AN: It's a bit later than when I wanted to be finished, but all in all not too bad. Alright, Finale time! Special thanks to everyone who has been following/favoriting this story and reviewing. Your encouragement has given me much joy and confidence. So, thank-you!

Kidnapped

Peter's skin was prickling again. Well, okay, maybe it was inaccurate to say that his skin was prickling again. In the three weeks that had passed since he had been knocked unconscious and had his blood taken by a weirdo nurse, the prickling hadn't ceased. So perhaps it was more accurate to say that his skin was prickling still. It was the sort of prickling that rippled over his skin when his Spidey sense was telling him he was being watched. On reflex, his hand wrapped around the wristwatch on his left arm, finger hovering just over the emergency alarm. He knew if he pressed that alarm, Mr. Stark would be there in an instant. Or rather, Iron Man would. And there would be hell to pay. Despite his edgy nerves, he didn't press it.

Peter raised his eyes and took a sweeping look over the street. All around him, vibrant New York city life was bustling. Ned was at his side as they walked down the sidewalk. He was jabbering on about… uh, well… something. In truth, Peter hadn't really been paying much attention to him. Nor had he been contributing much to the conversation. It was difficult to be present and in the moment with the people in his life when his senses were screaming at him like this. Guilt churned in his stomach as he tried to tune back in to the conversation. Or, well, monologue. With half of his attention, he tuned in to Ned's rambling about ice cream. With the other half of his attention, Peter surveyed the street around him, looking for the eyes that were following him.

There they were, hidden in plain sight. A man that Peter recognized was following a few paces behind him and Ned. Across the street, a woman, who Peter also recognized, was heading in the same direction as they were. Though his fingers itched with nervous energy, Peter didn't press the alarm. They were people that Mr. Stark had hired to keep an eye on him at all times. To shadow him and report anything suspicious. Despite the fact that Peter had been introduced to them and that he knew that they were safe, being watched all the time was setting his Spidey sense on edge. He couldn't tell anymore whether the prickling on his skin was caused by his guards or by people with more sinister intentions. The result of this was that he was increasingly more irritable these days. With a frustrated huff, Peter let go of his wrist and jammed his hands in to the pockets of his hoodie.

"Dude, where are you going?" Ned's voice called from behind him. Peter turned around and was surprised to find that Ned had stopped at an intersection. Peter had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts he hadn't even noticed that he wasn't beside him anymore. Giving himself a mental shake, Peter jogged back a few paces so that they were both facing the cross walk.

"Sorry, I thought we were going to the corner store." Peter said while gesturing down the path he had been walking. Ned shook his head.

"No way, Man. Were celebrating your science fair win! This calls for the ice cream of champions!"

Peter forced a smile on his face at Ned's excited tone and he suppressed the urge to correct his friend's statement. It was his win, but it was also MJ's. True to his word, Peter had built a prototype water filter. Now that his crime fighting career was on hiatus, he had had ample time to build it. Their project had been the most advanced one at the competition. After the judges had announced them as the first-place winners, Ned had navigated the packed gymnasium and had excitedly congratulated them. He had invited the two of them to go out and celebrate, but MJ had declined. Not that Peter could blame her. He hadn't been the best company these past couple of weeks, and after their disastrous coffee date… well, Peter didn't want to think about it. Just remembering that day was causing his cheeks to flush.

"So, what's the 'ice cream of champions?'" Peter asked, trying his best to remain in the moment. Here with Ned. The crosswalk light lit up and they shuffled with the rest of the crowd across the intersection.

"You'll find out when we walk two blocks that way." Ned replied with an air of mystery. Peter smiled at his friend's goofy antics. The past few weeks had been nerve wracking to say the least, but Ned was still there. Filling the silences with chatter. Willing to hang out with him in spite of his touchy temperament. Peter's nervousness had already scared off MJ, maybe for good. But he was eternally grateful to have a ride or die friend like Ned.

Soon enough, Ned stopped in front of an ice cream parlour. He gestured dramatically at the poster displayed in the window. Peter felt his jaw drop in awe before he recovered and started to laugh.

"No way…"

"Like I said, ice cream of champions!"

The brightly coloured poster displayed pictures of all of the original six Avengers along with ice cream flavours named after them. Peter looked closer at the poster.

"Stark Raving Hazelnuts, A Hunk of Hulk of Burning Fudge," He murmured to himself. "Black Licorice Widow?" He said in disbelief and looked over at Ned. His nose scrunched up in distaste. "They're really reaching to make this gimmick work. That doesn't even sound like it would taste good."

"I bet that red stuff twisted in it is cherry. You know, to balance out the licorice and make it sweet." Ned said while tapping the glass above of the picture. Next to it, Peter noticed a picture of Thor. Blue lightning was crackling around him and a blue ice cream cone.

"Electrifying Blue-raspberry? Dude, they didn't even bother to come up with a decent pun for Thor's name!"

"Unacceptable! Unacceptable I say!" Ned exclaimed while shaking his head in mock disgust. Suddenly, his eyes widened as they ran over the poster once more. "Hey, there's no Spider-Man ice cream."

Peter raised his brow at Ned's confused tone.

