A/N: Sorry sorry sorry sorry SORRY! For some reason, I really struggled writing this chap. But anyways, here's the next chapter! 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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Today had been absolute hell for Peter.
He'd woken up exhausted, having barely slept the night before. He'd been to afraid that Jason would return in the middle of the night unexpectedly and finally act on the urges the man had expressed so clearly the day before.
Greenie's mood had been bipolar from the second he walked into Peter's cell that morning.
First, he'd cheerfully greeted the teen, talking about what a great day it was going to be and how much more amazing it was going to be once Peter had placed for Mattermind finals.
He was fine until breakfast time. Peter had been served an actually decent breakfast of pancakes, sausage links, and scrambled eggs. There had even been a yogurt parfait and a glass of orange juice.
Peter had been skeptical at first, used to being given dry toast or bland oatmeal for breakfast. But Greenie had encouraged him to eat, tutting about how Peter "needed his strength".
But the food had been too heavy in the teen's stomach, having become acquainted with simpler foods over the last few days. Peter hadn't come anywhere close to finishing it all, whereas normally, at home, he would've been on his second or third plate by then.
He only made it through half a pancake and a third of the eggs before his stomach began to rebel. He knew the second he saw the muscle beginning to jump in Greenie's jaw that he'd upset the man.
Peter's apologies were trampled over as Greenie had grabbed the fork and, with one hand on the back of Peter's head, shoveled the food into Peter's mouth. The teen had gagged and choked as the food was crammed into his mouth, but Greenie hadn't quit until every bit of food was chewed and swallowed.
Oh, the anger on his face when it all made a reappearance five minutes later. Peter had fought to keep it down, not wanting to go through the whole ordeal again, but mind over matter only works for so long.
Greenie's mood perked up once it was time to get Peter ready for the match.
"If you're going to be our mascot, you'll need a suit," Greenie had said, proudly displaying the outfit he'd readied for Peter.
A surge of anger had swept through Peter when recognized his Spider suit. The blue had been painted over with black, the same color also used to create thick, horizontal stripes across his chest and arms.
They'd completely eliminated the webbed pattern Mr. Stark had designed, leaving behind only plain colored fabric. In the center of the suit, where the spider drone was supposed to suit, was stitched a grotesque image of demonic looking dog.
And to top it all off, next to the suit sat an enormous dog mask that had to be as wide as Peter's shoulders. It was not unlike the ones you'd see on Halloween.
Peter had known better than to disagree when Greenie had ordered him to put the ensemble on. The man had been practically gushing over the costume, going on and on about how good it looked. He promised he wouldn't make Peter fight with the mask on, but he did say that Peter would have to wear it for his big entrance.
After that, Peter had pretty much been left alone. Greenie had deposited Peter back in his cell and had left to go do whatever else he had left set up.
When the time had come, Cabbage escorted Peter to arena, making sure the teen had put on his mask before they entered. Before they had even got close, the sounds of the crowd's shrieking and hollering had pounded against Peter's eardrums.
He loved having heightened senses, but it was times like these that wished he could turn them off. The thunderous sound of cheering, clapping, and stamping feet made his head want to explode. He had almost been thankful for the godawful mask he'd been wearing that hid his wince of pain as Cabbage led him to the door of the cage.
Greenie's voice had echoed dramatically around the room as he made Peter's introduction.
"We have a new fighter this year folks! You've never seen anything like him before in the history of Mattermind. He came to us on a stroke of good fortune. And alright, alright. I know what you're thinking. "Why would you put such a scrawny kid in the ring? He's gonna die!" Well folks, I know he doesn't look like much, but this kid can lift a truck with his bare hands!"
More shouts and jeers were heard as Cabbage had forced Peter into the ring.
"Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time ever, I give you the Pitbull!"
Cabbage had torn the dog mask off Peter's head and, gripping one of the boy's wrists, lifted his arm into the air.
"And in the other corner, returning for his fifth year: the Snake!"
Hisses had broken out across the room as people showed their support for Peter's opponent. The man was tall and had a wiry sort of build. He had been dressed in a scaly green costume to accommodate his namesake.
Cabbage stepped out of the ring with Peter's mask, leaving the two males to face off against one another.
"You all know how this works," Greenie had continued. "Five fights are taking place tonight. The winner of each round advances to next, the loser is disqualified. Whoever wins the last fight of the night qualifies as this district's champion for the Mattermind finals."
More screams and cheers arose at the announcement.
