2. In the hands of the enemy
There were no chains. When Peter woke in the darkness, that was the first thing he noticed. There had been chains before. He knew that. There had been chains and pain and screaming...and Mr. Stark had been there. Mr. Stark had been screaming and pleading but they'd dragged Peter out of the room and now...now he was in the room again? He couldn't tell...couldn't remember.
His throat felt like sandpaper when he opened his mouth, and the only thing that escaped was a painful croak.
"Peter!" Mr. Stark hissed, and hands were on him...Mr. Stark's hands. One rested on his shoulder, the other gently touching his face. Peter remembered waking in the cell the first time. Remembered being dragged out of the room. Remembered chains. But he didn't remember what they'd done. What had happened to him. It had hurt, he was sure of that. But...what exactly had they done? "Talk to me, Pete," Mr. Stark demanded in a whisper, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.
His whole body hurt. But mostly his head. They'd...they'd done something. Something bad. He groaned, twitching his fingers, then his toes. They all still responded. His mouth tasted like blood, and when he moved his tongue around his mouth, he found empty spaces where some of his teeth had been.
The room had been bright before, he remembered suddenly. So bright...too bright. When Peter had tried to sleep that first night, curled up on the floor, he'd hidden his face in his arms, and still the light had kept him awake until Mr. Stark had pulled his jacket off, laying on the ground beside him and covering both of their heads. From under the blanket, Mr. Stark had promised that Rhodey would come. That the Avengers would come. That it would all be okay.
"Peter," Mr. Stark urged again, and he groaned, trying to swallow.
"Hm?" All he wanted to do was sleep. Now that it was dark, maybe he could.
A hand traced his cheek and Peter stared out into the darkness, wincing at the sting in his eyes as he opened them. The hand on his cheek shook, and Peter struggled to give some sign that he was okay. "'S…dark...dark now…' he murmured, feeling woozy.
"What?"
"Dark...dark in here...now…" He shuddered a little and the fabric that came to cover him smelled like Mr. Stark. It was warm, and he sighed in gratitude. "Dark...can sleep…"
"Dark?" Mr. Stark repeated, sounding confused. "What do you mean, bud?"
"Can't...can't see. It's dark."
Mr. Stark was quiet for a long time, and Peter stared into the darkness, trying to guess at the man's location.
"How long?" Peter wanted to ask how long he'd been in that room. Instead, his voice cut off and he coughed painfully, staring into the darkness above him.
"They kept you for about three hours," the man murmured, pushing some of his hair back. Peter felt rather than saw the motion, but it was nice. Calming. It almost distracted him from the pain radiating from his head...from the ache throughout his entire body. He wanted to sit up...to discuss this with Mr. Stark. To come up with an escape plan. But he felt drained. Exhausted. Like his whole body was made of rubber. So he just lay there, closing his eyes and relaxing as Mr. Stark continued to stroke his hair for a moment. Peter took a deep breath, flinching a little at the pain in his chest, then finally spoke. "They're coming? The Avengers?"
"Yeah, Pete. They're coming. They should be here any minute now." The man swallowed hard, and Peter shifted on the concrete, flinching at the ache in his body as he did so.
"Glad...glad they turned…" Peter coughed and brought a hand to his chest with a grimace. "Lights off."
"Pete...buddy, look at me, okay?"
He opened his eyes obligingly and tried to find his mentor in the darkness, feeling the man's hand cupping his cheek. "'S dark...can't see…"
A gentle finger lifted his eyelid and he struggled to remain still. This was Mr. Stark. If he was doing something, it had to be for a good reason. So Peter let him lift his eyelids, then stroke under his eye with a thumb. "Pete…" Mr. Stark's voice was hesitant and sad for some reason.
"Yeah?"
"Do you…" he swallowed. "Do you know what they did?"
Peter shook his head, letting his eyes droop once more. "No...passed out. Hurt."
Mr. Stark squeezed his shoulder. "How about now? Does anything hurt?"
"Not bad," Peter brushed him off, not wanting to worry him. "Any water left?"
"Yeah, just a second." Mr. Stark sounded strange, and Peter wished for a moment that they could turn the lights on for just a second so he could see the man's face. But, he thought, at least they could get some sleep now. That was almost a comforting thought, and a second later, Mr. Stark slipped a hand behind his back, easing him up slowly. Peter brought a hand up blindly, and the jug was pressed gently into his hand so that he could drink. They'd been given a milk jug full of water when they had been thrown into the room, and it still felt heavy, so he was sure not to drink too much even if his throat was like sandpaper and his stomach was growling out a demand for something to fill it.
"You can drink more if you want," the other man murmured, and Peter frowned at the catch in his voice.
"Mr. Stark? You okay?" he asked. It was a dumb question considering where they were, but he figured the man would know what he meant. "Did they hurt you?"