"Spider-Man's not an Avenger."

"Not yet." Ned conceded. "And as a trainee Avenger, who better to try all of these and judge if they are worthy of public consumption." He added quietly. Peter was grateful that he at least kept his voice down. A smile lit up his face as he realized what Ned's plan was.

"Well, we can't have subpar ice cream tarnishing the Avenger's names."

"Exactly." Ned called over his shoulder as he pulled open the door and headed inside.

Peter followed after him, shivering at the blast of cold air that greeted him. He grimaced slightly at the sensation. This was one of those places that had the air conditioning working overtime. They approached the counter and each ordered a two-scoop cone. Hazelnut and fudge for Peter, blue-raspberry and black licorice for Ned. They decided to sit outside in order to escape the frigid air conditioning. There were two tables outside, one of which was vacant. A woman sat at the other table, alone, chatting with someone on her phone. It was mid-April, and the weather was warm and pleasant. Despite this, goose bumps raised on Peter's skin.

'Someone's watching you…' His body whispered. Peter closed his eyes for a moment in frustration. Of course someone was watching him. It was his guards, that was all. They were being paid to watch him; it was their job. His senses were frazzled. They could tell the difference any more between friend and crazy nurse. Out of reflex, Peter opened his eyes and scanned the area for anything out of place. He forced himself to stop. It was no use anyway. He couldn't trust anyone except a few close people in his life. Anyone could be an enemy lying in wait. Peter's eyes flitted over to the woman at the other table and he regarded her with suspicion. She was laughing as she recounted her day to whoever was on the line, and suddenly Peter felt very ashamed. She was obviously not a threat to him. How messed up was it that he was even considering her as one.

'That nurse didn't seem like a threat either.' Peter thought as his heart rate started to pick up speed. He couldn't keep living like this. Peter was determined to not let this paranoia hinder his life anymore. This paranoia that was causing him to be a nervous wreck had already ruined his date with MJ. He would be damned if it would ruin anything else. His eyes slid off of the woman on her phone and settled on Ned. He was licking at the top scoop of ice cream on his cone. The Black licorice Widow.

"So, how is it?" Peter asked.

"Hmmmm. Surprisingly good." Ned said appreciatively. A grin lit up his face as he slipped the pointed cone between his index and middle finger. He held it like a brandy glass and made pretend swirling motions with his wrist before taking another bite. "The undercurrents of cherry bring out the boldness of the licorice in a medley of bitter and sweet." He added in a pompous voice. Peter laughed at his antics before taking a bite of his own ice cream. Creamy chocolate and fudge graced his tongue and caused him to smile on reflex.

"This tastes like fudge." He stated bluntly. Ned eyed him with an amused look.

"So, it's good?"

"Yeah." Peter confirmed with a nod of his head. He took another bite of chocolatey bliss. After what had happened before, and his sense of taste had gone screwy, Peter found himself appreciating his sense of taste even more. Much like how one doesn't really appreciate their nose's ability to breathe air until it gets clogged up from a bad cold.

"Someday you'll be a Poet. Or a Bard." Ned joked. Peter opened his mouth to reply when a jolt shot up his spine and his body whispered a warning. "Wait is there a difference between a Poet and a Bard?" Ned asked while Peter looked around nervously. Over Ned's shoulder, Peter saw a man approach the woman at the other table. He crept up from behind, snatched her phone from her hand and took off running. The woman was at a loss for words and she gaped at his retreating figure. Peter immediately jumped to action.

Peter looked around wildly for somewhere private. An ally way would be ideal but the nearest one was quite far away and time was of the essence. That guy was getting away. Dread settled in Peter's stomach as he realized what his only option was. He hoped he wouldn't regret this decision, and he hoped that the apathy of people passing by would prevent anyone from noticing him. Without a word, Peter pressed his ice cream cone in to Ned's free hand and then ducked under the table.

"What are you doing?" Ned asked, but Peter ignored him. Instead, he lifted his left wrist up to his eyes and looked closely at his watch. There were two buttons on it. The one at the top was the emergency alarm. The one on the bottom would release a cloaking suit.

'Well, I hate to break it to you Mr. Stark but electrically heated clothes already exist.'

'Yeah, but can they spread across your body, adjust to the proper size, and retract in to a wristwatch?'

Developing the discreet heated suit had been a fun project that he and Mr. Stark had worked on together. It served its practical purpose of keeping him warm during the winter months. During the couple of days after he had been attacked at school, Mr. Stark had kept him and May at the compound while he worked out a tightened security system. This had included upgrading his heated suit to include his newly perfected cloaking device.

Peter quickly pressed the button on his watch and felt the thin material slither up his arm, around his shoulder and encompass the rest of his body. A moment later, his body vanished before his eyes. Straightening up, Peter saw Ned looking around awkwardly while holding both of the ice creams.

"Be right back." Peter murmured quietly as he passed by Ned. His eyes widened as he looked at the general area where Peter was standing.

"What? Where are you-?"

Peter ran off before he could finish. He had a thief to pursue and every moment that he wasted would make it harder for him to find again. As quickly and silently as he could, Peter weaved through the crowded street. He was careful to not bump into anyone as he slipped through the streets undetected. Every now and then, the sidewalk became too crowded. So he would have use his enhanced grip to crawl along the side of the buildings.

