Things are flashing. Banging. Raw wrists, wounds and pain from a struggle he doesn't remember. A spray of red, the sound of glass shattering into a billion tiny pieces. Something touches his arm-
Peter jerks awake in the bed and very nearly screams, both from the dream still in his head and the pain of the motion. Some kind of sound must escape him, even though he doesn't realize it because he's doubled over in pain, head spinning wildly, when he realizes the feeling of someone touching his arm is real, someone rubbing his back, and he feels the need to heave but there's nothing in his stomach to even come up.
"Easy, kid, calm down," a voice is saying. "It was just a dream."
The words do little to soothe him. Not only because he's in a strange place with strange people again, but because it wasn't just a dream. The pain throughout his whole body makes that much very clear.
And fuck, if he isn't in so much pain. It makes everything even more fuzzy and unreal than before. Did he actually escape? Is this a dream, or perhaps him waking up from whatever punishment had come his way from the attempt? That would certainly explain the pain, although he's never been messed up by them quite this bad before.
The voice is breaking into his head again. "Kid, calm down. I don't want to hurt you but if you don't stop I will have to restrain you."
It's then that Peter realizes he's started thrashing violently, and the hands are now on his wrists, cold and firm, pressing him down against whatever is underneath him and restraining his hands. The voice is gruff but not unkind, and it's not one he's ever heard before, at least not from the people who he'd been with before this. The words register only dimly, but it's enough for him to realize what he's doing and for him to make the conscious choice to force his muscles to relax, definitely not wanting to be restrained again.
So he stops, laying there and breathing hard for a long few minutes before finally working up the nerve to crack open his eyes.
The man who had spoken is still leaning over him, his hands around his wrists, using his body weight to keep him pinned to the bed and watching him with cautious dark brown eyes. Peter is sure he's never seen him before, and that actually makes him feel slightly better. At least if he's been kidnapped again, this is someone entirely new. He can work with that. Especially since they weren't smart enough to tie him up, although that was probably because they assumed he isn't going anywhere with as much pain as he's in. They're probably right, although he'll never admit that - but wait, didn't this guy say he's not going to hurt him? That must count for something, though he's definitely been lied to about it before.
"Jesus, kid," the man mutters, shaking his head. He doesn't seem to notice Peter's eyes are actually open now. "Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've had to break these out? My wife would kill me if she saw this right now."
Peter frowns, unsure what he's talking about, then his eyes alight on the hands wrapped around his wrists. They're red, glinting in the light from the bedside lamp, and cool against his skin. He knows that this means something, can feel the niggle in the back of his mind that tells him he should know what it is, but nothing is coming to him. His head hurts too badly, and he just can't think, can't focus on anything more than what's in front of him.
The man seems to see this and to sense that all the fight has drained out of him, and his eyes soften. "Oh, we're with it now, yeah? Good. If you promise not to swing at me anymore, I'll get off of you now."
"Swing-" His voice is low and crackily and his throat feels like sandpaper. He swallows thickly. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, unsure what else to say and feeling incapable of saying much more.
"Don't be. Nightmares, panic attacks, flashbacks - whatever it was, I've had them all too, so don't feel bad." He looks at him for another moment, then slowly sits up and releases his wrists. "I'll get you some water. It'd probably be less painful for both of us if you just stay there and don't try to move while I'm gone." He gets up and walks out before Peter can muster up a response.
Peter glances around, trying to get his bearings. He appears to be in a bedroom - an underused one, if the barren surroundings are any indication. A guest room, then. How did he get here? Everything is so blurry. He knows he put up a hell of a fight to escape the place he was being kept before they could move him out of the city like he'd heard them say they were planning to. He clearly made it out of the building, wherever the hell that had been, but everything after that is a blur. From there to here… he doesn't even know how far he'd made it. Far enough not to be held by the same people, but when you were the only reliable superhero in a city like New York, you were bound to be a target. And even if this man had rescued him, he could still want something.
Sighing a little, Peter cautiously moves the blanket and lifts his shirt, checking to see the extent of his current wounds. They're all covered by bandages so he can't see the full extent of the damage, but they definitely feel worse than he remembers. Not that he's not surprised they aren't getting better as quick as they should. He doesn't remember the last time he's had a real meal. Even before this latest capture… well, things since half of everyone disappeared have been rough, to say the least. So they look really bad, but he's sure he's had worse, and he can't stay in this position, so he puts his arms down and tries to push himself up into a sitting position-
-then cries out and doubles over, almost falling off the edge of the bed between the dizziness and the nausea that immediately take hold of him at even the slightest bit of movement.
