AN: *comes out of hiding*

So...I've been gone awhi- *avoids stones*

I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I did mention in my series notes that I was going abroad and wanted to settle before getting back into this. I had also mentioned that I completely changed the direction of this story.

With the help from my amazingly talented bestie, Meg (i.e. Supersidekick), we have finished this chapter!

I did borrow certain characters from the comics. I really hope you guys like it :)

Part II

Peter's birthday

00:01

Dylan had been hired to do one job. He was retired, and wanted to stay retired from this old business since he had settled down with his family and renounced his violent past a few years ago. Unfortunately, Dylan hadn't spent much time reflecting on the fact that, since he longer worked, that meant the influx of cash was non-existent. Trying to get a different job at this point seemed fruitless; he had no experience in anything but being a hired gun. Plus, the thought of putting on a suit and tie every day or having to be berated by insufferable customers at a fast food restaurant or department store felt suffocating.

However, it had been three years and Dylan was feeling the effects of being unemployed. His wife was sick and his two children were still in elementary school and had a lot of future doctor and dentist appointments left to go. If he even wanted to entertain the idea of his children going to college, he was going to have to get back in the game.

Ironically, the call came through while he was waiting in the parking lot to pick his daughter up from school. He was scratching down their budget on a slip of paper, trying to rationalise skipping meals, when his phone rang. The man on the phone didn't identify himself but he seemed to know quite a bit about Dylan, right down to the make and model of the car he was driving and what schools his kids went to.

The voice, almost mechanical, told Dylan that he could offer him an opportunity to save his wife.

Dylan, remembering the pallid colour of his wife's skin as he visited her at the hospital the previous night, agreed to become the man he used to be. One last time.

The task was simple: kidnap the man behind Stark Industries.

Simple, Dylan scoffed. This wasn't just any man. This was an Avenger.

Dylan wasn't a fan of Tony Stark. No matter how many times he claimed to "save the world" and "keep peace" he didn't buy a word of it. The glossy suit armors that Stark donned every time he went out to battle didn't fool him. After all, he was a previous merchant of death himself. The way Dylan saw it was, you could fool yourself into believing something if you tried hard enough, but the past was undeniable.

Dylan was texted a meeting point. Leaving his kids with his sister, he met a van waiting for him in a local gas station parking lot.

When he slid into the passenger seat, he was greeted by the most stoic person he had ever met. The man seemed to be younger than him perhaps, with sharp features and strays of dark hair poking from under his black cap. His eyes were shielded by a large pair of black sunglasses and he wore an immaculate three-piece suit. He hardly seemed to breathe, let alone move the entire time that Dylan was in the car with him. His voice, as he went over the logistics of the plan, was flat and emotionless.

He never revealed his name. In this business, one hardly ever did.

They would be capturing Tony at his most vulnerable state - without the armour. The opportunity would arrive when Stark reopened the expo.

"There will be a party, a gathering of associates with plenty of alcohol. Stark, unarmed and inebriated, will be driven home," Sunglasses had said to him.

Only a few days later, Dylan was parked opposite the gates surrounding the obnoxiously large building currently hosting the Stark expo.

We get it, Dylan grumbled. You're rich.

Sunglasses was silent, with both hands resting on the steering wheel. He seemed undeterred; most likely, he had done this before as a mercenary.

"There," Dylan pointed to Tony Stark's car, a 2018 Rolls-Royce Ghost, and pulled down his ski-mask. "Target is leaving." Despite Dylan's previous vows not to get involved in this business again, he couldn't help but feel a thrumming beneath his skin, a flare-up of excitement.

They followed the car at a considerable distance for a few blocks and Dylan stole glances at Sunglasses, wondering when they were going to stop and make their move. Suddenly, Sunglasses took a sharp right turn at the stoplight, into a side street, while the Rolls-Royce moved forward.

"What the hell?" Dylan demanded, wondering why they would willingly get further away from their intended target. A sinking feeling seemed to weigh down his stomach as he realised they were circling around to the other side of the block and beelining straight for the Rolls-Royce, which was still going forward up the main road.

"Slow down!" Dylan said urgently, as Sunglasses seemed to take no heed of the red light. "You're going to crash into them!"