Peter had been very grateful to Mr. Stark for modifying his heated suit. He knew that Mr. Stark had installed this cloaking device for the purpose of hiding and escaping from his unknown attackers. However, Peter had found this alternative use for it. Using his suit to discretely take down criminals had given him peace of mind, which had been absent during his first break from Spider-Man. When May had ordered him to give up being Spider-Man, the guilt he felt from doing nothing had crushed him. Now, he wasn't actively looking for crime, nor was he patrolling. But he had the ability to stop crime that was happening right in front of him.

It was an odd feeling to have people lay their eyes on you, and yet not see you. As Spider-Man, he hadn't ever worried about discretion. He had no reason to hide. His blue and red suit announced his presence with a dramatic flair. In addition to that, as Spider-Man, Peter felt more confident and cocky. He would sass out one-liners and banter with criminals. That was the one major draw back to fighting crime while invisible and avoiding the attention of others. He had to keep him mouth shut. He still found himself saying his one-liners, but just to himself in his mind.

After running around people, and a few times up walls, for a couple of blocks, Peter finally found the man he was looking for. He had stopped running at this point and was leaning against the wall of a building. In one hand, he held the woman's phone. With his other hand he was jabbing at the screen, a look of frustration marring his face. Peter approached with soft foot steps. He swiftly pulled the phone out of the thief's hand and enjoyed the pure look of confusion that crossed his face.

'Yoink.' Peter thought to himself. If he were Spider-Man he would've said it aloud. Instead he retreated quickly and hurried to retrace his steps back to the ice cream parlour where he left Ned. Hopefully, that lady was still there.

But then a thought occurred to as he looked down to the phone in his hand. His invisible hand, that was attached to his invisible body. Mr. Stark didn't equip the suit with pockets. Peter's stomach sank with dread as his prickling skin was hit with a fresh wave of goose bumps.

'Someone's watching you.'

Yes, of course, someone was watching him. Now that a phone was floating in midair, many people were watching him. Their eyes were on him, and at the same time through him. Who was a bystander and who was an enemy? Peter had no way of knowing. His heart hammered in his chest as he hastened his pace. Within a few minutes, he reached the ice cream parlour. Ned was still sitting there and was still holding both ice creams. Through the front window, Peter could see the woman inside. She was using the store's phone to contact someone. Maybe the police? Peter went inside and placed the phone next to her on the counter. The woman's eyebrows shot up her forehead.

"What the hell?" She squeaked in a high voice. Peter was already running out the door, desperately trying to escape the situation. At their table, Ned was idly nibbling at his ice cream cone, a look of deep concentration on his face. A few napkins were wrapped around the base of Peter's ice cream cone, to prevent the ice cream dripping on Ned's hand. It seemed that Ned thought that Peter would return and they would pick up where they left off. Guilt stung at Peter's insides as he approached Ned's side.

"C'mon let's go." Peter said quietly. Ned jumped in surprise and managed to dump both cones on the table. He turned to face Peter, though his eyes darted around trying to find him.

"Peter?! Where are-?"

Peter flinched at Ned's loud tone. Not just because it was far too loud for his enhanced hearing, but also because he was drawing attention to themselves. He quickly placed one hand over Ned's mouth to keep him quiet. It was odd to be able to see through his own hand.

"Shhh!" Peter hissed and then lowered his hand. Ned's eyes were the size of golf balls and for a moment he was speechless. But only for a moment.

"Oh my god, are you invisible? That's so cool!" Ned said in a stage whisper. Peter wrapped a hand around his elbow and hoisted him to his feet.

"C'mon Ned." He murmured while leading them away. He kept his hand gripped on Ned's elbow so that he would know where he was. He also tried not to think about how, if Peter were visible, they would resemble an old timey gentleman walking his lady home.

"Shouldn't we clean up the ice cream?" Ned asked as he craned his head to look back at their table. Peter skin was crawling. And his heart was pounding. And he had no time for this.

"No, it doesn't matter." He muttered. Ned shot him an odd look. "Don't look at me. Look forward." Peter stated firmly, but still in a quiet tone. Ned snapped his head forward. He seemed to finally understand that he really shouldn't be talking to or looking at an invisible person.

"Is this one of your powers? Why didn't you tell me that you could turn invisible?" He asked quietly, excitement permeating his whisper.

"I can't turn invisible. Mr. Stark made me a cloaking suit-"

"That's so awesome!" Ned exclaimed a little too loudly. Peter shushed him again while cursing himself for getting himself into this situation. Ned was his best friend, but he had no chill. "We could make so much money off of Youtube." Ned added. Peter felt himself bristling at the comment, but tried to contain himself. God, he wasn't in the mood for this.

"No, Ned-"

His skin was prickling.

"Like you wear that suit and I'll film you moving stuff like a ghost and going 'wooooooo'."

"Ned-"

Eyes were on him.

"Or, like, some other spooky stuff like making a merry-go-round turn by itself."

"Ned-"

The world was at the same time, too small and too large.