"Fighters: you know the rules, which are that there are no rules. The only exception being that we do not fight to kill. Only to maim, disfigure, or cause serious bodily harm. Now who's ready to see some blood on the mat?"
If at all possible, the cheers had been louder.
Peter had felt increasingly sick to his stomach as the countdown started. Five fights? In his condition? Malnourished, drugged, bruised and broken in places– there was no way this was going to end well.
But then the starting bell had gone off and only one thought had pulsated through his mind: survive.
Peter remembered wondering if his opponent had been named Snake (a) because of the way the man contorted his body and moved with such limber ease, or (b) because of the fact that he bit people.
At one point during the match, Snake had managed to trap Peter in a sort of bearhug, crushing the kid's arms to his chest in a vice-like grip.
"Looks like the Snake's going in for his signature move!" Greenie had called out over the speakers.
Hisses and screams of delight went up as the taller man leaned his head down and clamped his jaws on the stretch of muscle between Peter's neck and shoulder.
Peter's scream of pain was lost in the cacophonous din of the crowd. He flung himself out of the man's grip, clutching at his right shoulder where Snake's teeth had been seconds ago.
When he lowered his hand, his fingers came away wet. Not just with saliva. With blood. The sick bastard had actually drawn blood.
It was then that Peter knew he couldn't afford to play it safe. Greenie's rules be damned; if these guys wanted to kill Peter, nothing was going to stop them. They were wanted to win and nothing was going to stand in their way. Especially not some fifteen year old greenhorn who wasn't even halfway done with high school.
No more holding back.
Once Peter had made that decision, the first fight didn't last much longer.
A few well placed kicks and punches had the Snake down for the count.
Peter's second opponent hadn't been so easy. The Crippler had been about two feet shorter than the Snake had been, but he was at least four times thicker.
The crowd had jeered and shrieked as Peter had thrown himself into the new match, ducking and rolling as the stocky fighter came after him with meaty fists held high.
Crippler's fighting style seemed to be nothing more than haphazardly swinging his fists around until one of them managed to land. And when they did land, they hurt. Dude packed a wallop.
If Peter had only thought his ribs were fractured before, they were definitely fractured now. He dropped to the mat, clutching his left side as he gasped for the air that had so rudely been snatched from his lungs.
Crippler had walked around the ring, arms held high as the crowd screamed in delight.
Peter waited until the man's premature victory lap carried him back around in front of the kneeling teen, then he quickly spun on knee and swept the Crippler's legs out from underneath him. The man landed flat on his back with a jarring thud, surprise widening his eyes.
Before he even had a second to register what had happened, Peter was on him, sitting on the man's chest with one arm cocked back to deliver the last strike.
"I'm really sorry," he whispered. "But not that sorry." He cracked his fist across the man's cheek, wincing slightly as he felt bone crunch under his knuckles, knowing he had just broken the man's cheekbone.
There was no respite for Peter as Crippler's unconscious form had been dragged from the ring. Another competitor immediately stepped into the ring, a woman this time, as Greenie announced her name to the frenetic crowd.
"At this time, folks, I'd advise you to hold onto your hats because it's about to get windy in here. It's Tempest!"
The screams increased in volume as Peter eyed Tempest warily as she stalked around the cage, eyeing her opponent carefully. Peter knew from the calculating look on her face that she was sussing out his weak spots, which totally wasn't fair because he currently had way too many.
His sprained/potentially broken ankle was screaming at him as he continued to put his weight into it. The brace that Greenie had slapped on Peter's broken wrist earlier was doing absolutely nothing if the lightning bolts of pain racing up his arm were anything to go off of.
One of his eyes was slowly beginning to swell from were Snake clocked it with a misplaced elbow and the ache in his ribs from Crippler's brawny fist was making it hard for Peter to stand up straight.
He and the woman continued to circle each other slowly, neither seeming to want to strike first. Peter yelped as the metal cuffs around his wrists suddenly delivered a short burst of electricity. He whipped his head to the side to where Cabbage was still standing on the outside of the cage.
The man's face was impassive as he pressed the button on the fob in his hand, sending another shock racing through Peter's body. Though he said no words, his meaning was clear: get a move on.
Unfortunately for Peter, Tempest saw the teen's momentary distraction as the perfect time to strike. A dull buzzing began at the base of Peter's skull.
He turned his head back so quickly that his neck cracked, but he wasn't quick enough to dodge the flying foot that caught him in the chest.
He coughed out an undignified oof as the air in his lungs was forcefully expelled for the second time that night.
