IMPORTANT (SECOND PART- PLEASE READ)

Guys, sorry for the super late update. This is really important though- this chapter is Peterwhump. Well I... think it is? I don't have much experience... this entire chapter is PeterCentric, just like a lot of you guys have wanted for a while... so who is Peter's reckoning? READ AND REVIEW please! They encourage me, the more reviews, the faster I tend to write... XD

Important bit- this story (I think) is about to get darker. There will be torture though nothing over the warning. I'm not too good at whump, but beware of blood and violence- hence the rating T.

Next update should be in a few days depending on reviews and such...

What Peter felt now, was a different kind of pain.

He could relate it to what he had felt in the science lab with Simon. He could relate it to the absolute pain and agony that had shaken his core and left him to hang dry afterwards. He could relate to the strange sense of sorrow and despair that had crawled up into his heart and pierced it with its talons, raking both his mind and body into fits of complete and utter anguish.

Except it was multiplied, by at least ten times. What he had experienced within Simon's sharp gaze a few days ago at school was really, if he had to be honest, nothing compared to this. This was pain that was both physical and mental. He could feel the harsh ache of his limbs as if they had suddenly turned into lead. The tremors that ran through his being. The fact that he could hardly breathe, as if a hand was clamped around his neck, squashing his wind pipe and stopping his intake of air.

Now that he thought about it, it probably was. It wouldn't be a surprise, considering he had lost all feeling of the world a while ago. And as he struggled to breathe further whilst simultaneously putting up with the pain and practically begging for unconsciousness, his thoughts strayed.

He- suddenly- realised that he was probably the only person in the world who could think about something other than then death defying pain he was feeling. It wasn't a pleasant one at that, the feeling of his bones and joints cracking and grinding against each other, the flesh of his skin breaking and tearing, his fingers burning as if broken, fresh bruises littering his pale form, the enormous headache pounding at the back of his skull, the fact that he could only struggle to breathe.

He most likely was, especially if they strayed into basically an abyss of nothing but wanting darkness. A funny thing to want, though a thing of mercy nonetheless. And for that reason, he wasn't likely to get it soon- not with his current luck anyway.

He could feel his heart thump painfully against his ribs- that he was so sure just had to be either cracked or broken. Really, life wasn't too fair to him. How had he managed this anyway? Kidnapped. Absolutely bloody brilliant. Nothing like a good, fair kidnapping from an over dramatic zombie Chuckie- or as the other older man preferred, his reckoning.

Really, despite his young age, he was getting too old for this.

He knew he was supposed to be concentrating on anything that might help him escape- leave, get out- but right now, his mind's eye strayed and seemingly random thoughts were the only aspects that made any of this even remotely bearable. Because god- it hurt so damn much. More than he wanted to admit. Most of his being was even astounded that he was still able to conjure intelligible thoughts in the amount of agony he was in.

He didn't really remember what had happened after it did. He vaguely remembered the man- Chuckie- he dubbed him- walked through the door and make him shudder, before claiming he was his reckoning. God, how cheesy was that? Now that Peter thought about it, it really didn't seem as cheesy as it had when the pain and suffering had begun. Rather, it had begun to serve its purpose- or what Peter presumed to be its purpose- to create panic.

Now Peter had to admit- he was a calm kinda guy. There was no way he could have become Spider-Man by jumping at everything, now could he? But this- now this... this was something else. It was seriously 'fraying his wires'. What strange terms he was able to come up with in such torment. Honestly, he couldn't tell- through the constant tremors and agony that raked his body- if he had come up with that or if it had already existed, and he had simply remembered it. For some reason.

A particularly painful moment passed where he honestly- seriously- just wanted to scream. But his throat had run dry a long time ago. Yes, his vocal chords were sizzled for lack of better word. His throat was raw from the yells and screams that had erupted through it, the ones he couldn't stop or control. The ones that occurred in the beginning.