"I mean, I don't think that sort of thing would attract much attention 'cause you could easily do that with editing software, so we should be good."

'Someone's watching you.'

"Shut up, Ned! We're not doing any of that!" Peter snapped. Ned stopped dead in his tracks and his face crumpled. Hurt shot through his eyes and stabbed through Peter like knives. A stunned silence passed where Peter tried to find his voice again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"No, it's okay. I wasn't really being serious anyway." Ned said quietly. His face smoothed and he started walking again. "So, why did Tony Stark make you a cloaking suit? You didn't have it before, right?" Ned asked while looking at the general area that Peter stood. Peter wanted to tell him to look forward, but couldn't bring himself to do it. He had yelled at Ned. He had never yelled at him before, no matter how obnoxious he was. Paranoia was twisting him in to someone unrecognizable. It was ruining every aspect of his life.

"Yeah, it's new." Peter choked out despite the iron fist that was closing around his esophagus. "Mr. Stark made it for me a couple weeks ago."

"Oh, so that was what you were doing those couple of days you stayed home from school?"

"Yeah."

Peter had carried a lot of secrets in his life. All of them had weight, and some were heavier than others. But this one was stifling. It pressed in on him from all sides. He wanted to tell Ned about what had happened. Ned wouldn't be able to help him, but it might help to relieve some of the pressure. But what would he say?

'Hey, Ned. Guess what? A crazy nurse drugged me and stole my blood at school! Yeah, we don't know if she'll come back or not. Isn't that weird?'

Involving Ned in this would be ridiculously selfish. Despite the twisting ball of nerves in his stomach, Peter decided to say nothing.

"Dude, are you okay?" Ned asked quietly. He glanced down at his elbow and Peter realized that his hand was trembling. No, all of him was trembling. Trembling from fear or trembling from his wound-up nerves. Peter couldn't tell which it was. "You're kinda… off lately."

"Yep. I'm good." Peter replied. He had to get out of there. He couldn't stand to be near Ned anymore. The weight of this secret was crushing him. He released his hand from Ned's elbow. "I gotta get going. May expects me home soon. See ya later."

"Wait, Peter-"

Peter took off running. He ducked in to side streets and alleys to avoid people as much as possible. He kept the cloaking suit on and let the knowledge that he was invisible to the world comfort him. Despite this, a sense of unease enveloped him.

'Someone's watching you.'

It was likely his guards. No doubt, they saw what had happened and had snitched on him to Mr. Stark. Any second now, Peter's phone would ring and Mr. Stark would chew him out for misusing the cloaking suit. The thought loosened the knot in his chest, and Peter found that he could breath a little easier. He slowed his pace gradually until he was standing still. He leaned up against an apartment building to catch his breath.

For a moment, Peter relaxed as a profound sense of ease washed over him. His right hand cupped around the watch on his wrist. Peter gripped it carefully so that he wouldn't accidentally press any buttons. The comforting weight of it rested against his palm. Mr. Stark had promised that he wouldn't let anything happen to him. This watch was testament to that promise.

It had taken Mr. Stark three days to set up a security system for Peter that met his standards. For three days, he and May had stayed at the Avengers compound. Within the safety of those walls, they clung to each other and tried to find their bearings. Neither of them knew what to do. During that time, Mr. Stark had worked non-stop to ensure that Peter was protected outside of the compound. He hired body guards, develop his cloaking suit, and had put his own phone number in Peter's phone.

It wasn't until Mr. Stark had asked for his phone that Peter had realized that, despite their close relationship, he didn't even have means of contacting him without a middle man like Happy or Karen. It really had been kind of ironic. If the events causing Mr. Stark to give him the number hadn't been so serious, Peter might have laughed. As it was, all Peter could do was shake his head in disbelief.

"About time, Mr. Stark."

"Yeah, I should've done that a long time ago." Mr. Stark admitted sheepishly. Peter knew that he should let it go, but he couldn't help feeling annoyed. It was like homecoming all over again. He was being held at arms length even now.

"Seriously, Aunt May and my school have your phone number, and I'm just now getting it?"

"Well, only one of them knows that it's my phone number. Also, check the attitude, Pete." Mr. Stark had said with a bit of bite in his voice. Peter had instantly felt himself back down. Mr. Stark ran a tired hand through his hair. "I want you to memorize that number."

Peter had complied without question. When Peter had moved in with May and Ben, they had also insisted that he memorize their phone numbers. So this brought the total of phone numbers that he knew by heart up to three. Though he would never call Ben's number again, he could still recite it from memory.

Peter had seen very little of Mr. Stark during the three days he spent in the compound, but he always stopped to check in on Peter periodically throughout the day. Each time he would ask him to recite his phone number. Then he would disappear down to his lab to work some more on his suit.

The suit had been completed without Peter's help. The exclusion from lab projects was strange to Peter, but he understood. Unlike the other projects the he and Mr. Stark had built together, this one couldn't be completed at their leisure. The threat was immanent and Peter would just slow Mr. Stark down.

Rationally, Peter had known that Mr. Stark could work ten times faster without him. The reason for his exclusion wasn't personal. However, without a project to work on Peter was left with ample time with his own thoughts.