Peter stumbled back as Tempest quickly advanced, throwing punch after punch. Peter ducked and dodged, on the defensive, losing ground as the woman continued to throw hits with astonishing rapidity.
It wasn't long before his back brushed against the links of steel cage. An unpleasant smirk spread over Tempest's face as she celebrated cornering her prey.
There wasn't much left for it.
Peter twisted quickly and looped his fingers through the diamond links, quickly scaling the wall of the cage. He bit down on his lip to hold back the whimper of pain as all of his damaged appendages cried out against the strain.
A collective gasp of shock and awe rippled through the crowd as the teen scrambled up the cage wall before gathering his legs beneath him and springing away in a perfectly executed back tuck. Peter landed in a crouch in the center of the ring, careful to land one footed so as not to further aggravate his left ankle.
Tempest spun around as he landed, the smirk on her face instantly melting into a hideously unbecoming snarl. She charged forward at a run as Peter lowered himself into a crouch.
When the woman was finally close enough, he reached out and, using her momentum, flung her up and over his head. Her scream of surprise was cut short as she landed flat on her back, not unlike how the Crippler had done.
She was back on her feet in an instant, making another vicious lunge for Peter but the teen was too quick.
He ducked and dove forward into a roll, coming up behind his opponent. He leaped onto her back before she could spin around and hooked one of his arms around her throat in a sleeper chokehold.
Tempest staggered backwards, fingernails clawing at the arm cutting off her ventilation. Peter wanted nothing more than to cover his ears to block out the horrid choking sounds the woman made as he held pressure to her windpipe.
"Sorry, sorry!" He gasped as she slammed his back against the cage wall.
It didn't take long for the lack of oxygen to weaken the woman's struggles. She dropped to her knees, hands dropping to her sides as her eyes slid shut, unconscious.
Peter scrambled off her back, feeling sick to his stomach. He released the pressure around her throat and slowly lowered her to the ground, kneeling beside her to feel for a pulse. The steady beat of her heart beneath his fingers sent a wave of relief washing over him.
It was short-lived.
"Let's hear it for our so far undefeated champion this evening!" Greenie called over the mic as the volume of the crowd intensified.
Tempest's limp form was dragged from the ring leaving Peter kneeling alone in the cage.
It was only once he'd stopped moving that he realized just how exhausted he was. Peter didn't want to admit it, but he didn't think he was going to be able to carry on much longer, especially if his opponents kept increasing in difficulty.
"Only two rounds left tonight, folks," Greenie continued. "Who will be taking their place in the Mattermind finals? Will it be the Pitbull?"
Peter looked up through bleary eyes, squinting through the bright spotlights to look out at the raging crowd.
"Or will he finally be at last be subdued by the strength of the Boulder?"
A new figure stepped into the cage, Cabbage locking the door shut behind the man.
Peter felt his stomach slowly starting to sink into his shoes as he looked up at the person slowly walking towards him.
The guy looked like Dwayne Johnson's Scorpion King on steroids. He had to be at least seven feet tall– or at least that's how he looked from Peter's angle on the ground. He was bare chested, displaying each hulking muscle for everyone to see.
Peter's eyes slid shut as his chin dropped to his chest. "How is this fair?" He mumbled to himself. With a grunt, he heaved himself back to his feet, raising his fists in front of himself in a defensive posture.
Even as he lowered himself into a crouch, Peter knew his stance was weak. There just wasn't enough energy left in his body to do much else.
He just had to survive.
The Boulder was the first to strike. He swung first with a fist then second with a flat palm. Neither landed their mark as Peter leaned back, effectively dodging both.
In the state Peter was in, he knew he wasn't going to be able to land a solid hit on the guy. His plan was to let the Boulder tire himself out, maybe he'd get sloppy and give Peter an opening to do at least some damage.
Peter dropped into a squat as a fist whizzed over his head. He struck out with his own fist at the side of his opponent's knee, dancing backwards when the man gave a cry of pain and dropped to one knee.
But the Boulder was quick to get back up. He stomped over to the teen, fists swinging and legs kicking. They engaged in a strange dance of swipes and dodges, kicks and lunges. It lead them all around the ring, neither one touching the other until Peter unexpectedly stumbled, fatigue getting the better of his reflexes.
It was only a momentary lapse, but it was all the Boulder needed to drive his fist across Peter's face, spinning him around from the force as fireworks exploded in his vision.