When the beginning was, Peter couldn't tell. He couldn't tell how long he had been up against the hard wall- or floor, he seriously didn't know which anymore- tight shackles against his wrists, his blood pouring, bones broken, bruises forming, either. He didn't even know whether it was morning or night, or perhaps somewhere in between- like day or dawn. Or evening or afternoon. It could be any, really. Though without a window or something that reflected the outside world- he wouldn't know. Ever. And the large, burly, mean looking door at one end of the cell didn't count.

Wow. He noticed, he had just called a door mean. He had to get out of here- and soon. And he would- somehow. Right after he stopped silently screaming and writhing- he realised- in so much damn agony. Yes maybe then he would begin to formulate a plan of 'attack'. One that didn't just consist of attack.

Because he knew there were more of them than he could handle- especially whilst he was like this, in his... condition. Yes, and once he escaped; maybe he could tie his captors up and give them to the police. Or maybe he would just give them all a good solid punch to the nose- especially his reckoning. Yes, that guy would definitely get the worst. And maybe he would throw them in a river. Somewhere far- and dirty. Like the Thames in London or something. Yes, something like that suited these guys just fine.

Or maybe he would string them up by their toes and... And... Peter really wasn't too good at this, torturing, business. No. Perhaps he could as his 'mates', yes the very same guys who had kidnapped him off the streets close to the middle of the night a few hours- or days, he didn't really know- ago.

Then he remembered the conversation he overheard. Casey wanted him dead. Well, not really him- but really him at the same time- considering he both was and wasn't Spider-Man. He mentally sighed- his life really was too complicated.

That was when he felt something different- well, not really different- considering it was all pain- but it was something that made him feel as if a hand had been brutally shoved deep into his chest, fingers curled around his heart, before forcefully pulling it out of his flesh.

It was then his eyes snapped open.

He wasn't even sure if they had closed to begin with, but suddenly he was aware of everything and so much more. He pain suddenly came to an abrupt halt- and he found himself sitting, leaning- his back against the cell of the concrete wall behind him, panting. Out of breath.

Shivers shook his form and he forced himself to clench his teeth and the immediate after math of the pain. It wasn't as bad as it had been a moment ago, but it still felt like tens of thousands of daggers continuously piercing his skin.

His eyes were wide behind his glass- which he only just noticed he was still wearing- and he frantically looked around. He was welcomed with the most unwelcoming sight.

Chuckie was there, kneeling in front of Peter- who had one leg crossed and the other spread. His stance seemed to be casual, but nothing about him was- not the pain in his eyes, the shudders or the shivers, or even both the physical and mental exhaustion.

Peter also noticed that Chuckie was really close to him. He was up against the wall as much as he could be, anymore and he was certain that he would probably fall through. The closeness made him very uncomfortable, considering the deranged yet calm look in Chuckie's darkened crimson orbs.

He smiled, and Peter was too exhausted and in pain and just too damn hurt to bother suppressing his flinch.

"So..." his voice trailed off and slithered- reminding Peter way too much of a snake. "Peter Parker..." now Peter was seriously getting annoyed. He didn't know what made him do it- the frayed nerves, the exhaustion, the pain- probably a mixture of all three-

"Yes so you know my name. Good for you! Know any other useful facts or can I go now?!" he snapped. The look on Chuckie's face was laughable, but immediately Peter regretted his choice words. Suddenly, he wished that he had kept his mouth tightly shut.

Chuckie glared, and the colour of his eyes literally changed. From a dark creepy maroon-orange tone to a flaming angry scarlet red. And before Peter could react, the older man's fist curled and he punched him in the cheek, and Peter flinched violently as his head cracked against the concrete.

His vision swam in a haze of black and darkness before the shapes blurred back to normal, and the teenager could feel the bruising and fracture in the bone of his cheek. His headache was becoming almost as unbearable as the 'captor-induced-pain' had been, and the hit just added to his agony. He winced as Chuckie visibly forced himself to calm down and his eyes settled to a light red tone. Creepy.

