AN: I do not own the Avengers nor Spiderman
Hi, another chapter for you. I think this will probably be the last time we get anyone else's point of view in the story - probably. It was really done because I needed to tell the other side of the story, but I'm not a fan of switching it up too often so I will stay in 1st person now.
I want to thank you for all comments, my email box keeps coming up with notifications from this story from people who have put it on their favourites and are following it, particularly in the last few days. It made me very keen to get this chapter out today rather than Wednesday, the day I usually update, so thank you all very much and enjoy this chapter.
"Suit up, be at the jet in 5 minutes." Tony belted out as soon as the others had returned from their wholly unsuccessful mission. He had a steadfastly determined expression on his face that anyone would know instantly not to cross. Almost simultaneously, everyone jerked into attention.
"You found something?" Steve questioned, stepping forward and holding Tony steady.
"He's in Nevada. There's a small industrial estate in…Look does it matter. I've found him." Though he said it convincingly, after the time spent searching and getting nowhere, it seemed almost miracle to get such a lead. "I'll tell you in the jet." He blurted as he rushed out and away from the others, leaving them hovering in his wake.
True to word, minutes later they were in the air and en route to the location. Tony seemed anxious, pulling the jet to full throttle the moment he could and with no expense spared on the fuel consumption. The other avengers stood in the back, watching him work in trepidation. Steve was volunteered to go forward by the sideways glances – he walked up behind Tony's chair and spoke softly.
"You going to tell us what this about Tony?" he asked. Tony turned around.
"Read that." He said gesturing to a small pile of papers that he had carried in with him. Steve took one glance at it before passing it on to Bruce bewildered: It was presumably something to do with science then.
"What is this?" Bruce muttered after a while, "Where did you get this?"
"It's the print out from those documents Peter was able to get that last mission." He explained anxiously, turning it the jet onto autopilot and turned around in his seat. "Look at this." He said, all but snatching it out of Bruce's hand and turning the page for him onto another. He pointed at one specific point.
"Dr Alexander Leon" Natasha said looking over Bruce' shoulder.
"Yeah, only the bloke doesn't exist. I asked Friday and Friday looked everywhere." Tony explained. "But I did research – there's a paper trail if you know where to look. Dr Leon is the same bloke as a Mr Lewison. He just took the first and last two letters of his surname and stuck them together, made himself a new identity. 'spect he thought he was smart doing that, but it was pretty stupid of him."
"Who is he?" Clint asked, feeling lost in the conversation. He was cut off by Bruce though.
"This is a formula Tony. To make super soldiers." He seemed anxious, no longer reading the paper but instead looking at Tony and Steve collectively, one who had the knowledge and the other who was the only other person in the room who had experienced the effects of a super soldier serum.
"I know. I think they took Peter because of that. He's got the full works, pretty much everything a super soldier is supposed to have. Maybe they took him because of that." Tony reasoned. "It doesn't matter why anyway. There's a link. Remember when Peter said he saw that bloke and we didn't believe him. I looked at the Baby Monitor in Peter's suit – it records what he sees, and he did see someone - Mr Lewison's brother." Tony paused for a moment to catch his breath, conscious of the fact that he had been talking for ages. But the others were still caught up in rapt attention. Things were falling into place.
"And there a match with him and the bloke that was on the CCTV who took Peter." Tony concluded, already turning back to the pilot's chair, evidently not realising the need for the others to ask questions.
"Why Nevada?" Steve asked curiously. Tony didn't skip a beat as he replied.
"Because Mr Lewison, or Dr Leon or whatever, owns an industrial estate there. It makes sense that should be where everything is happening. We're getting Peter back." Tony finished resolutely.
…
The room looked the same as ever the next time I woke up. It was still pitch black, but my eyes had adjusted to this slightly now and I could make out the shapes if nothing else. How long had I been in here for? Days? Maybe even weeks? I have absolutely no way of telling. It could be night, or it could be day for all I knew and cared. The pain that flooded through my body was far more of a concern to me right then. These people, these mad scientists had moved on from just taking blood, because there wasn't enough left within me. These last few times they had been testing me: testing how fast I healed, testing how long my strength would hold. One time, they put me a treadmill, only if I tried to stop I would get an electric shock until I got back on. They wanted data, and they didn't care how they got it. It hurt everywhere: whenever it got slightly better as my advanced healing kicked in, they would come back in and do something else. My arms were terrible now too, they had gone past the stage of hurting and were now just numb. I would hate to think of the damage that had been done to them.