He unceremoniously dropped to all fours, blood dripping from his lips as he frantically tried to blink away the spots dancing across his vision.
He distantly registered a collective "Ooh!" that swept through the crowd as he staggered back to his feet, drunkenly whirling around to face the seven-foot giant.
"He's back up! I thought he'd be down for the count, but ladies and gentlemen, this kid just does. Not. Quit," Greenie called, an astonished laugh bouncing his words.
Peter reeled back as the Boulder lunged, fingers outstretched to grab onto the teen but Peter was quicker. He stepped in close to the man and struck out at the man's gut with his left fist, consciously avoiding using his right.
The Boulder was actually lifted off his feet slightly from the body shot, grunting as Peter's fist connected a second time. But it was going to take more than two hits to knock the man down.
Peter didn't have enough time to get out of the man's reach before a muscular hand clamped around his throat, squeezing and making it difficult for the teen to breathe. Now it was Peter who was lifted off his feet, legs jerking and body twisting as he fought to free himself. His fingers scrambled for purchase against the man's iron grip.
The Boulder squeezed harder, lips pulling back in a snarl, fingers digging into the soft skin of Peter's neck.
Suddenly the racket of the crowd began to die down and the only sound Peter was aware of was that of his own heart pumping furiously. Blood rushed in his ears as his vision began to tunnel. He felt his body go limp, fingers slipping off of the Boulder's hand.
Just as his eyes were sliding shut, there was a high-pitched whine that cut through the fog in Peter's mind. Suddenly, the pressure around his throat vanished and he collapsed in a heap on the mat, arms and legs refusing to move as he gasped for air.
The screaming sounds of the crowd came rushing back, though the tone had changed.
They no longer sounded excited. They sounded terrified.
With great effort, Peter peeled his eyes open and saw that the Boulder was a good ten feet away, slouched against the metal links of the cage wall. Smoke was curling off of his blackened shoulder. He was out cold.
"NYPD! Nobody move! Nobody move!"
People were suddenly running as policemen burst into the room, guns raised.
Peter started as hands were suddenly on his shoulders, trying to turn him over. Fear spurred his limbs into motion as he flipped onto his back and scrambled backwards, ignoring the stabbing bolts of pain from his wrist and ankle.
"No, don't touch me!" He gasped as the hands followed him, a figure crouching over him.
"Pete– Peter, stop! It's me! It's Tony!"
Peter stilled at the words, finally looking up at the figure's face. He took in the dark brown eyes behind a pair of glasses and the famous goatee.
"M–Mr. Stark?" He said, failing to hide the tremble in his voice. 'Oh god please let this be real.'
Tony's expression changed as he stared down at the kid, at look of utter misery filling his eyes. "Yeah, Pete, it's real. It's over; you're safe."
Peter didn't even care that he'd accidentally voiced the statement out loud as he threw himself forward, arms wrapping around Mr. Stark's neck, unbidden tears suddenly leaking down his cheeks.
A sob choked past his lips as Mr. Stark's arms wrapped around him in return, grip firm but not painful. "It's okay, you're okay," Mr. Stark shushed, rocking the pair back and forth slightly.
"Mr. Stark, I'm so s-s-sorry. I'm r-really sorry," Peter gasped out between sobs.
A hand came up to rest on Peter's head as Mr. Stark cut him off. "No no no no no. You have nothing to be sorry for. You hear me? The only person to blame is the man who took you. Speaking of–"
Keeping one arm around Peter, Tony tapped the side of his glasses. "Rhodes, tell me you got him."
Peter didn't hear the other man's response as he continued to hold onto Mr. Stark. But something didn't feel right. The running shapes of policemen and civilians were starting to blur together. His vision kept phasing in and out, eyes unable to focus.
It felt as though his blood had suddenly run cold and his limbs felt like they were made of lead. He could distantly hear the sounds of the chaotic scene around them, but it was as if his head were in a fishbowl.
Mr. Stark must've sensed that something was wrong, too, because he suddenly pulled back from Peter, giving the teen a light shake. "Peter? Pete– hey! Stay with me, kid."
'I am. I'm right here,' Peter thought to himself.
"…eyes open, c'mon…–ey! Pet–…–wake. C'mon, buddy… Peter!"
But reality slipped away from Peter before he could make out what Mr. Stark was saying.
Blackness settled around him as he fell limp in Mr. Stark's hold.
"Peter!"
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Thanks for reading! I'm going to try and post again pretty soon since you all had to wait for this chapter. Drop me a review if you've got the time!