"Peter, you should really watch your tongue..." he muttered softly, but Peter could here every single word being said because of the close proximity. Chuckie was so close that Peter could feel his breath- against his ear now as he neared and whispered, "Or it may just be the death of you."

If it was possible, Peter back further against the wall and looked at Chuckie. He licked his dry lips. He honestly wanted to be anywhere but here.

"Who are you?" And that, Peter suddenly realised, was the smartest question he had asked all day. The other man paused for a moment- before answering,

"Have I not told you already?" He replied, and despite the horribly 'frightening' situation, Peter managed to roll his eyes. Chuckie looked at him with a sense of genuine curiosity- and Peter said,

"Yeah, my reckoning. You said that already, so why don't you give me a real answer?" Peter didn't know where this was all coming from. What the hell was he doing? Hell, with his luck this guy was going to be smart enough and just kill him- which really, was not something he wanted to think about right now.

"Peter, Peter, Peter- ever the feisty one aren't you?" he leaned in closer, and Peter successfully- or so he thought- resisted and suppressed shuddering. "You don't understand, do you? You don't know, do you?" And rather than stopping himself from shivering at the cruel voice, Peter resisted giving him a black eye.

"Why don't you enlighten me?" he replied fearlessly, and watched in confusion- though he didn't let it show- as Chuckie chuckled softly.

"Think Peter. Why would we kidnap a simple schoolboy?" and Peter bit his lip.

"Wells told you. Wells told you who I am." Chuckie smiled again,

"Yes, very clever Peter..." Peter seriously wished he would stop using his first name- or just to stop saying it like that. "Yes, Wells knew, but do you know how Wells knew Peter? Did you even bother to ask him before you murdered him in cold blood?" This time Peter really did flinch. Chuckie's words were like a knife to the gut that twisted itself continuously every few seconds. It just made Peter hate the man even more.

He literally growled at the man with a fiery look in his eyes- doing his best to mask the hollowness- the emptiness- the guilt he felt every day since he had killed Wells. He knew he shouldn't have felt it, it was just so horrible to realise that he had killed someone. But... it was something he had to overcome, and he would. He would overcome it-at least for now...

"How?" He asked and willed his voice not to tremble as images and pictures of Wells hanging from a web, toppling down, his body smashing against the concrete below, the blood...

The other man infuriatingly laughed lightly again. Then, suddenly, after a moment of waiting- he spoke, "You have more enemies then you know, Peter..." the man's laugh erupted lightly again and Peter forced himself to calm down.

"That isn't exactly an answer, now, is it?" He spit out and glared at the man, who had now- much to Peter's thankfulness- moved back so that Peter could see him completely. And despite the fact that he was still rather close, Peter could no longer feel his hot breath on his skin.

"So Peter- you want to know who told John Wells that you are the infamous Spider-Man?" As well who we are- and what I want with you..." he said, trailing off and looking at Peter expectantly.

"To put it simply, yeah" he replied, biting his tongue and stopping himself from retorting sarcastically. Questions kept running through his head, but he forced himself to build a calm- or so he thought- exterior as he waited for an answer from the opposing man.

"How about we do this? It's a... game I like to play-" Peter didn't say anything, so the man smiled and kept going, "-I answer one question, and in return- you answer one too. If you don't, however, well then Peter- I'm afraid things are going to get a lot more challenging."

Peter hesitated- before asking, "Who are you?"

The man's shark-like toothy, scary grin expanded before he answered. "So, you've decided to play then? But remember Peter- if you don't answer the question there will be a price..."

"Just answer the question." Peter told him in return, and if it was possible- his smile grew wider. Suddenly Peter didn't know if 'playing' this 'game' was such a good idea.

"Vaurian Michaelis" he simply replied, and Peter momentarily wondered if it really was his name or the first one that popped into his head. What kind of name was Vaurian for a bad guy? He didn't react but made sure to memorize the name- when he realised something. He probably wasn't going to get out of here alive.

