A/N: Here's the next chapter! Thanks for your patience while I was away. Thank you to all who reviewed, favorited, and followed!
WARNING: Rating may go up.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing! I make no profit off of this. This is solely for my enjoyment and hopefully for the enjoyment of others! ;)
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Ugh, what was that smell?
It was familiar. A cleaning solution of some kind, maybe? May used it at home.
Windex? No, not quite.
Bleach? No, not strong enough.
Oh! Rubbing alcohol! That was it.
There was an underlying scent as well, but the drug haze in his mind was making it hard to place.
"Oh, are you waking up? You are, aren't you? I can see your pretty little lashes fluttering." That was Greenie's voice.
Peter slowly opened his eyes, squinting against the bare bulb dangling directly above him. He was lying spread-eagled on an unyielding surface with thick metal bands digging into his arms and legs above each joint.
Not good.
He tried to take a steadying breath in through his nose as Greenie's gelled hair and grinning face loomed over him. "Did you sleep well?" He waggled his eyebrows before ducking back out of sight. Peter tried to turn his head to keep the man within his line of vision but was alarmed to find that there was also a band of metal encircling his head, keeping it firmly in place.
The intensely air conditioned room raised goosebumps on Peter's bare skin, suddenly forcing the question of "Where did my clothes go?" to the front of his mind.
He flinched and attempted to pull his right arm back when something cold and wet was unexpectedly swept across his forearm. He stared out of the corner of his eye at Greenie as the man repeated the action farther up his arm.
"What're you doing?" Peter asked, hating the way his voice shook around the words.
"Just preparing the site," said the man, not looking up from his work. "Can't have my prize fighter getting any infections, can I?" He twisted his neck and gave Peter a small smile, as if the statement were meant to be comforting.
Alarm bells were starting to ring in the back of Peter's brain. Not good upgraded to very not good.
"So how does it work?" Greenie continued, walking back to stand over Peter again.
"I don't know what you're–"
"I've never seen someone heal the way you do. Gotta be damn useful in a fight," Greenie said, staring at Peter with wonderment in his eyes.
Anxiety churned heavily in Peter's stomach, sending a shiver of panic up his spine, his skin beginning to crawl. "No, it doesn't work that way. It–"
"So how does it work?" The man repeated, voice barely above a whisper as he leaned even closer.
Peter held his breath, hating that he couldn't even lean away from the man. He had no escape.
"Remind me, kid," Greenie said, blazing hazel eyes boring into the nervous browns of Peter's. "What's your name?"
Still Peter didn't draw breath, mouth resolutely shut, eyes never breaking contact. He watched as Greenie's upper lip pulled back in a soundless snarl. The man shoved back from the table and Peter's eyes slid shut as he gasped in the cool air of the room.
His eyes flew open, however, when he heard the familiar click of a camera shutter. He rolled his eyes over to where Greenie was standing a few feet away, holding the digital camera from the previous night aloft. Peter looked away, cheeks flushing slightly as the man snapped another shot of the teen lying on the table.
After a moment, there was a thud in which Peter assumed Greenie had finally put down the camera. He heard the man's footsteps approach again but didn't bother to look over.
"I'm going to give you one more opportunity here, kid, to tell me how that fast healing of yours works."
Peter blinked up at the ceiling, lips still pressed tightly together.
"Last chance, Spidey."
Peter risked a glance over at the man standing at his side and very quickly wished he hadn't. Poised barely even an inch over the exposed skin of his bicep was a gleaming knife that Greenie had gotten from god knows where.
"Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa!" Peter blurted, straining against the band around his head. "What are you doing?"
Greenie huffed a sigh, shaking his head slightly. "If you aren't going to tell me how it works, I'm going to have to find out for myself."
"No, wait–"
But the man didn't wait. He sliced the pale skin of the teenager's arm three times in quick succession. The cuts were shallow and about half an inch apart from each other. Peter winced as the metal bit into his skin.
"What the hell?" He hissed, glowering at the man out of the corner of his eye, but Greenie was too enthralled with what he saw to notice.
"Would you look at that?" He breathed, staring at cuts for a moment before suddenly rushing out of Peter's line of sight, only to return a moment later with his camera. He took a picture of the cuts before leaning down to inspect them close up. "Well I'll be dammed."
Judging from the way his bicep was starting to itch, Peter guessed that the cuts had already started to scab over. They had been pretty shallow anyways.
"Satisfied?" Peter couldn't help but spit.
Greenie straightened up to his full height, casting an unreadable expression down at Peter. A slow grin began to spread across his face. "Not exactly."
As the man disappeared again, Peter mentally kicked himself in the butt. Why did he ask that? The man was clearly unhinged. Asking him if he was satisfied was practically giving him an open invitation.
Sure enough, Greenie came back with a different tool: a serrated knife this time. He gave no warning before he dragged it over the soft flesh of Peter's forearm. The teen barely suppressed a scream as the teeth of the blade caught and tore at the skin. He heard Greenie's camera shutter deploy as the knife was cast aside, clanging on the floor as it landed.
Peter didn't know how long they went through the routine.
Cut, click, will it heal?, different spot.
Cut, click, will it heal?, different spot.
Cut, click, will it heal?, different spot.
The taste of iron was in the air as well as on Peter's tongue from how hard he'd bitten it from trying not to cry out.
He lost that battle when Greenie decided he wanted to find out how Peter healed broken bones.
It started with the pinkie finger.
"P-Please…" Peter whispered as the man took the finger into his grip. He couldn't see the man at the end of his arm but felt Greenie still.
"Tell me your name," came the reply.
Tears began to well up in the teen's eyes. "I-I can't…"
A hummed response was all he got before the man viciously twisted the digit eliciting the first scream from the boy. Greenie didn't stop there. He instantly grabbed the boy's ring finger and delivered the same treatment.
Tears leaked from the corners of Peter's eyes, escaping into his hairline as the scream tore from his throat, back arching slightly off the table.
"S-S-Stop!" He cried as the man latched onto the teen's middle finger. There was a moment of hesitation.
"You know," he sighed, lazily taking a picture of the mutilated fingers, "you're probably right. As entertaining, and eye opening, as this has been, we should probably reel this in a little. Don't want to put my prize fighter out of commission, eh?" He chuckled to himself as Peter heaved in unsteady breaths, trying to calm the panic in his gut.
"Alright, kid," Greenie said, patting Peter's chest, ignoring the way the teen flinched at the touch. "I'll send someone in to at least reset the fingers, but then I want to see how long it takes to get those piggies back in working order."
He patted Peter's cheek twice, like a father would their son, but it just made Peter want to throw up.
His eyes slid shut as the door closed behind Greenie, and it was only then that he allowed himself to cry in earnest.
God, what had he gotten himself into?
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