Tony feels sick.

He's so, so sick inside right now.

He hadn't been able to sleep, so he'd gone down to the lab to work. Friday alerted him at some point in the night that the kid was freaking out and having crazy vitals, so he'd gone up to check on him and discovered him having a nightmare.

The results of that conversation had been… astounding, to say the least.

He'd done a bit of research on what the spider-kid had been into recently while he was still in the lab. Turns out he'd been off the grid for the last two weeks. After hearing him speak and seeing his injuries and reactions, Tony is sure he'd been abducted and kept somewhere for at least most of that. He can't imagine what the kid has been through, not even close to its entirety, but he has a fair idea of what some of it has been about now.

He's so tired, he's so young, he's so weak, he doesn't even recognize Iron Man in front of him, and his begging… God, Tony was almost tempted to tell him back there that he'd let him go, even though the logical side of him knew that the kid wouldn't make it as far as the door on his own, and he wasn't actually holding him captive in the first place. Against his will, maybe, and yeah, Tony was totally serious about tying him down if he tries to hurt himself again in any form, but only because he wants to help the kid.

And Peter isn't even surprised at his situation. He's hurting, he's scared, but he's also remarkably calm. Like he's done this a million times before and is more tired than afraid.

Tony hates it. He hates it with a burning passion and he doesn't even fully understand why.

But nothing compares to when Peter's begging to be let go and trying to convince him he's useless and just throws out the Avengers.

...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…

Again. As if it's not the first time he'd been abducted and presumably tortured by people trying to find the Avengers. Trying to find him. And the fact that the kid seems to wholeheartedly believe that they really don't care about him, that they had the slightest inkling this was going on and had left him to the wolves anyway...

Tony slides down the wall against the inside of his workshop as soon as the door closes behind him, holding his head in his hands. When he heard those words leave the kid's lips, he had wanted to pass out, or run, whichever he could do quicker. He couldn't make himself do it, had known he had to reassure the kid before making an escape, but now…

Now the panic and guilt he's been holding off through the entire conversation hit him full force. He covers his face with his hands and struggles to control the oncoming attack. This is his fault. It's all his fault. If he hadn't failed… if he had maybe reached out to the kid instead of watching him from a distance all this time…

Tony stays on the floor until the sun rises, covering the lab in a soft early morning glow of brights colors. He thinks and he worries and he plans and he has a few panic attacks, if he's honest. But eventually he gets up. He knows what he has to do.

Hours later, Peter wakes up slowly, peacefully, stirred by the early morning light shining through the window and the faint sounds around him as the world starts waking up to face the day.

He'd like to say that he's feeling infinitely better, the way he normally does after he gets seriously injured and has a nice good rest while his body shuts down and repairs him. But that's when he's running on full power and has had adequate food and water and sleep sometime in the last few weeks, so he's not surprised that he almost feels worse now than he did when he blacked out. Better is going to be a long time coming.

He rubs his eyes and looks around. The room looks much the same as it did last night. He feels something is different, something making his Spidey senses tingle, but whatever it is, he's not sure.

Until he tries to sit up again and hears clinking.

He freezes. His hands are free - he can see them, he's using them - but clinking of chains is unmistakable to his ears. And it's not on his neck, so that leaves…

He throws the blanket off of him and stares at the small silver cuff on his ankle.

It's just one, on the leg that's not completely wrecked, cuffed around the ankle with a chain leading off the side of the bed. If Peter has to guess, it's probably hooked to the bed somehow, meaning he'd either have to snap it or break or move the bed for him to get even completely off of it. So much for him not being a prisoner.

He sighs. He can't say he's surprised; he's really not. He's disappointed, and tired, but he's not surprised.

He is surprised when he looks up to see a little girl with wide brown eyes staring at him from the doorway. He didn't even hear her come in. He freezes, lowering himself into the pillows slowly. His brain is going ninety miles a minute, trying to figure out what he should say, but she speaks before he can.

"You're Spider-Man, right?"

His mind goes back to last night, the man telling him he'd crashed through the window in front of his young daughter. She'll know who he is one way or another. "Yeah, I'm Spider-Man," Peter answers quietly. "But when I'm not in the suit I go by Peter." He offers her the best smile he can manage, which is still small but gentle. "What's your name?"

She hesitates, as if weighing whether she should give her name to a stranger versus the fact said stranger was a hero. Eventually seems to come to a decision as she says, "I'm Morgan." She takes a tentative step closer. "Why did you crash through our window last night?"

Peter stares at her, biting his lip as he tries to think of the best PG answer that won't raise more questions. "I… was hurt. I blacked out and I couldn't help it, so I just… fell."

"Who hurt you?" Her eyes are somehow dark and bright at the same time, that dark shade of brown but glowing with emotion.

"Bad people."

"Why?"