He worried about the situation he was in. Someone was after him and they may come back. If they did, and if they succeeded in taking him, he might never see May again. Suddenly, the secret he had been keeping from her felt unbearably heavy. He was on the clock now, and his time was running out. If someone took him, and he never saw May again, he would regret for the rest of his life not being honest about Ben's death. He had thought about telling her while at the compound, but every time he tried to talk about it, his would courage fail him. Words would die in his throat and awkward silences would pass between the two of them.

Peter knew he had to tell her. But he didn't know if he could.

The last night of their stay, Mr. Stark had brought Peter down to his lab in order to test out his watch. As soon as he set foot in the lab, Peter felt as though his nerves were stretched like an elastic band about to break. Mr. Stark had dark circles under his eyes, and Peter suspected that he hadn't slept in a while. He seemed to be too weary to notice Peter's distress. The test run had gone perfectly, but the longer that Peter stayed in Mr. Stark's presence, the closer he came to breaking down.

"Alright, my tired old elf eyes can't see you." Mr. Stark said with a tired smile. Peter felt his throat tightening at the reminder of their old joke. "What about you FRI? Do you see him?"

"No, boss. He is completely undetectable to my visual sensors."

"Okay, Kid. Press the same button to retract it."

Peter's hand cupped the watch. His finger hovered over the button but he hesitated. Taking advantage of his invisible state, he breathed a couple of deep breathes to compose himself. He did so as quietly as possible, but the moment was stretching out too long. Mr. Stark's brow furrowed as his eyes darted around the area that he was standing.

"Kid?"

Peter didn't say anything. He was cracking and if he took the suit off, Mr. Stark would know.

"Swear to God, Kid, if you're about to punk me invisible man style…" He said while glancing around the lab. Peter couldn't help it, he laughed at that. Then he pressed the button. His suit pulled away in to his watch, and for a moment he and Mr. Stark stared at each other. Mr. Stark's smile slipped from his face as he took in Peter's appearance.

"What's wrong?"

A simple question, but it opened a flood gate. Before Peter knew it, he was crying. Mr. Stark only looked slightly surprised before he stepped forward to wrap Peter up in his arms. But then again, Peter supposed that he had been crying a lot lately. He knew that he should feel embarrassed about that, but at that moment, he couldn't bring himself to care. Mr. Stark held him and Peter buried his face in to his shoulder. His tears were soaking through the fabric of his shirt. He would have apologized for that, but he couldn't find his voice.

After a few minutes, Peter found himself calm enough to speak again. Mr. Stark had led them over to some chairs as Peter started to tell the story. The words came tumbling out, interrupted occasionally by sobs and hiccups. Peter told Mr. Stark about the night that his uncle had been killed. How he had seen the robber stealing money from a convenience store. How he had done nothing. How that same man had mugged and murdered Ben.

"I couldn't save Uncle Ben. I did nothing and it killed him." Peter said faintly. He dropped his gaze from Mr. Stark's face. He looked pale and shaken and Peter couldn't bear to look him in the eye as he made his last confession. "I killed him."

"No, you didn't." Mr. Stark's voice firm despite his shaken appearance. Its strength flared a spark of hope in Peter's chest. He looked up at the man who was staring at him with wide eyes. "How could you ever think-? Shit." He murmured while he ran a hand over his beard. He was silent for a moment, and Peter could practically hear the cogs working double time in his brain. Peter understood. What do you say to someone who confessed that they were responsible for the death of a loved one? Mr. Stark was probably disgusted with him and was trying to find words to break it to him gently. Finally, Mr. Stark seemed to have gathered his thoughts. "You froze up because you were in a dangerous situation for the first time in your life. Anyone would've done what you did."

Peter felt winded. Like an invisible bat had smacked his stomach. Fresh tears prickled in his eyes.

"But I could've stopped that guy-" Peter choked out.

"No, you couldn't. You were new to you're powers and a fourteen-year-old. You weren't ready, here." Mr. Stark said gently while tapping Peter's forehead. "It wasn't your fault." He said. Tears broke free from Peter's eyes once more and his entire body trembled.

It wasn't his fault. The sentence repeated in his head over and over, each time ringing hollow. Mr. Stark shuffled his chair closer to Peter's and he wrapped an arm around his shoulder. He waited again as Peter took the time that he needed to calm himself. After a few moments, he wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

"Have you told your Aunt about this?" Mr. Stark asked gently. Slivers of ice pierced Peter's stomach as he shook his head. "I'm not telling you what to do, but I think you should tell her."

"I don't know if I can." Peter admitted weakly.

"Yeah, I get that." Mr. Stark murmured and Peter was surprised to hear how understanding he sounded. "I'll just say this; In the eight months that I've gotten to know you and your aunt, I've only ever seen her fight for you. She want's you to be happy and safe and will go so far as to threaten billionaire-philanthropists with restraining orders in order to do so." Peter laughed weakly at the reminder and Mr. Stark smiled at him encouragingly before his expression became more somber. "Right now, you're not happy or safe. I'm working on the second half of that problem, but telling her the truth might help with the first."