"That's the idea," Sunglasses replied coldly. He accelerated the car and aimed straight for the Rolls-Royce. Dylan shut his eyes, cursing himself for accepting a job offer with this lunatic.

Even though it was downtown, and at a time in the city when most people were attending parties and social gatherings, the road was clear of everyone but Stark. This clear shot gave Sunglasses the opportunity to hit the passenger side with such force that the Rolls-Royce was pushed across the intersection and hit the guardrail, nearly toppling over. The Rolls-Royce remained temporarily suspended on two wheels before finally collapsing back onto the ground on four wheels.

"Jesus Christ," Dylan exploded once he opened his eyes and had assessed that he was not, in fact, dead. "We're supposed to neutralise the driver, not kill everyone on board!"

"Get to Stark," Sunglasses said, without flinching. His hands were still rigidly set on the steering wheel. "Street cameras have been compromised."

Dylan sighed before shoving open the door, his suicidal companion following close behind. He wasn't sure how they would even get Stark out. The crash had caused the doors on the right side of the vehicle to concave. The handles of both doors were inaccessible.

Sunglasses, noting Dylan's hesitation, reached out and grasped the broken handle, yanking it aside and tossing it down the street with ease.

Dylan blinked, surprised at what he just witnessed. Sunglasses, not surprisingly, had not said much of anything besides what needed to be done for the mission. However, Dylan was fairly certain he would have remembered any mentions of superhuman strength. No matter. He realised he had bigger problems when he glanced into the passenger seat of the Rolls-Royce and saw what looked to be an unconscious teenage boy with his bloodied head lolling against his chest.

"Oh my God, this is the wrong car," Dylan said in a near-whisper, running his mind through a list of possibilities as to what they could do to remedy the situation.

Sunglasses seemed unfazed. "This is his car. That-" he pointed at the driver, draped across the airbag that had burst from the steering wheel, "-is his chauffeur."

"Are you blind?" Dylan's arm shot out, gesturing once more to the passenger seat. "This is a kid!"

Sunglasses posed, contemplative. "Take him," he instructed.

"What?" Dylan shouted, incredulous.

"He is obviously important." Sunglasses shrugged, as if this development neither bothered nor excited him. "We can use him to lure Stark of his own free will. This will work to our advantage."

"Are you hearing yourself?!" Dylan exclaimed. "Kidnapping some egotistical billionaire is one thing but I can't just snatch some innocent kid." As a father, imagining a scenario similar to this happening with his own children was enough to push him over the edge. Fuck this. He should never have gotten back in the game.

"I'm sure your wife and kids can survive on that nobility," Sunglasses quipped.

Clenching his jaw against his resolve, Dylan moved closer to the Rolls-Royce. Everything about this situation was sounding alarm bells in his mind. But he couldn't afford to be cautious. His wife, his children...they would never have to know.

"If you hurt this kid-"

"We won't need to, if Stark complies."

Dylan let out a harsh breath, lowering his body so that he was halfway inside the vehicle. While his mind was racing with indecision, his hands moved with purpose, unfastening the seat belt and pulling the teenager forward, looping his arm around his shoulders. Sorry, kid.

Slowly, he pulled him out of the seat and into his arms, wincing at the sight of the matted blood in the boy's hair. There was no way to tell from a glance what was wrong with him but if he had been knocked unconscious, Dylan could guess it wasn't good.

He stood there only a moment, paralysed with indecision, but it felt like hours. His usual operations were far different than this: some "high-end" criminal slipped him an envelope with a photo, he glanced at it, found the person and took care of things. He had never cared who the people were before but had always drawn the line at children. At least, he used to.

Sunglasses led the way as they walked back to their much less scathed vehicle. Dylan held the teenager, one arm beneath his neck, the other beneath his knees. He was extremely light, almost easy to hold. That was, until he began to rouse.

As they neared their car, the teenager's eyes almost imperceptibly began to move beneath his lids and his fingers twitched. A low groan emanated from his throat.

"Shit," Dylan said after looking from the boy in his arms to the Rolls-Royce a few feet from them now, where the driver of the vehicle was looking straight at them and attempting to hold himself up against the dashboard.