"Because I tried to stop them," he tells her, patiently. "They didn't like that, and we fought, and I… lost." He shouldn't be telling her too much, as much for her safety as his own, but he doubts she's going to tell anyone. She's an innocent little girl, and if the man - Tony, he vaguely reminds himself - is to be believed, she's… a fan of his? Weird, he didn't know that was a thing exactly, but he doubts she'd do anything to hurt him.

Which is all the more reason why he feels like he owes her an apology. "I'm sorry about last night, Morgan," he continues softly. "About crashing through the window and scaring you, and sticking to you and all that." He has vague memories now of the little girl being there as he passed out, the way she held his hand and talked to him.

Morgan just smiles brightly back at him. "It's okay. I didn't mind. I was just glad to help." She's at the edge of his bed now, looking at him with those wide doe eyes. "Daddy always gets hurt when he does hero stuff too. I convinced him to fix you up himself so the doctors didn't see your face too." She peers up at him through her eyelashes, suddenly antsy. "I hope you don't mind us seeing you. We didn't really have a choice, and… I didn't want you to die."

Peter blinks, surprised at the sudden change in her demeanor. "Oh. Hey, Morgan." He reaches out cautiously, forcing himself to keep his hand steady, and gently tilts her head up so he can meet her eyes. Then he smiles at her again. "I don't mind you seeing me, Mo. I know you just wanted to help, and I'm so grateful for everything you did last night. Just… my name has to be a secret, okay? You can't tell anyone who I am, or I can't be Spider-Man anymore."

Her face brightens considerably. "Really? I won't tell anyone, I promise!"

"Thanks." Peter pulls his hand away from her chin, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. It suddenly occurs to him that it's really early and that one or both of them could get in trouble for her being in here, so he clears his throat. "Uh, Morgan, are you… supposed to be in here?"

Morgan just shrugs, brown eyes wide and trying to look innocent, but this time he sees a glint of mischief behind them. "Am I bothering you?"

Peter frowns. "No, of course not, but-"

"Daddy said I'm not supposed to bother you. So if I'm not bothering you…"

"That," a voice thunders from the doorway, "Is not at all what I meant." The man from the night before has appeared in the doorway, and he walks over and scoops up his daughter, bopping her on the nose. "And you damn well know it."

"That's Mommy's word," Morgan says immediately, grinning up at him with borderline adoration that makes even Peter feel warm.

"Gah." Tony ignores her statement and looks down at Peter. By some unspoken agreement, any tension from the night before is carefully not acknowledged with the little girl in the room. "How are you feeling, kid?"

Peter considers carefully before answering, weighing not only what the young girl will hear with the truth but with the sudden pang of desperation that reminds him that he's not here by choice. "Much better, sir," he lies, almost smoothly.

Tony's eyes narrow, and Peter shrinks back a little under the weight of his stare. "Good," he finally says, clearly not believing him but not going to press in front of Morgan. "Can I get you to eat something this morning, then?"

Peter has to will his stomach not to growl at the suggestion. He's hungry, certainly, but he knows that he will not be able to eat much, and besides… "No thank you, sir. I really should be going-"

A hand clamps on his shoulder, keeping him from getting more than slightly upright, and pushes him back down. "Don't be ridiculous, kid," Tony says, eyes narrowed, but his voice forcibly lighthearted. "You're in no shape to go anywhere. If you're not that hungry, I'll just bring you something small, yeah?" He holds his eyes, daring him to argue.

Peter sighs and nods. He was hoping he wouldn't want to say anything in front of the little girl and thus would have had to let him get up, but he was wrong. Really, there was nowhere to go anyway, and his ankle was still chained, but it was worth taking the opportunity to call his bluff. Even if he wasn't bluffing. Clearly. "Yeah, that sounds good," he murmurs, suddenly feeling too exhausted to hide his disappointment.

He closes his eyes as they leave the room, sighing. Once he gets some food and water down and is able to rest again, he knows his enhanced strength and healing factor will start kicking back in. When that happens, it'll be easy for him to break the chain. It's some consolation, if not much, but it'll do for now. Something to hold on to.

He's still laying there with his eyes closed when he hears footsteps approaching his room again. The door cracks open, and the smell of food hits him so hard he inhales a sharp breath, unable to help himself. He cracks his eyes open and sees Tony closing - and locking, he notes, his heart skipping a beat at the sight - the door behind him. "You know, using Morgan's presence as a way to protect yourself while calling my bluff wasn't exactly what I expected you to do," he admits, walking over and setting the try down on the nightstand. "Still, it's undoubtedly clever."

Peter flushes, feeling the hidden admonishment in the words. A gentle 'you're the hero, how dare you' rebuke. As if he knows what it's like to be a hero. "Worth a try," he whispers, avoiding the elder man's eyes.

"I suppose so." Tony settles on the edge of the bed next to him. Peter just flinches, unable to move away from him between the chain and his injuries. The chain still rattles when he jerks, though, and he suddenly remembers it. Tony hears it too, and guilt flashed across his face for a split second. "That's… I'm sorry, about that."