It had taken some time to finally gather the courage to tell May the truth. A week and a half, to be precise. Peter was certain that he wouldn't have been able to admit his guilt to May before talking to Mr. Stark. But Mr. Stark had told him that it wasn't his fault. Peter wasn't entirely sure if he believed that was true, but the fact that Mr. Stark had faith in him lifted his spirits greatly. Gradually, over the many months that they had known each other, Peter had come to realize that Mr. Stark would always be in his corner. No matter how terrible his corner was.

And so, during one typical evening in their apartment, Peter had finally confessed to May the secret he had been hiding for over a year. May had cried and he had cried. Through out all of it, May had held him tightly and stroked his hair.

"Oh, my boy…" She murmured while carding her fingers through his hair. "How long have you been carrying this?"

It was a rhetorical question. They both knew the answer.

Peter had found, in the weeks following that day, that confessing his secret had been both a blessing and a curse. After telling May and Mr. Stark about what had happened to Ben, he had felt lighter than he had in a long time. A weight had lifted off of his shoulders and he hadn't realized just how heavy it was until it was gone. On the other hand, discussing Ben's death with May and Mr. Stark had opened Pandora's box. Every night since then he had been plagued with nightmares, and it was all just so frustrating and unfair. He always thought that if he ever did tell May the truth, everything would get better. Mr. Stark had said it wasn't his fault. When he had begged May for forgiveness, she had told him that there was nothing to forgive. Peter knew in his heart what the reason was; He hadn't forgiven himself. Therein lay the true struggle.

It was all so much more complicated than Peter had anticipated. The worst thing about it was that Peter was aware that it was himself who was making the situation complicated, and he seemed to be powerless to stop it. He had been avoiding May again. Not quite as much as he had been before, in the month following Ben's murder. But he found himself avoiding their apartment all the same.

Peter took a moment to look around at his surroundings. He didn't want to go home, but he had nowhere else to go. Nowhere that was safe anyway. He was a fair distance from his apartment and didn't have his web shooters with him. Getting there by foot would take some time, but it was his only option. He grimaced at the thought of worrying May. Ever since they had left the compound, she had been very strict about knowing where he was at all times. If he wasted too much time, she would freak out and be angry with him when he finally came home. With that thought in mind, Peter started to run again.

Peter zigged and zagged through alleys and backroads, trying to find the most direct route to get home. Suddenly he felt it. Just like earlier, a jolt of energy shot up his spine and his hair stood on end. The feeling made him stop dead in his tracks, and then he saw it. A car drove past him, the driver paying no mind to Peter since he was invisible. As it passed him, Peter saw a hole in the trunk of the car where the tail light used to be. Out of the hole, and arm waved around frantically.

Oh, God.

Without a second thought, Peter chased after the car. Someone was being kidnapped! In all of the time that Peter had been fighting crime, he had never had to stop someone from being abducted. He wasn't naïve, he knew that human trafficking occurred in America, but he never thought that he would see it first hand.

Peter was quickly gaining on the car. If he had his web shooters, this would have been so much easier. Instead, in his panicked quick thinking, he decided to lift the car by the bumper. He wasn't sure exactly what he should do. The front wheels would still be on the ground, and if the driver pushed the gas, he would be dragged along. Gritting his teeth, Peter grabbed hold of the bumper and lifted it off of the ground. He dug his heals in to the ground and was met with a surprisingly minimal amount of resistance. The car stopped almost as soon as Peter had lifted it. A shiver ran over Peter's body.

Something was not right.

He couldn't dwell on it now. He had to focus on freeing whoever was trapped in the trunk, then he had to stop the driver. His fingers dug with ease in to the metal seam of the trunk and he ripped it open.

Hazel eyes behind white octagonal glasses stared at him from the depths of the trunk. The barrel of a gun pointed directly at him.

Oh.

A shot was fired before Peter had time to flinch. A red dart pierced through the thin material of his suit. In the trunk, Fake Claire Stephens grinned and her eyes twinkled.

Peter hit the pavement.

Peter walked down a cobbled stone street. Somewhere in the furthest recesses of his mind, Peter thought that it was odd that there were cobble stoned streets in New York. It was night and all of the stars were out. They gleamed in the sky, like massive golden balls that faded to light yellow around the edges. The darkness of the sky threatened to swallowed them up. Everything around him was vibrant and colourful. It was also swooshy and swirly. Like that really famous painting by that guy. The guy that cut off his ear and gave it to his girlfriend. Oh, Peter knew that he knew his name. But everything felt fuzzy, so he stopped trying to think about it. Instead he just followed his feet down the road lined by shops and cafés.

After a long time, or perhaps only minutes, Peter reached a café that he knew well. It was that small café that MJ liked. They had been there twice. Once to work on their science fair project. The other time was a date, which had gone… badly. Peter thought it did, but he couldn't remember why. It was all slipping through his fingers like sand.

At one of the tables outside, MJ sat with her water colour pencils strewn on the table. She was colouring directly on the table instead of on a sketch book and all of a sudden it all made sense to Peter. She looked up at him as he approached the table and sat down across from her.

"You did all this? That's amazing!" He exclaimed while gesturing at everything surrounding them. She had painted it all; the road, the shops, the sky and stars. MJ just stared at him with her usual unimpressed look before shrugging her shoulders.