Or at least that was what Chuckie- Vaurian thought. That was the only reason he would be telling Peter any of this- it clearly wasn't on his agenda to let the younger breathe longer than necessary.

But Peter wasn't going to make it easy. He had no plans on revealing anything of importance to him.

"My turn..." Michaelis said playfully and Peter held his breath. "Where is Curt Connors?"

Peter froze.

How on earth did Michaelis know he knew? How the hell did he know that he had escaped to begin with? Everything was supposed to be under wraps. For a moment, he solely panicked. There was absolutely no way in hell or heaven was he going to tell Vaurian. Right now it didn't matter how he knew, or how much he knew- because it clearly wasn't enough. And he was after Peter for this information- but if he thought he was going to actually get it- then he certainly had another thing coming.

He forced himself not to stutter or seem surprised as he spoke. "What makes you think I know?" Answer a question with a question. It wouldn't solve his problem- or get it out of it, but at least it would stall and give Peter time to think and consider- whatever it was he had to think and consider about.

"Peter, Peter, Peter- please..." he motioned with his hand for something. There was a faint shuffling behind him where Peter couldn't see- in the shadows- until one of the burly men Peter had seen earlier cam up, and placed in Michaelis's outstretched hand an object. It was long and wide and silver. And sharp- very, very sharp. It was a knife- longer than the average, but not too long- and its hilt was expertly carved so that a structure of a black slithered around it, making it comfortable for the wielder. Peter would have admired the fine craftsmanship further, if it were not for the way Vaurian held it.

The blade shone in the weak and flickering light of the naked bulb above their heads, giving the man opposite Peter a garish look- like how a serial killer would look as he prepared for his kill. He even fit the roll.

His thumb flicked off the edge. "Do not take me for a joke Peter." And something in his words made Peter inwardly shiver. Just how much did this guy know? "I know he escaped prison- and I know he has been in contact with you. Now, Peter, I honestly suggest you tell me..."

Peter still didn't say anything. He gritted his teeth and fought hard against a grimace as Michaelis ran his finger across the knife. There was a cruel, sadistic look in his eye as he paused for a moment.

"I don't like being cheated, Peter" he said in a quiet, dangerous voice.

"Then ask a different question." Peter replied to him bluntly. He, truthfully, didn't know where his wit and sharp tongue would get him in the future. Probably nowhere good, he figured.

"You and your sharp tongue, Peter." His tone of voice suddenly beared an angry hint to it. "You don't want to know what happens to those who cheat me- let along experience it." Oh, of this Peter was so sure, but he had no choice. It wasn't like he was ever willingly going to betray Connors. Despite everything, the man was a good man. He had saved Peter's life and had regretted his mistakes. Peter wasn't going to give him up to some messed-up faced zombie Chuckie, no matter how many shivers he sent up his spine.

"Why are you so interested in Doctor Connors?" He asked bravely. More bravely then he felt inside.

"You've had your question already Peter... so answer me mine!" He snared, and Peter swallowed. After a minute or so and he still hadn't replied or said anything. "Fine then..." He said darkly, "Have it your way."

And with that- without a single tone of warning and super fast inhuman reflexes like nothing Peter had ever seen before, he drove the knife right through his shoulder.

Peter gasped as the blade drove itself straight through the pale flesh of his shoulder through his shirt- like butter. It slid right through the skin and out the other side, the tip only slightly grazing the concrete wall of the cell behind him. His shoulder burned, and felt as if flames began to lick at it, making him wince. The blade seemed to be made of a blazing poison. It was as if the knife had been heated and smouldered before it had been speared through his flesh. It was then Peter knew it was no normal blade.

And as Michaelis sadistic twisted it- slowly to the side- and as it continued to cut through his skin- darkening his vision for a few seconds- Peter realised just how right he was. It was twisted further at an angle of three-hundred and sixty- before it was roughly yanked out. He flinched back and his hand flew to his shoulder- but he could barely concentrate. The pain was horrible- as bad as the suffering he had felt earlier in its own way.