He's holding on to the nightstand with a sweaty grip and both cursing and rejoicing at the fact that there's nothing in his stomach to hurl up when the man returns. He hears the door open as if from far away and then a low curse, then the man is rushing over, gently pushing him back into the bed. "This is exactly why I told you to stay still!" he tells him, sounding exasperated. Peter lets himself be pushed back down, in too much pain to fight back even if he wanted to, and is surprised when he looks up as his eyes refocus and sees the concern in the elder man's eyes for a brief second as the world swims in and out of focus. "Hey, kid, stay with me," he urges softly.
Peter blinks a few times and takes some breaths, not speaking for a moment. "I'm not a kid," he says at last. It's the only response he has to what just happened.
The mans sighs, rolling his eyes. They alight on the nightstand, and he seems to remember the reason he'd left the room for then and picks up the glass of water, helping him take a drink. "First of all, everyone less than half my age is a kid when you get to be as old as I am. Second of all, I doubt you're even old enough to drink. That's literally still a kid."
Peter swallows it greedily, drinking most of it in a few gulps before the cup is pulled away gently and he has to stop. He licks his lips, forcing himself to take a breath and answer. "I'm almost old enough," he mutters.
"Right. I'm sure you are." He looks down at him, those dark eyes contemplative and almost hesitant, as if unsure if he really wants to ask, but then he does. "So can I get you to tell me your name, or do I have to look it up?"
"Who wants to know?" Peter shoots back instantly. "Because I'm sick of being the victim and if you're working for someone-"
"The only person I work for is myself," the man interrupts. If Peter didn't know better he would say he looks almost amused, but he's hiding it behind his concern. "And I'm the only person who wants to know. Considering I saved your life…"
"I've had it saved only to be taken away before," Peter says quietly. "That means nothing to me."
"Well, I know it's hard to believe these days, but not everyone around you is a criminal or a psychopath. And I would greatly appreciate it if you would at least tell me what to call you for the duration of your stay."
Any tension that had seeped out of him returns immediately. "Duration?" Peter starts trying to sit up again. "I can't-"
A firm hand on his shoulder keeps him down. "Stay?" the man finishes. "Well, you certainly can't leave in your state. Besides, you've been missing from the street for weeks and the world has kept turning. I don't think taking a few to recover will kill anyone."
It actually might, Peter wants to argue, but he's caught on something else he's said instead. "Weeks?" he repeats weakly. "I've been gone for weeks? How… there's no way. How do you even know that?"
He just sighs again, giving him an indecipherable look. "Look, it's not important. Can I get your name or not?"
Peter stares at him for a long moment, then closes his eyes and mutters, "Peter. My name is Peter."
"Good to know. What's the last thing you remember, Peter?"
Some far off part of Peter notes that the man still hasn't told him his name even though he just gave him his, and while a small part of him thinks he should panic, another part keeps him from doing so, forcing him to focus on the question. "Clearly?" he asks, just to clarify, and the man nods. "Fighting. I think I took a nasty knock to the head at some point and between that and probably blood loss, everything after that is blurry."
"So you don't happen to remember, say, passing out and free falling through a glass wall?" he questions, looking at him with dark intensity.
Peter's eyes go wide. He remembers hearing glass shattering, but he had thought that was in his head. "I thought I'd heard glass, but… consciously, no."
"That's because you were unconscious when it happened, according to eyewitness accounts." He paused. "I just wondered how reliable that particular testimony is when there's only one eyewitness and she happens to be my six year old daughter who was up getting a snack at the time."
His eyes get even wider, if that's even possible. "I- I am so sorry, sir, I didn't know, obviously I didn't mean to-"
"Obviously not. And don't worry, she's more upset about the fact that she couldn't talk to her favorite superhero when it happened than the fact that he came crashing through the glass into her home at 3 am." The elder man offers him a small, wry smile. "You stuck to her arm for a little bit while you were unconscious. I know that can't be the suit, so you're just… natural sticky?"
"Uh, sometimes, when I want to be or when I'm not in a state to control it- what do you know about my suit?" Peter asks, feeling utterly confused. He feels like this whole conversation has done nothing but make him more confused. He's gaining nothing from it.