"Well, I've been waiting for a long time." She replied flatly while slumping back in her chair. Peter felt dread start to claw at his insides, though he wasn't sure why.

"Waiting for what?" He asked, though he was certain he already knew the answer.

"Waiting for you to show up."

Inexplicable sadness welled up in Peter, though he tried to keep it at bay. Tried not to show MJ how hurt he was. Though he wasn't sure why her words stung him so badly.

"Oh. Well, I'm here now."

MJ's gaze turned soft and sad as she shook her head.

"No, you're not."

Terror ignited all at once in Peter's chest and coiled tightly around his lungs. There was a pinch of pain, like a bee sting, in his right arm. But when he looked at it, there was nothing there. He looked back at MJ, who was staring at him patiently. Like she was waiting for him to figure out something obvious. Her calm patience in the face of his raging terror snapped something in him.

"Yes, I am!" He yelled. She didn't even flinch. Somehow her indifference made Peter feel even worse. He felt groggy and lethargic. His vision was starting to narrow. "I'm right here! I'm here! I'm here!"

Darkness engulfed Peter like a thick haze.

"M'here… m'here…" His voice mumbled, though he couldn't feel his lips move.

"My goodness, are you waking up already? I gave you enough sedative to make you higher than King Kong on the Empire State Building."

Peter knew that voice. But where had he heard it before? He tried to open his eyes, but they felt too heavy.

"Ahhh, well, that's just another mystery that we'll have to solve together at a later date."

Finally, Peter managed to crack open his eyes. Light hit them and he clenched them shut immediately. This wasn't right. He was with MJ. He was in a café in her painting. A dull throbbing flared up behind Peter's eyes and he went to rub his hand over them. Something cool and smooth was wrapped around his wrist and he couldn't lift it. Peter's eyes flew open in alarm. The light made his eyes tear up, but he kept them open despite the pain.

Peter realized that he was lying down on a table. A table with metal cuffs attached to his wrists and ankles. Looking down his body, he saw that his jeans and hoodie had been replaced with a hospital gown. From his right arm, an IV needle and tube snaked out of his arm.

A ringing sounded in Peter's ears and his breathing became sharp and laboured. How did he get here? It wasn't possible. He was just with MJ. He was with her.

"MmmmJ…" Peter slurred. His tongue felt heavy and it garbled his words.

"Jay?" The voice asked. The voice he knew. With great effort, Peter turned his head to his right and saw a woman in a white lab coat. Bushy hair and purple streaks. Octagon glasses. Hazel eyes.

It all clicked together in Peter's mind. He felt sick to his stomach.

"No…" He meant to say that loader, but his voice wouldn't obey. Both his body and mind felt hollow. Through the void, Peter's mind latched on to one fact. "You're not Claire."

Fake Claire laughed in surprise at his words. The sound echoed off of the sleek surfaces of the lab. She approached the edge of the table and studied him with amused eyes.

"Indeed, I'm not. I guess we should Introduce ourselves before we get started here."

Ourselves? She already knew who he was. Unless there was someone else. Peter turned his head to the left and saw a man eyeing him with a critical gaze. He had sharp features and neatly combed hair. He wore a suit rather than a lab coat. Peter felt his eyes widen. He knew this man as well, though he had only ever seen him in pictures and videos.

"I'm Dr. Olivia Octavius and my scowling companion is-"

"Norman Osborn." Peter finished for her. Dread twisted Peter's stomach in to knots as he started to piece together what this was all about. Mr. Osborn's piercing gaze pinned him down more effectively than the physical restraints.

"Of course, you know him. Silly of me to think that a world-renowned CEO and scientist would need introduction."

Dr. Octavius's voice sounded from Peter's right hand side, but Peter didn't dare to look at her. Didn't dare tear his eyes from Mr. Osborn.

"Enough talk. We're wasting time." Mr. Osborn's voice was like ice. He still kept his gaze fixed on Peter, though his command was for Dr. Octavius.

"Oh, I suppose your right."

A clinking sound of glass on metal snapped Peter out of his trance as he whipped his head over to look at Dr. Octavius. In her hand she held a syringe. At the table beside her, lay a tray with various surgical tools on it and empty syringes with very large needle tips. The sight of it caused Peter's heart to beat hard and fast. A cold sweat broke out over his skin.

"Wait!" He screamed. The doctor ignored him and moved to inject the syringe in to his IV line. "No, please don't! You can't do this!"

"Can't I?" Mr. Osborn's voice rang with authority. Peter turned to look at him again and found the man standing over him from his bedside. "You've stolen from me, boy. Do you know what that means?" Peter was frozen and his voice was gone. A cold wave washed over him as Mr. Osborn continued. "It means that my property is flowing through your veins. Tony Stark had you on a tight leash, which made reclaiming my property difficult and costly. But in the end, I always claim what is rightfully mine."

Peter's eyes were growing heavy. He didn't want to succumb to the drugs. If he closed his eyes, he might never open them again. But they did close against Peter's will. Cruel blue eyes stared in to his before darkness fell like a curtain.