"You wouldn't have to be sorry if you'd take it off," Peter offers quietly, but Tony shakes his head.

"Not today, kiddo. Not when we both know the second you deem yourself well enough you'll try to take off. I'm not waiting for it to happen and watching you hurt yourself before doing something to prevent it." Tony sighs, glancing towards the foot of the bed where the chain lies hidden under the blankets. He suddenly looks vaguely uncomfortable. "Did you…"

"Show Morgan? No." Peter looks away. "I didn't say anything to her. She asked about my injuries and if I minded her seeing my face. I gave her all the PG answers."

"Well, I appreciate that. It wouldn't have made a difference, but it saves me the explaining." Tony sighs, then looks back down at him. "Come on, lets get some food in you." He slips his arms under his back and eases Peter up, readjusting his pillows so that he's propped into a mostly-upright position, and then settling him back down. Peter doesn't resist, too exhausted and hungry to even want to.

"There we go." Tony grabs the tray he brought in and carefully settled it over Peter's lap. "Now please eat. And before you ask something so idiotic, no, I wouldn't poison the same food my family is eating to get to you, and at any rate, I didn't cook it this morning, so you're doubly safe."

Peter flushes again. Of course he'd had the thought, but he wasn't going to say it outloud. It did seem pretty illogical in the situation. "I…" He looks over the tray, which is loaded with food, and exhales a long breath. "I am hungry, but I don't know how much I can eat."

"Because you were on a drip, or because you haven't eaten large portions in two weeks?"

Peter chokes on his first bite of eggs, looking up at him. "What?"

Tony looks at him with a mixture of sadness and worry. "Kid, I have my resources, alright? I know you were abducted. I don't know who did it, yet, but I'm working on it. So which is it?"

"I, uh…." He freezes for a moment, slowly forking another bite of scrambled eggs. "I mean, both, technically, since a drip isn't really a large portion size." There's no point in denying it.

Tony nods, taking his arm that he's not eating with - correctly guessing he's favoring the uninjured one - and turning it over. He hisses through his teeth at the dark mark where the tube was shoved into his arm, running his calloused fingers over it gently. "Those suck," he murmurs, mostly to himself, then releases his arm. "Better than an NG, though."

"I've had those before too," Peter says absently, his attention more focused on the food now. He's starving, but he forces himself to take small bites, to stop every few and make sure he's not going to hurl it up. He would prefer to keep everything down. "I like the IV version better, for sure."

"IV is better," Tony agrees, watching him with a hint of satisfaction and again, that odd sadness. He allows him to finish eating in relative silence, only doing anything more than observing when Peter tries to lift the cup off the tray to take a drink and his shaky hands get the better of him. Tony lifts it for him and helps him take slow drinks.

When he's ate as much as he thinks he can, Tony takes the tray off of his lap and sets it aside. "Alright. Lets get you to the bathroom so you can take care of yourself and get cleaned up, hm?" He peels the blankets off of him.

Peter blinks in surprise, but before he can say anything, Tony is moving around the bed, grabbing the ankle with the chain around it and pulling it into his lap. At his touch, the chain simply seems to melt apart. A flash of silver travels up the man's arm and disappears.

Peter's jaw drops open. "What the hell was that?"

"Nanotech," Tony answers absently, shrugging his shoulders. He stands and turns, looking over him for a moment and seeming to debate internally before leaning down and scooping Peter up before the younger man can protest.

"What-" Peter starts to squirm, but the arms around him tighten, restricting but somehow still so carefully gentle as so not to hurt him.

"I just told you where I'm taking you, kid, so calm down. You can't walk on that leg," Tony tells him, walking over and opening the door to the adjoining bathroom. "Now I cleaned you up the best I could last night, but these wounds need cleaned everyday anyway. So I'll run you some water and get the supplies while you do what you need to, then we'll get you cleaned up, alright?"

Peter frowns. He isn't too fond of the ideas he's getting from this conversation - the fact that he's probably going to watch over him as he bathes, or worse, try to help, which they both know he's probably going to need and not going to want to accept - but he can't deny being clean sounds amazing, and he's not going to be able to rewrap his wounds, either. He still wants to see the extent of the damage for himself, too. "Fine," he finally murmurs, looking away.

He feels the weight of Tony's stare on him for a long minute and wonders if he's going to say something. But he doesn't, only a soft, "Good. I'll be right back, then," and then he disappears out the door, leaving Peter alone with a short window of opportunity and little desire or ability to do anything about it.

He considers making a break for it, briefly, but knows instinctively that's a bad idea. Honestly, this whole scenario is just so bizarre, even for him. He fleetingly thinks that a doting captor is almost worse than a crazy one, then sighs, pushing the thought away. It's only a matter of time before the man shows his hand. He may as well take advantage while he can.

So he doesn't move, but simply turns to the massive tub a few feet away and carefully starts peeling off his shirt.