Pushing the door open, Peter’s right hand searched for the wall. Touching the smooth surface to assure his reality, his eyes scanned the bare hallway the room had led too. They darted frantically, already looking for anything that he could use in creating some sort of ultimate escape plan. He had to suppress the urge to jump back when his eyes met the man waiting outside the heavy glass doors.
He was tall, and Peter didn’t mean like tall. This man was like really, really freakishly tall with a gaze as cold as ice.
Chills ran up his back and his shoulders curled up defensively at the sight. He looked an awful lot like some of the more threatening muggers Peter had defeated in his past time when out on patrol. Only this time Peter didn’t have any sorta way to defend himself, not with his web shooters completely wrecked from the London Battle and certainly not in his current condition.
Peter gulped as the man’s dead stare rested on his face. “Peter right?” His heart lurched forward at the name. Somehow it didn’t sound right coming from this guy. Maybe it was because he hated the way a complete stranger knew his name, or maybe it was that assertive tone the man took. It didn’t really feel like he was being asked his name, no, the man was only looking for an understanding response.
“Hi?” Peter heard his voice crack with dismay, covering his mouth as he flushed.
“Alright then, come with me,” the man said turning his back. The emphatic articulation in his words made Peter follow without a second thought in mind. He just needs to play along for the time being. When he gets the opening he needs, when he can slip free without risking his friend's lives, he would get the hell away from here.
As he walked down the small corridor of doors he felt strange at the lack of anything. The interior seemed to resemble a poorly maintained office building, not the secret base of a mastermind villain. Some of the doors were open, all in which led to relatively empty closets or sparse office space, which was what led Peter to believe this might have been a company business building at some point in time. One ajar door Peter had seen led into an enormous vacant room. There were no security cameras, absolutely no furniture, no people, and no sounds of movement besides the man and Peter’s footsteps. It was off putting for someone like Beck to have such a large place of operation seemingly deserted and uninhabited.
Where on earth was he?
The man stopped outside one of the doors and turned to look at Peter. "Go inside and change, there's spare clothes and a relatively working shower. When your done someone will be in to take care of your wounds," he said sharply in an apathetic tone opening the door. Peter walked in and shuddered when the door shut behind him, hearing it click with a lock.
Okay this place was as ominous as it gets. Even the bathroom was one sorry excuse of a room. The tub of the shower was over sized and squished into the corner. The shower head itself looked rusted and when Peter turned the nob it made an awful sound before the water came out causing his ears to cringe at the creaking of metal. The toilet was directly next to the shower, or more accurately pushed against it. There was a small sink on top of a counter, no mirror or any toiletry for that matter. There was nothing below the counter but wires and pipes. On the other side of the very cramped space was a wooden bench. It looked like it has been added to the interior as it didn't match well with its modern appearance. There Peter found a towel and what seemed to be the change of clothes the man was talking about.
He directed his attention back to the shower. He wanted to get this part over with as quickly as possible. The shower looked like the one's he'd seen on TV in prison shows where the water automatically shut off after 10 minutes, pretty damn sketchy.
To his surprise, though, the water was extremely hot by time time he reached his hand in to check the temperature. He stepped in, none the less, ignoring the blistering pain created from the heavy steam, and wrapped his arms around himself hugging tightly. He wished his skin would just burn off, all these empty feelings washing down the drain with the blood that was mixing in.
It was like he was hit by a wave, and not from the water. A wave of exhaustion, of incredible sadness and hopelessness, of fear, and of extraordinary panic overpowering the drought in his mind. His head was spinning faster and faster, that sick feeling from earlier had only crawled into the back of his mind and when the water hit his body, when he was left alone with his thoughts once more, they just drenched him. His entire body throbbed in pain, his blood pumping fast knowing how much of an awful wreck he looked like.
MJ had no clue what had happened to him. Ned couldn't tell her and neither could Happy. Could they even do anything? Beck was watching them, he had 24 surveillance drones on them, and they couldn't even see them. They were as powerless as Peter who was practically being wrapped around Beck's fingers at this point.
What was everyone else going to think? What was May going to think about his sudden disappearance? She was so stubbornly hard headed Peter didn't think she'd accept it. She'd probably fight tooth and nail to convince someone, a person like Happy, Peter was alive somewhere in the world. Would Beck care about her? Did he expect Happy to smooth things over with her? Was he just going to try to cover things up?
More particularly what did he really need Happy for? What the hell was in that video Beck wanted Happy to make sure people saw? Would it give an explanation to Peter's disappearance? How would it help May and all his friends just accept he's gone?
how? how? how?
It was all so troubling. All these unanswered questions racing in his mind, but they all linked up to one. Why hadn't Beck killed him?
Beck seemed to be making things so much more complicated than they needed to be by going through all this extra trouble to spare his life, and it was a risk. Beck knew he wouldn't try anything incredibly stupid if his friends were in danger, but when he finds a loophole in Beck's plans, a little flaw in his orders, or a mistake in the security he'd go ahead and open up a Pandora's box if it was the only way out. There had to be some way he could escape that wouldn't wash his friend's lives down into the gutter.
Everything would be so much easier for Beck if he just shot Peter and his friends then and there in London. No more worries about what if Peter got away or what if his friends said something containing a bit too much.
