table and extended her hand palm up. Reluctant to punish himself any further, Peter forced himself to let her check it. With gentle efficiency Al slid her deft fingers up and down the planes of his hand, warning him if she needed to make an adjustment only briefly before shifting the fragment. Peter stared at the thick, spidery old-lady veins on top of her hand and couldn't help wondering if Deadpool had ever played games with his other hostage that involved broken bones or penetrating injuries.

"How is it that you know about brachial plexuses and metacarpals and setting bones? Were you a doctor?" Peter asked.

Al shook her head and half-smiled. "Deadpool kills people for pleasure and profit. When I was young, I killed people for ideals in service of my government. Folks that kill for a living tend to know the human body. It's the instrument of our life's work."

He didn't pull his hand back in shock and he couldn't really say that he was surprised. Al had told him she wasn't an innocent old lady. "Which government?" Peter asked.

"Doesn't much matter, kid. I've been retired for years. My perspective about patriotism isn't what it used to be." Al shook her head. "You heal fast according to Deadpool. He'd already be healed, but he can regrow limbs. Does it still hurt?"

"It still aches, but not like it did."

Al covered his hand before he could try to move it. "Let's keep it flat for a bit just in case, yeah?"

"Thanks for helping me." Peter didn't bother wiping the tears on his cheek this time, just glad that his voice was clear and steady.

"You are very welcome, kid."

When Deadpool finally dropped back in on his roommates, he found them sitting together on the couch, eating popcorn and watching the news. "Hola, mis amigos!" With a flourish, Deadpool settled between the two of them, an arm around each of their shoulders. "So, what are we watching? Not more Ironman closeups? I guess he did do what I asked him to do but what a fucking diva, spewing it all over the media like that. I'd have just let the detainees out and then blown the joint up. No muss no fuss."

"I think an exploded military complex is the definition of muss," Al said.

"And by involving the media, the people who did this in secret will have a harder time doing it again," Peter added. "Don't you agree?"

"It would have been better with an explosion," Deadpool complained, petulantly. "Someone else did what I asked him to do." Deadpool inspected Peter's arms and legs cursorily. "And you're already healed up too."

"You said I could go home if I got the cuffs off, so I got them off," Peter said.

"And what did you learn?" Deadpool asked.

It was a struggle for Peter not to put some distance between himself and Deadpool, but he knew better that to disrupt the friendly camaraderie the conversation had started with. No, he steeled himself to put on his calm face and discuss whatever his kidnapper required. "I learned that my brachial plexus can best be stretched by jamming my shoulder on the back of a kitchen chair. I learned that while your hand goes numb when you do that, it doesn't stay that way especially if you've broken a bone. I learned that it takes about an hour for the worst of the healing to pass when mending a bone, but the appendage doesn't really start to feel normal again for ten hours or so."

"And?" Deadpool asked, drawing the word out dramatically.

"Uh, I learned that sadomasochists are insane. Pain is just painful, not pleasurable." Peter shrugged, groping for whatever lesson Deadpool meant for him to glean from the forced mutilation. "Metal is harder to break than bone? What do you want me to say?"

"Oh Spider-Kid, you learned that pain doesn't kill you. You learned that your healing factor can do a Hell of a lot for you if you can bear the pain." Deadpool ruffled Peter's hair and bounced to his feet. "I guess it's really time to send you home. Come on, I have some things for you."

A pink backpack with skulls and knives drawn on it in sharpie, appeared on the kitchen table. Deadpool opened the main compartment and pulled out a fistful of M.R.E.s and an old Playboy from the eighties. He rummaged around for a bit longer before finally extracting a red and blue spider-suit. "Now this isn't fancy like the suit Stark made you, but you need a backup that doesn't tie you to that asshole. It's got Kevlar in the weave and I think I got the pattern right." He held up a fluffy white ball. "Detachable rabbit tail for old time's sake."

"Thanks?" Peter said.

Deadpool repacked the backpack and thrust it at Peter. "I promised myself I wouldn't cry. Come here little guy."

Not fleeing in the face of Deadpool's overly enthusiastic hug took every bit of Peter's self-control, but he let his kidnapper hug him and cry on him and pet him on the head. When the histrionics were over, Deadpool opened a portal into a very familiar living room in Queens and dropped Peter through it.

"May?" Peter called. "I'm home."

No one answered and for the moment simple privacy was a relief. Fleeing to his room, Peter stuffed everything from Deadpool (the knives, the clothes, the extra suit) into the pink backpack and stowed it in the back of his closet. He closed the door and sank into his desk chair. He was really home? He still smelled Deadpool and his home. Peter's senses were too acute to miss the residue that clung to his very skin.

Turning the shower as hot as he could stand, Peter tried to wash away every particle of his summer, determined to be clean and clear at least superficially.

When May finally made it home she found her nephew half-asleep on the sofa. She hugged him and cried on him, but it was so different than the same act from Deadpool. Peter felt safe and relaxed. He let her fuss over him and feed him and when she asked him if he was okay, he lied. "I'm fine. He locked me up with another hostage and pretty much left me alone all summer. It wasn't very fun, but it wasn't terrible either." Peter made himself smile, trying to sell the tame version of his summer. "Really, it was mostly boring."

"Okay," May said. "Okay. It could have been worse, then. We should call Stark. He's still looking for you, you know?"

Peter nodded, feeling sick to his stomach. "Mr. Stark, he doesn't know what Deadpool really wants. I need to warn him. He's in danger."