"No, bud, they didn't touch me. I'm fine." Peter felt a hand ruffle his hair and smiled. "You want to get some sleep? Give that healing factor of yours a chance to catch up?"
"Yeah," Peter muttered with a nod, and he let Mr. Stark ease him back down to the ground, a hand ruffling his hair once more, and then he felt the jacket that Mr. Stark had been wearing cover his torso. "You'll get cold."
"Don't worry about me Spiderling. I'll be fine."
Peter wanted to argue, but he was so tired that he fell asleep before he could manage.
When he woke, the room was still dark, and Peter rubbed a hand over his eyes, stretching tentatively. "Mr. Stark?" he called softly, and a hand gripped his shoulder as he sat up, helping him sit against the wall.
"Right here, Pete. How are you feeling?" The water jug was once more passed to him, and Peter took a drink before passing it back to the other man.
"Hungry," he whined a little when Mr. Stark took the jug.
"I know, bud." He heard Mr. Stark take a drink before putting the jug down on the cold concrete floor. At least the water was still cold.
Sighing, Peter dropped his head against the wall. "This sucks. 0 out of 5 stars. I wanna go home." Mr. Stark didn't laugh like he thought he would, and Peter frowned over where he thought the man was in the darkness. "Mr. Stark?"
"I do too, kid."
"But the Avengers are coming, right?" Peter asked, tentative. The man beside him sighed softly.
"Yeah...of course they are, Pete."
"So...wanna play I Spy?" he joked. Mr. Stark was silent. "I'm...I'm kidding. Because of the dark…" Peter trailed off and a gentle hand moved to his shoulder before wrapping around his shoulders
"Peter…"
Alarmed, Peter sat up, trying to peer through the darkness and failing. "What? What happened? What's wrong?" he demanded. Sure, this sucked. And he was scared. And he knew that Mr. Stark was scared. But something else was going on. Mr. Stark was acting weird, even considering the circumstances.
The man at his side swallowed hard. "Buddy...they...they didn't turn the lights out."
He frowned, cocking his head. "What?"
"The lights...they're still on. They...they did something. To your eyes. I don't know what," the man practically whispered, holding Peter close. Peter just stared at him, or at where he thought the man was. "But you're going to be okay. I swear, Pete, we're going to figure this out. The Avengers are going to come and get us out of this shithole and then I'm going to call every single doctor in the world specializing in eye stuff and one of them is going to figure out what they did and fix it. And if they don't, I will personally figure out how to make robotic eyes for you and if that doesn't work out then I'll...I'll buy you a seeing eye dog and…" The man trailed off, his voice shaky and desperate, and Peter took a shuddering breath.
"Oh," he whispered, blinking as his hands started to shake.
"Pete...buddy, I...I'm so sorry. Don't...don't cry…"
A hand brushed a tear he hadn't felt away then reamined on his cheek. He hadn't even known he was crying. Beside him, the man shifted and wrapped both arms around him, rubbing his back and holding him close. Peter wanted to apologize. He didn't mean to cry...didn't want to act like a little kid.
"It's fine...I'm fine…" Peter whispered, his voice shaking as hard as his hands. "Sorry...I'm...I'm fine."
Mr. Stark ignored him, just rubbing his back and rocking him a little. "You're okay. It's going to be okay. I swear, kiddo…" Peter nodded, trying to believe him. Trying to stop his heart from pounding and his whole body from shaking and the tears from running down his cheeks.
The Avengers did come two days later. Two days of huddling together in that cell and sharing a jug of water. Two days of eating scraps of food until Peter couldn't even sit up anymore...until all he could think of was food and how desperately hungry he was. Two days of Mr. Stark telling him stories and asking him questions to keep him awake...of asking, tentatively, if he could see anything. Anything at all. And two days of Peter shaking his head no every time.
Then came these explosions and the gunshots, and Mr. Stark moved closer to Peter, practically holding him until their cell door was thrown open, and footsteps approached at a run. "Tony!" Steve cried, Peter recognizing the voice immediately. "Peter?"
"Hey, Spangles. Took you long enough."
"Come on, man," Rhodey said then, and Peter wondered when he'd gotten there. Maybe his senses were screwed up too. "Let's get you guys out of there."
There was a slightly awkward silence, and Peter realized that his eyes were open...that he wasn't even looking in their direction. He didn't have the strength to change that.
"Peter…" Steve started to ask, sounding scared, and Mr. Stark spoke in a breathless rush.
"They did something to him...his eyes. He can't see. They took him out of the room and...and they had him for hours. They tortured him…" The man's voice broke and one of them approached. As it turned out, it was Steve.
"Okay. Peter? Can you hear me, son?"
"Yeah," Peter rasped, nodding his head. He was so hungry. So thirsty.
"I'm going to help you get to the jet, alright?"