Suddenly, the teenager's eyes snapped open and he tried to lunge from Dylan's arms, back toward the totalled Rolls-Royce. Luckily, Dylan kept a tight grip on the kid. That was no easy feat; he seemed to have an impossible amount of strength for someone of his age and size. He wouldn't be able to hold him like this for long.

"Get me the rag from the glove compartment," Dylan ordered Sunglasses, not liking where this was going but seeing no other choice. He was already involved in a situation he did not want to be in but the last thing he wanted was to further hurt the boy in his struggles to get free.

Sunglasses was quick to comply with Dylan's hasty command but not before the teenager had the opportunity to bellow from deep within himself, "Happy!" The resounding shout seemed to alert the driver, most likely the man the teenager was yelling for, since a gunshot rang out in their direction, missing the intended target.

Sunglasses shoved the rag into Dylan's waiting hand and he pressed it firmly against his mouth and nose while simultaneously manoeuvring the both of them inside the car. He kept a tight grip on the soaked material as Sunglasses bounded into the driver's seat and reversed in the other direction. The boy's movements had long since slowed and eventually ceased but Dylan didn't take any chances, holding the rag against him for more than a minute. When it seemed as if the young man would not stir, he carefully turned around and deposited him in the backseat, taking care not to jostle his injured head wound.

xXx

Happy's eyes shot open, as if he were awakening from a bad dream. That couldn't be. He had been driving just a moment ago, how could he have been sleeping? Something warm and wet sliding down his cheek roused him to attention. He pulling his hand hesitantly away from himself and gaped at the crimson liquid shining against his skin.

A loud roaring sound was still bellowing in his ears, overtaking his awareness. Where was he again?

His eyes floated down to the airbag that had burst forth from the steering wheel. A car. Oh, shit. Tony's car. The expo. Peter. Where was Peter? Tony was going to kill him.

Happy tried to glance anywhere else but at the steering wheel but his brain would not cooperate. He could hear a voice, one that sounded unfamiliar and nothing like Peter's.

"Take him."

"What?"

"-Stark-our advantage-"

"Kidnap- innoce-kid"

Kid?

"Happy!"

At the sound of his name being shouted in distress, Happy opened his eyes and remembered that Peter had been next to him in the passenger seat. With a glance, he realised Peter was not there. In the distance, he could see the teenager being held by a man that looked to be in his mid-thirties, walking toward the car that had caused them to crash. Peter was fighting determinedly to get out of his grip.

With shaking hands, Happy reached for the glovebox, knowing that he kept a Glock inside for emergencies such as these. The idea that he had rarely had to do this, coupled with the fact that he had been in a serious accident only moments ago, left him shaky and disoriented. He could barely see straight and tried to aim vaguely in the direction of the man holding Peter. He couldn't hit him with Peter draped in his arms but maybe he could scare him enough to drop the kid and leave. Unfortunately, the bullet was nowhere close to the man holding Peter or his companion. The man holding Peter seemed unfazed by the loud noise, holding something across the boy's face as he jumped back into the car.

"No!" Happy shouted, realising that the men were about to get away with Peter and he hadn't done a damn thing to prevent it. He tried to wrench himself from the car and hissed in pain as his shoulder made contact with the steering wheel. Finally, he was able to shove himself free, wrenching open the door and taking aim once more at the vehicle, which was accelerating and gaining distance. Dismayed, Happy managed to clip the driver's side mirror before the car was turning a corner and heading out of sight.

Exhausted, Happy considered attempting to start the destroyed Rolls-Royce and take off after them, but his body and mind wouldn't cooperate. He slumped to the ground, seeing spots, and reached for the phone in his pocket. He mumbled the numbers he had seen on the license plate over and over again so that he would be able to recite them as soon as Tony picked up.

xXx

00:15

Back at the expo, Tony was currently standing in a circle of Stark Industries investors, listing a few new projects he had lined up. He paused in the middle of a sentence as he felt his phone vibrating against his hip. He lifted a finger, gesturing that he would be back in a moment, and stepped out of the circle.