He suddenly felt more exhausted than before. The aching in his joints pierced more than ever, and his headache was so bad it would have been less painful to have a sledgehammer beat on his skull. That was no ordinary weapon- definitely not.

Peter vaguely felt warm blood ooze down his arm slowly before his breaths became more laboured and his hand finally reached his wound. His fingers slowly clamped around it tiredly and he forced himself to concentrate as the war, scarlet liquid poured from in between his fingers.

As Vaurian's face swam back into a blurred view, Peter's assailant spoke. "You could have made things easier Peter..." Peter felt sick as his tone sounded genuinely laced with regret. He gulped an intake of air and forced himself to breathe as his world began to turn and tumble, and all that was left were strange shapes and an unending stream of pain. "You could have made it so much easier on yourself, Peter. Will you tell me now?" Peter's vision finally came into focus again and his mind calculated Michaelis's sadistic words.

"You're wasting your time." Peter said simply through his haze of near death and agony. He managed to catch the disappointing flash in Vaurian's red irises before the emotion- flicker- turned into something more. Something excited. Peter held his breath as Vaurian smiled again, and held onto his wounded shoulder further. The blood dribbled down through the fabric of his jacket- which now seemed a lot thinner due to the sudden cold.

"So be it." There was movement again from behind Vaurian once more and the younger man looked behind him curiously. If he hadn't been so exhausted, he would have flinched at what he currently saw.

In the middle of the room was now a metal chair. It looked quite so uncomfortable. One of the burly men was nearby, then moved toward the chair and took hold of it in two strong, muscular arms. He lifted it and walked beside where Peter was, before placing it down and returning to his post- where he had been previously. Peter noticed there were many splatter of something dark of the chair- something which he assumed was dried blood.

Vaurian stood up, and without another word, he hauled Peter up to his feet painfully and forced him onto the chair. Peter cried out as his wound as jostled and his blood began to cover Michaelis's fingers, who took no notice of it. the younger's hands were forced behind him roughly- making him wince in agony- before they were cuffed together- his shackles still in place, chain to both his wrists and the wall behind him.

Michaelis came and stood in front of him, and Peter forced himself to look up from his slumped position. He lifted his head and did his best not to strain his shoulder. Vaurian offered him a sad, evil smile.

"This could have been done a much easier fashion, Peter" Peter bit his lips, attempting to ignore the cruel man above him- and to just breathe. "We could have played the game- you would have gotten your answers and I mine"

"You would have never let me live" Peter spit out, "and there's no way in hell I'm ever going to betray Doctor Connors to the likes of you"

A deep, angry satisfying- well for Peter it certainly was- growl erupted from Vaurian's throat before he sneered and turned around to talk to his lackey's whom had gotten increasingly closer to them when Peter hadn't noticed.

"Show him pain, gentlemen- but keep him... alive. For now at least. We're still waiting on the shipment." And with that, Michaelis left, leaving Peter alone with the two large 'gentlemen'. One of them moved to the front of the room- where on the wall- chained- were things Peter hadn't noticed before.

Knifes- butcher ones, blunt ones, scalpel type ones, whips- Peter hoped to lord they weren't going to use those, syringes with vile looking liquids ranging from blue to a milky cream white, maces- oh hell, Peter thought desperately- why did they have maces of all things? There were so many other things that Peter felt nauseated by the time he had looked through less than half of them.

A fear struck at him and he forced himself not to panic. But hell, these guys seemed to own a medieval torture shop. He watched helplessly as one of the men pulled out a large hammer- sledgehammer- Peter corrected- and smiled at him.

Peter would find a way out- after this. When he was alone and could think properly and not in so much pain. He had no doubt they would probably and most literally make him want to wish he were dead. But he wouldn't give in. Not yet anyway.

And as the men came closer and he forced his mind to calm down and stop thinking about the most painful manner in which to string their toes after he'd escaped, a single thought slithered forth,

What do they want with Doctor Curt Connors?