"Don't worry about it," the man tells him, then promptly keeps him from answering by holding the cup up to his lips. Peter wants to counter that he absolutely is worried about it, but he wants the water more, and so he focuses on draining the cup instead. He hasn't had pure water in- well, since before this most recent kidnapping, and that's been weeks, apparently.
He finishes all the water and lays his head back. He's exhausted, from the conversation and from his efforts earlier. He still feels like hell - perhaps even worse than before, now that he's not as dehydrated and he's more alert. The pain and his hunger even that fact that he's still extremely dehydrated can be felt as clear as day. He debates the merits of asking this man for anything more than he's already given him. Anything else he asks for is going to give some amount of information about him away that he is not prepared to give, and anyway, what he's done is already too much.
Even if he's actually a nice guy, Peter can't stay. He has other places to be and if it's been weeks then no doubt his absence has been noticed from various places by now. He just needs to find a new hidey hole to crawl into and stay there for a while. Still, as much as he doesn't like it, he's not going anywhere without pain meds. And it's either steal them or ask for them, and considering his current range of motion and the fact he'll probably be able to figure out how many he took either way, there's no point in not just asking.
Peter sighs. "I don't suppose you have anything for pain, do you?"
"Nothing that's going to do much with the injuries you're sporting," he says, looking remorseful. "I have some over the counter stuff on hand. Nothing you'll want to take on an empty stomach, though."
He bits his lip, thinking about it for a moment. He's been in captivity and on a drip for weeks. The likelihood he can keep much solid food of any kind down is going to be incredibly low. And that generic over the counter stuff isn't going to do shit for his metabolism. But he can't tell this guy either of those things, so he shakes his head. "No thanks then. I should probably be going anyway." He'll just have to make do. He starts struggling into an upright position, groaning a bit as it pulls on his broken ribs and all the wounds peppered across his torso and arms. "Thanks so much for your help, but-"
A hand is on his shoulder again, trying to pull him back down. "Now hold on just a minute. If you think I'm letting you walk right out of here-"
"Oh, great, here it comes," Peter mumbles, and he already sounds so weary, even to his own ears. He's so tired of being a target, of never being able to trust anyone. He knows fighting his way out of this is going to hurt like hell, but he'll give it his best shot, if he absolutely has to. "If you're seriously going to try to keep me here-"
"There's no try," the man scoffs, pushing him back flat against the bed. Peter would normally have the strength to push him right off, but he just can't leverage his upper body against the weight, not with the pain he's in. He's so tired and weak and hurt right now. "You're staying, kid. I don't care if I actually have to restrain you. I'm not going to let you go out there and hurt yourself more, or end up back in whatever hellhole you fought your way out of. You're staying until I deem you're well enough to go."
Peter closes his eyes, only half listening past the part where it became obvious he was going to keep him here one way or another, only half-able to focus through the pain and panic growing in his head as he tries to hide his growing feeling of desperation. "Please, sir. I'll be fine, and I don't know anything, I don't have anything- if you think you'll get something from helping me, I don't have anything, and if this is about the Avengers again, I swear I don't know anything about them or where any of them are and I promise you they don't give a shit about me, so if you're thinking you can use me, you're wrong. I've got nothing for you. Please just let me go."
He stops and takes a shuddering breath, not opening his eyes. The room has gone deathly quiet in the midst of his begging, so much so if it weren't for the sound of the man's thundering heart beside his head, Peter might think he left. He knows there's nothing else he can say that will help his case, no threats he can make when they both know he's in no state to follow through.
Finally the man swallows hard and lets out a small , shaky breath. "No can do, kiddo. Get some sleep, and we'll talk about this in the morning." He gets up, and Peter can hear his footsteps starting to retreat.
He doesn't want to move, and he's so drained he couldn't argue anymore if he wanted to. But he has one last question left to ask. "I told you my name. Don't I at least get something to call you, too? Or are you one of those captors who won't tell me anything? Because I can give you a name in my head, but it probably won't be flattering." His voice is failing him. Closing his eyes wasn't his best idea; he's barely holding on to consciousness now, but he forces himself to focus long enough to hear the answer.
There was a pause and a creak as the door cracks open, and for a second he thinks the man is just going to walk out without answering. Then he hears the sigh, and a quiet response that makes his gut twist in ways he can't begin to unravel right now because he's already fading fast.
"Call me Tony," comes the quiet answer. "Now go to bed, kid."
And Peter does, the darkness reclaiming his consciousness before the door even fully closes behind him.