Tony felt a brief flash of anxiety as he saw Happy's name on his caller ID. Happy knew how important this event was to him, so the odds of him calling unless it was a serious emergency were nill.

"Happy, what's up?" Tony asked, attempting to adopt a casual cadence to his voice. He didn't want to worry himself before the man had even said a word.

"They took him!" Happy replied breathlessly. "HolyshitTonytheytookhimandIgotashotoffattheircarbut-"

"Slow down!" Tony instructed urgently, walking farther away from the circle of investors. "Tell me what's going on."

"Alfa-Delta-Whiskey, 4-1-5-6. They t-boned our car on the street and grabbed the kid before I could react fast enough. God damn it, Tony, I'm so sorry." He breathed harshly into the phone before saying, "The paramedics just got here."

"Go get checked out at the hospital. I'll track the plate number." Tony clicked off the phone and bounded to a nearby exit. It wouldn't do anybody any good to start panicking but his chest seemed to constrict just the same.

"Tony!" Pepper noticed the man's departure and had been slowly gaining on him in her stilettos. "Who's at the hospital? What's going on?"

The familiar sound of Pepper's voice roused Tony, at least slightly. "Get Rhodey," he said, turning around to leave.

Pepper's hand grasped his shoulder, spinning him around to face her. "Tell me what's wrong and I'll help," she said.

Tony softened temporarily at the expression on Pepper's face. Throughout their shared history, those eyes looked back at him, displaying a whirlwind of tenacity, compassion, and understanding. Pepper always found a way to reach him when he felt lost. It was only fair that he met her halfway.

"Some very dead men walking just crashed into the Rolls-Royce and took Peter. I've just ran the licence plate." He clicked an infinitesimal button on his watch, schooling his features to allow the calm and composed demeanour that was the Stark trademark. In times of chaos, it was best to keep the panic and anxiety internalised. This time, however, Tony felt that he had some semblance of control here. Nothing was going to come between him and Peter. "FRIDAY is looking through every traffic cam within the city. I'm going to need Rhodey to suit up."

Pepper's face faltered for only a moment before regaining her composure. The last thing he needed was for someone else to panic in front of him. As Tony's assistant for many years, and eventually his soon-to-be wife, Pepper had grown accustomed to dealing with the trappings that came with it. "Get to the car."

xXx

00:30

Peter felt his head thrash against something hard enough to startle him awake. An incessant pounding beat behind his eyes and he snapped them open. His stomach, already roiling, threatened to heave when he noticed was that he was lying in the backseat of a car. The interior of the vehicle seemed to darken and blur as his surroundings took shape. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision until his focus became sharper.

It was immediately apparent to Peter that something was wrong. The material of the seat beneath his side was rough and unfamiliar - definitely not Tony's Rolls-Royce. His eyes darted from the windows - tinted, he could see out but no one could glance in and spot him - to the passenger seat, where a man with a ski mask pulled over his face was staring straight ahead at the road.

Peter felt a quell of panic rising up in his throat. He didn't need his senses to realise the severity of this situation. Whoever these men were, they had taken him forcibly from the Rolls-Royce after smashing directly into it. A brief flash of memory invaded his consciousness: waking up in the arms of the strange man, his strangled shout for Happy, a wet rag pushed against his mouth and nose.

Despite the urgency of the situation, Peter couldn't help but take a moment to berate himself. Spider-Man getting knocked out and kidnapped. If the crash hadn't incapacitated him and he had been awake, he wouldn't be in this mess right now. It was senseless to blame himself for something out of his control but he did it just the same. However, after brief reflection, Peter realised that if he had been awake and fought the two men, he would have revealed his alter-ego in the process. He could almost hear verbatim the speech that Tony consistently gave him, telling him to take precautions and not be so nonchalant about his identity. At the end of the day, Peter knew he couldn't argue. He tended to be pretty careless.

Only problem was, if he had to take precautions, how the hell was he supposed to escape without arousing suspicion? He couldn't very well let them take him to...wherever they were going.

Discreetly, he pulled apart his hands and broke free from the restraints around his wrists with no effort.

Next step...next step...phone!