"Mr. Stark?"
"I'm gonna help Tony, okay? You go with Steve," Rhodey urged, and Peter nodded as Steve got an arm around him, starting to help him up. But Peter couldn't even get his legs to straighten underneath him, so the man scooped him up, and the movement made Peter so dizzy that he dropped his head onto the man's shoulder, too exhausted to be embarrassed.
"We've got doctors ready for you guys back at the tower," Steve told him, patting his back a little. "You're both going to be fine. How are you feeling?"
He had a feeling that Steve was just trying to keep him awake, but the man had saved his life so Peter obliged. "I'm...I'm okay. Hungry."
"We're going to get you both something to eat as soon as we get you settled in the jet. Are you hurt anywhere?"
"Just...just can't see."
"Okay…" He felt the man nod a little and then Peter was being placed on a surface so soft that he felt his whole body go limp, the tension melting out of his muscles. He hadn't felt anything so soft in what felt like years but had surely only been days. There was a quick swipe of something cold in his inner elbow, and Steve's voice came from his side. "They're going to set up an IV with fluids for you. Just a quick prick." The man's hand slipped into his own, and Peter gave it a quick squeeze, not asking who 'they' were, barely flinching at the feeling of a needle slipping into his skin.
"We're in the jet?" Peter confirmed, and the hand in his gave a firm squeeze.
"We're in the jet. Nat is giving you an IV. She's going to set one up for Tony too. You're both dehydrated. Do you think you could handle some broth?"
Peter nodded. Nothing had ever sounded so good.
"Alright. I'm going to sit your bed up so you can eat. Keep your arm still...you don't want to rip out the IV. Clint? Can you bring me some of the soup?"
As the bed he was laying on slowly started to lift, moving him into a sitting position, he realized that It didn't feel real. None of it. What if it was a dream? What if...what if he was dead? He didn't feel like he was in his body and his head felt so light and spinny.
"Mr. Stark?"
"I'm right here, bud," the man answered from his other side, and then something was rolling closer until a familiar hand slipped into the one with the IV.
"Mr. Stark...I don't feel good…"
The activity seemed to come to a standstill then, and Mr. Stark squeezed his hand. "What do you mean, bud? What's wrong?"
"I…" He tried to place it, but his head was spinning and his mouth was salivating and his stomach rebelled all at once until he was gagging, throwing up into something that must have been placed under his chin. But he hadn't eaten anything...the only thing that came up was water, and he felt Steve move away from his side and heard his footsteps move until the man was behind him, holding his shoulders.
He was shaking, his whole body trembling so hard his teeth chattered when he was done throwing up water and bile, and a cool washcloth wiped at his face.
"I...Mr. Stark? I don't...don't feel good. I…" His heart pounded and he thought he was crying again and then Mr. Stark was laying on his bed beside him, carefully wrapping an arm around him.
"Tony, your IV is…" Rhodey started, but Mr. Stark just held him, seeming to ignore his friend.
"Okay. Deep breaths, Pete. Easy...you're okay. We're safe."
"I can't...I can't see and...and my chest hurts…"
"That's because you're hyperventilating. Here…" The man sat back a little and took Peter's hand, placing it against his own chest. "Take a breath with me. Ready?"
"I can't…"
"Yes you can. You can do it, Pete. You're the bravest kid I've ever met, you know that? I know you can do it. Come on, bud. Breathe in with me." The man took an exaggerated breath, and, with lips that trembled, Peter tried to do the same. "Good. Perfect. One more, okay?" Peter nodded, breathing again. Then again. Over and over, he took those deep breaths until his chest didn't hurt anymore, and he was left slumped in the bed, every bit of his remaining energy drained. "That was great, Pete." Mr. Stark brushed a hand through his hair. "Alright. I'm going to go back to my bed because you've got to eat something. Then you can rest, okay?"
He nodded once more. Food. He wanted food. So when Natasha announced herself and asked him to open his mouth, he obliged, not having enough energy to be embarrassed. He managed about ten spoonfuls before his eyes fell shut and refused to open, and the spy put the bowl down, then pulled a blanket over him.
"You can sleep for a while. We've already called your aunt. She's waiting at the tower." The woman tucked him in, and he wondered how many people could say they'd been tucked in by Natasha Romanoff.
"May...does May know?"
"May knows that you're safe, and that's the most important thing," Nat told him firmly. "We'll tell her the rest once we get a doctor to look at you." Her tone was soft and no-nonsense, and he felt himself relax even more. Natasha wasn't worried. And he had a feeling that they'd given him some kind of sedative, because he wasn't all that worried either.
"Mr. Stark?" he asked, checking. Confirming.
"Right here, Pete. I think I'm going to take a nap too. Get some sleep."
And, surrounded by the Avengers that would surely keep an eye out for him, he did.