I felt delirious. In the state of half-conscious which I resided in almost constantly, I had more than once looked into the shadows and found something or someone else within them. Aunt May would tell me off, tell me that this was all my fault; Steve would look at me in that same old disappointed stare which always seemed far worse than any words he would say; and Tony would just tell me again and again, "we don't need you," the words reverberated around my mind again and again, each time hurting just as much as the first time he had said them.
Yet it wasn't real. The truth was almost worse – I wouldn't see my friends again. I had pushed them away, left them so they weren't coming for me. That was the only thing I knew for certain. If I was to get out of this hell hole, it would have to be of my own accord, and that seemed near impossible.
I shivered, hung limply in the ropes that bound me, too weak to move. The men would come back soon now that I was awake. They would do more, they would hurt me more. That man in the lab coat with the sneering comments, and the other, the one from the alley were the worst -they were clearly the leaders. It worked something like this: the scientist was the brains; the other was the brawn. A perfect double act, at least for them.
If I'm being truthful to myself, I'm not entirely sure I will last much longer like this. I'm not strong enough to survive. Right now, I'm Peter Parker, a pathetic schoolkid who couldn't even stand up to playground bullies. What was the point of fighting any longer anyway, I didn't have anyone to go back to. I haven't seen Aunt May for ages, so she wouldn't miss me, no one would. I could just give up now, succumb to an easy way out. My story would end here, tied up and lost in the world.
It just didn't feel right though. Giving up was too easy, there was no battle, no fight. No one would know what happened to me. More to the point, these men would get away with all this data. They would know everything about me: they might not be able to find a serum from me, but what if they were able to one day replicate the spider bite with some formula – that was their eventual goal. Then they would hurt others, innocent civilians who didn't deserve any of this and all because I gave up. It would be my fault.
Spiderman would cease to exist too – no one could keep the streets safe like Spiderman could. My Uncle died because Spiderman didn't exist back then. Think of all the people who would have died if I hadn't been around: there would be so many people, all with families would suffer like I did.
The world might not need Peter Parker, but they needed Spiderman, I thought determinedly, so Spiderman was getting out of here.
Fuelled by a new determination, I looked steadfastly to the door, wondering when it would open – it had to be soon, they wouldn't leave me here that long without the next experiment starting. Then, I pulled on the ropes one more time. I let my arms take my weight as I pulled my feet up the nearby wall so that I was crouched in mid-air. My arms burned with the effort even more, the pain so bad that I almost blanked out, but I didn't let go. Instead I pulled, using the wall as a leaver and with gravity in my favour. At first, nothing much happened – the ropes were without a doubt reinforced with something, but then there was a slight rip. My wrists ached with the strain and there was a definite inflamed dent around them where the rope had chaffed and pulled them. I ignored this, my task far more important at this moment than a problem that could be sorted easily when I got out of here, no matter how much it hurt now.
"Come on Spiderman." I muttered as I pulled yet harder, small whimpers of noise escaped my lips out of the effort of it all. Then, with a final tug and a loud audible crack, the ropes broke.
I was falling. The ground was too close, I banged against it noisily, my head knocking against the ground limply. My wrist ached like mad now, I had broken it without a doubt. It screamed like fire burning me up my arm and into my body. And yet that wasn't the most important thing on my mind right now. The most important realisation was that the ropes were gone, and I was free.
I ran to the door as fast as I could, which wasn't all that fast, groping at the door handle in the dark and eventually finding it, I flung it open and tumbled outside. The hall beyond was as dimly lit as the rest of this place, which was a blessing in disguise. It meant that after the hours of darkness, I was not blinded by harsh light. I shakily traced my hand along the left wall as I walked along the corridor, each step was more of an effort than the last. The sooner I was out of here, the better. In my current state, there was no chance of me fighting anyone any time soon and winning.
No sooner had that thought burst into my mind than a baring siren had pierced the air. I froze, terrified that they had already found out that I was missing. Then I heard another noise, footsteps, coming fast. I pulled my beaten body to a nearby door and flung myself inside, not caring if it was occupied or not. Then, I slumped against the floor, I pressed my ear to the door as I waited for the men to hurry past. One single thought pounded against my head hard: I could not be found. Not after everything I had been through.
But in the semi darkness, as I fought to keep my eyes open, I heard something else penetrate the air:
"It's the avengers." One of the men who was hurrying past the door shouted in broken English, "They are here."