Peter dabbed at his pockets of his tux, his white shirt completely ruined by the matting of his blood from the wound on his head, careful as to not make any movements that would grab their attention. Unfortunately, the kidnappers were smart enough to either take it from him or leave it behind. There was no way his father could track him with it now.

Quietly, he reached for the door handle by his head and confirmed that it was indeed locked.

Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic, he told himself. There was only one thing left to do. That was to just kick open the door by his feet and jump. At the speed the car was going, it would most likely kill the average human. However, Peter knew that a combination of his reflexes, strength and healing ability would see him through. Throwing himself out of a speeding car would hurt like a bitch, at least temporarily, but it was better than staying for whatever they had planned.

He took a deep breath for what he was about to do and slammed his foot against the door.

That certainly got their attention.

The two mask-clad men instantly turned their attention to the backseat, causing the car to sway sharply from side to side as the one behind the wheel took his gaze off of the road. The abrupt movement shoved Peter's body, repeatedly slamming against the cramped backseat area. The man in the passenger seat made a quick grab for him, clawing at his shirt collar. Channelling his enhanced strength, Peter easily pushed him away. With one swift motion, he jumped out of the vehicle.

Peter rolled violently down the road only for a moment before he flipped forward, palms sliding harshly down the asphalt (ouch). He paused, gathering himself, before leaping into the woods. He sprinted forward when he could hear the car screech to a halt in the distance.

It was as if the two men were standing right next to him as he heard the harsh exhalations of one of the men and the other saying, "What the fuck was that?"

Peter ducked behind one tree and the next, attempting to create as much distance as he could between himself and the two men. He knew that he couldn't keep this up for much longer; he had no idea where he was, his head and shoulder were pulsating with pain and taking time to stop and collect himself was not an option. At the crack sound of one of the man's boots stepping on a stick at the entrance to the forest, he nimbly leapt up the closest tree, hissing when his mangled hands made contact with the unforgiving bark. Trying his best to regulate his breathing and remain quiet, Peter stayed crouched on the highest branch of the tree.

One of the men slowly approached the area that Peter had taken refuge in, his left palm holding a flashlight, his right, a gun. "I'm not gonna hurt ya', kid," he said. "All you have to do is co-operate and we'll eventually let you go."

Peter, saying nothing, remained crouched in his position, holding both aching hands close to his chest.

"It's nothing personal. Just business," the man, creeping closer to him, continued.

Oh, sure, I totally get it now, let me just drop down, Peter rolled his eyes.

Much to Peter's relief, the man started walking further away from where he was. He shifted slightly, attempting to take some of the pressure off of his aching knees. However, he hadn't anticipated the movement to be so detrimental; the branch snapped under the sudden motion.

Peter grabbed on to the next closest branch but it was too late; the man instantly turned back around. He looked up from the direction that the branch had fallen from.

Feeling his heart beating quickly, Peter felt the same panic he had experienced back when Vulture brought the ceiling down on him. At the time, he had been able to gather strength from within himself that had seemed impossible. However, he had also had his suit and web shooters on. Balancing on a tree branch in an unknown forest, body aching, Peter had neither of those things.

Suddenly, a shot rang out in the night. Peter clapped a hand over his mouth but didn't move an inch. It was still a considerable distance from him; he was safe. That was, until another shot was fired.

"I don't want to do this," the man's voice suddenly took on a note of desperation, as if he really believed what he was saying. However, Peter had too much experience dealing with petty criminals from Queens to take anything this man was saying at face value.

When a third shot sounded, grazing a tree branch only an arms-length away from him, Peter knew that he had to keep moving. Literally throwing caution to the wind, Peter jumped to a nearby tree, managing to grasp purchase in his palms. Ignoring the blisters blooming on the underside of his hands, he jumped to the next tree and the one after that.

The cacophony of noises Peter was creating made the excellent marksman able to track his movements with ease and take much clearer shots.

xXx

By the time Rhodey made it to the scene of the crash in his suit, police cars and an ambulance were already there. Happy sat glumly on the back of the ambulance as a paramedic worked on his head.

"Happy," Rhodey said, the mask opening to reveal his face. "You okay?"