He can seemingly do whatever he wants with the kinda tech Peter gave him. There's no reason he shouldn't have. Beck could mask all their lives as casualties, move on with his act, and secure his spot in whatever World Domination he was planning. Why didn't he just end things there?
why? why? why?
He tried to turn the handle, to make it hotter. He wanted to disappear. He wanted his whole body to just disappear. His skin was burning, an ugly red and some of his cuts begin to reopen from the intense heat he subjected himself too. Maybe if it was hot enough he'd wake up from this nightmare. Just maybe he could see some way out of this mess.
There was a bang on the door.
Peter jumped and shut the water off faster than his reflexes should've allowed him to. There was a jittery feeling erupting inside of him like a volcano. His body trembling from the intense heat or the fact that his mind wouldn't shut up. Thoughts crashing into one another, cracking open a guilty feeling that made him want to let out a scream of rage and terror.
His vision began to blur from the way his eyes had locked onto the cool tiles of the shower, refusing to blink. When his eyes begin to lose focus it snapped him out of his thoughts. He shook his head and took a minute to exhale deeply, feeling a tad bit of pain, before stepping out of the shower feeling more exposed than ever before.
He grabbed the towel that had been waiting for him, dried off, and pulled on the shirt and pants he had found folded neatly on the bench. The shirt was more like a sweater, dark blue and a little too big, making the whole thing baggy, sleeves large enough to hide his darkened flesh and bloody cuts. The pants were simple sweatpants, a plain black color that hung over his head like a cloud of thunder. Other than that, the only clothes he got were some simple boxers that fortunately ended up fitting him.
Then there was another knock on the door, somehow louder than before, as the lock clicked open. The door swinging forward, Peter turned his head to watch a different man from before step in.
"Take off your shirt," he snapped. Beck had told Peter he didn't want him wasting anymore time, but the way the man phrased his words made it seem like Peter was slowing down the universe. It was a scary order and Peter couldn't fathom an idea as to why this guy wanted him to undress in front of him. The only thoughts he could think of made him shiver and panic.
"h-huh? I.. wait what?" His brain could only spat out confusion as he tried to cover the dread filled up in his lungs.
The man looked unamused and was stepping closer till Peter moved back and found himself pressed against the edge of the shower, man towering over him.
"I said take off your shirt. I need to look at your wounds. We don't have time to mess around kid," the man said clapping his hand on Peter's shoulder causing him to look down out of embarrassed once more. He pulled the shirt over his head and the man tilted his head towards the bench where Peter walked over to sit down on. Only then did he realize the small first aid kit in the man's hand that he placed down next to Peter.
First he asked simple questions like, "anywhere it hurts," or he'd squeeze a place by the more serious wounds and say something like, "feel any pain."
When he got down to his chest and asked Peter to breathe he did. The man's face twisted in worry and he asked him to repeat that step for what seemed like one too many times. He pressed his arm lightly on both sides of the boy's waist and moved upwards to his chest. He started adding pressure the second go around, and it only took a bit of a tighter squeeze to make Peter wince at the sudden sharp, spike of pain running up his spine.
Oh god he barely remembered all the beatings he took fighting the drones, and the adrenaline had been keeping his pain at bay. Now he felt like his entire body was shattering like a piece of glass being hit by a mallet. His body recoils like a snake when the man squeezes harder. He feels a breathless gasp of pain leave his lips and he's sure he must have broken a rib or two. The other man must think the same thing as he nods and has Peter try to breath once more, watching the way his stomach shakes unevenly when he attempts to inhale and exhale again.
"You most likely broke a rib kid. We'll get you a cast to help it heal a bit faster. For now I'm gonna clean up all the lighter wounds, put in a few stitches where your skin cut open a bit too deep."
The man pokes at two of his ribs ever so slightly, telling Peter what were presumably the broken ones. He sounded a bit more concerned than before which helped Peter relax, if only by a little bit. Than he skims through the first aid kit and precedes to remove some cotton balls and some type of antibiotic cream.
Dabbing the cotton balls he wiped all the small cuts Peter sustained in the battle then asked him to roll up his pants to do the same thing to his legs. They were a lot worse. Covered in gashes and much deeper wounds from where he'd had shards of glass work it open on the bridge. The man continued applying the ointment, and then looked back in his case. He scavenged a few stitches and a needle. He took a much greater beating, so there were quite a few open gashes in his legs the man felt the need to apply stitches to.
Peter had to hold back the impulse to let out a scream of pain, muffling it as he bit his lips trying not to react. The man worked pretty slowly on the wounds, and as grateful as Peter was to actually get any type of medical attention, he wanted things to be over with. Finally though he moved back up to his upper half, the only thing that really needed treatment on were the stitches that Happy had threaded before breaking loose and opening up once more when he fought in vain against E.D.I.T.H and those dumb attack drones. The man had to cut them out and reapply new ones, thankfully not taking too long.
Softly the man said, "This'll be the last stitch then we're done." At the time Peter found that comforting, being reassured the pain of having his wounds treated and a needle poking him would be over shortly.
It was only when he watched the man curiously dabbing the needle in a small bottle of clear liquid he had pulled from the case all so suddenly, that Peter became confused.
It pricked him ever so slightly, but the pain slipped away fast as he began to drift off. His eyes slowly closing, fatigue catching up and whatever the man had coated the needle in spread through his veins and consumed him whole. The darkness surrounded his sight until his consciousness faded away.
His movements seized quickly as the light caved inwards.