Happy's eyes widened with attention and he immediately began explaining. "I just didn't see it, they came out of nowhere-"

Rhodey stopped him with a metallic hand in the air. "Tony is tracking down the plates as we speak. FRIDAY managed to get the last trace of them on traffic cams and he's already following the trail. He asked me to check up on you."

"I'm fine," he grumbled as he pushed the prodding hand away.

"Sir, I need to patch this up," the medic told him.

"Let them do their job, Happy."

"The kid, he didn't look too good. I don't know if he'll be able to-"

"He'll be okay," Rhodey reassured him.

"His aunt? Did anybody contact May?"

"Pepper's on her way to the apartment." Seeing the distraught look on the man's face, Rhodey reassured, "This isn't your fault, Happy."

"I was supposed to keep an eye on him. I need to be doing something."

"The only thing you can do right now is to get checked properly at the hospital so Tony has one less thing to worry about tonight."

Happy sighed, wishing he could argue with that. "Just...when you find him, can you at least call me?"

"Of course."

xXx

00:55

Peter was pretty sure that he had lost them. A good ninety percent, at least. His senses stopped triggering nearby presences about half a mile away, but he kept going. He couldn't take any chances. Peter had managed to avoid every shot at him easily. Almost too easy, as if the guy wasn't aiming properly.

One shot did graze his forearm, however and though it wasn't a gaping wound, it hurt like hell. There was no time to dwell on how long he could hold on with the growing list of injuries he was sustaining.

Eventually, Peter made the executive decision to get down from the tree he was currently curled up within and, as gently as he possibly could, hopped down to the forest floor.

He needed to get home. Only problem was, he didn't know where the hell they drove him and the darkness surrounding him didn't help. For all he knew, they may have knocked him out long enough to drive him out of New York state entirely.

The idea that a gas station or convenience store may be nearby helped lessen the feeling of desolation Peter was experiencing. He was in pain and exhausted but at least if he made it out to civilisation, there would be someone with a phone. Slowly, he started trudging down a path, keeping himself occupied by reciting all of the new Spanish vocabulary words he had learned last week in school: palanca, clavo, taladro, maceta, pala.

When he had run through the entire list of tools and garden necessities in his head, he realised he was walking closer to what looked like a small cabin nestled in the rear of the woods. A brief moment of elation rose in him, followed by hesitation, as he remembered all of the horror movies he and Ned had watched, especially that really old movie Evil Dead. He should've never begged Tony to watch that stupid movie. The laughable effects weren't so funny now.

He shook his head; sometimes his anxieties were highly unrealistic. He needed help and quickly. It would do no good to stand out here in the cold and debate with himself.

Looking around the secluded area, Peter made sure there was no sight of either man before running towards the isolated cabin. Tentatively, he knocked, looking from his left to his right and behind his back, making sure no one was attempting to sneak up on him. When there was no answer, he opened the door, eager to get inside and thankful that he didn't have to break it down. He didn't want to cause any trouble for the owner, or Tony, who had to replace Flash's car that one time.

Once he was inside, he took in the spacious living room. A sofa sit in the middle, facing a TV; two large windows on each side of the cabin and a dresser holding up a lamp by the corner. Peter immediately headed towards it and found the switch. Finally, he could see clearer amidst the darkness that had been surrounding him since the crash. He turned around to spot the kitchen opposite and his heart almost leapt with relief at the sight of a landline phone by the fridge.

He jogged towards it and lifted the corded handle, praying to any and all gods that it was working.

He was unable to discover the answer because an arm suddenly appeared in his line of vision, tightening around his throat. Another another goddamn rag was forcibly shoved against his lips.

This time, his struggles were slower and far less purposeful. He attempted to kick at whoever was restraining him, but the muscles in his legs were extremely sore from crouching all that time in the tree and his head hurt far too much to be bucking around wildly.

Eventually, his movements slowed, as he focused on one last thought:

There was a reason cabins were a running theme in horror movies.

TBC

AN: Okay, okay, I know what you're all thinking. Goddamn it, Uzu. Another cliffhanger?!

I had not intended for that but this chapter needed to come to an end. So yeah, any feedback, even if it's a vent at the cliffie, is welcome!