"And I'll do whatever I want with my property."

Peter sat at a table. In front of him was his math homework. Or, well, Peter supposed that was what it was. A page with numbers and equations, but whenever he tried to look closely at one of the problems it dissolved into nonsense with no meaning. A familiar song was playing in the background, and Peter nodded his head along to the beat.

'Though his mind is not for rent,

Don't put him down as arrogant.

His reserve a quiet defense,

Riding out the day's events.

The river!'

Rush. Of course, Rush was Ben's favorite. Peter glanced up from his work and looked around. He half expected to see his Uncle's legs poking out from under a car. Or to hear him calling for whatever tool he needed.

No, this was the lab. Mr. Stark's lab. Not Uncle Ben's garage. Ben's garage didn't exist anymore. Neither did Ben. Peter's heart sank in his chest.

"Kid, what are you doing?" Mr. Stark called from behind him.

Peter whirled around in his seat and found the man standing with his arms crossed. An impatient scowl on his face caused Peter to feel panicky. Was he late? He was wasting Mr. Stark's time. Why was he even here? Mr. Stark was an important man and probably had a million better things that he could be doing right now. Mr. Stark held out his hand, and in it was a wristwatch. It was familiar, but where…?

"I fixed it for you. Try not to break it again." Mr. Stark's words were calm but they stung Peter like barbs.

"Thanks, Mr. Stark." He mumbled, taking the watch from him and fastening it on to his wrist. When he looked up, Peter was startled to find Mr. Stark staring at him. His gaze bore into him, like it could see in to his soul. Peter found himself held captive by its intensity.

"What's wrong with you?" Mr. Stark asked. Though they hadn't been talking about anything prior to this, Peter thought that he knew what Mr. Stark was asking about. It was as though Mr. Stark was trying to pull an already known answer out of him.

"I couldn't save Uncle Ben." Peter answered. He was suddenly struck with a sense of déjà vu. They had discussed this before. Hadn't they? He tried to remember but it hurt to think. It was all slipping away.

"No, you wouldn't save him. You could have saved him, but you didn't." Mr. Stark said coldly. Peter was rooted to the spot as the horror of that truth sunk in to him. Tears filled his eyes and his throat became so tight that breathing felt nearly impossible. "You killed him."

It was a fact, and Peter knew it. Mr. Stark was just telling him what he already knew.

"I know."

"He was like your Dad, wasn't he? How could you do nothing?" Mr. Stark asked and Peter flinched. "Am I gonna wind up dead too?"

Tears streamed down Peter's cheeks as he gaped at Mr. Stark.

"No, I-" Peter began weakly. He wanted to explain that he would never let anyone hurt Mr. Stark. But his voice died. And he couldn't breath. And for some reason, his back hurt. For the first time ever, the lab felt unwelcoming. It was stifling, like it was bearing down on him. He had to get out of there.

Peter turned on his heel and ran out of the lab and in to the hallway. He ran as fast as he could, but the hallway stretched on and on. After a while, he stopped as he realized that he was going nowhere. He was sobbing uncontrollably from the pain. Pain inflicted by Mr. Stark's words and the pain that was stabbing in his spine.

To his left, Peter saw a window. Looking out of it, he expected to see the grounds of the compound but instead was greeted by the sight of swooshy and swirly paint. MJ stood on the street in front of her café, staring up at him through the window. She was crying as well and all around her, the street, the sky, the shops were dripping in long wet streaks. Pools of technicolor water gathered at her feet.

'He's crying.'

Peter jumped in surprise at the voice. It came from everywhere and nowhere. It reminded him a bit of FRIDAY or Karen. But this wasn't either of their voices.

'What? Oh, that's fascinating! His metabolism appears to be at least three times faster than a normal person's.'

No that wasn't right. It was four times faster. Dr. Cho had verified that a long time ago. FRIDAY should know that.

'Give him another dose. I don't want him waking up before we have him in his cell.'

'No. If I give him too much, it could cause a seizure.'

There was a second pain now. The one in his spine had faded to a dull throbbing. A sharp new pain shot through the back-left side of his hip. Peter gritted his teeth. It felt deep and obtrusive.

'I don't care about the boy's well-being. As long as these samples aren't altered by the sedative, he could fall in to a vegetative state for all I care.'

'Well, I'm almost done anyway.'

Terror clawed at Peter's throat and through the disorienting confusion he remembered one thing; He was property.

Consciousness came to Peter slowly. His body was immobile, though feeling was gradually returning to his limbs. All was quiet and dark. Peter didn't even try to open his eyes. What was the point, anyway?

Seconds passed. Or minutes. Or hours. It was impossible for Peter to tell. But eventually he became aware of a deep throbbing pain in his spine and hip. Through the haze of his apathy, Peter felt tiny embers of concern smoldering. The more time passed, the more intense the pain became and the more panicked Peter felt.

Peter opened his eyes and was met with the sight of a ceiling. White and nondescript. Peter didn't recognize it. He looked down at his body and saw that he was lying on a bed. He was in a hospital gown, not his clothes. The sight made him frown.

He was in a hospital? No, he was in the lab. Mr. Stark's lab.

Mr. Stark, who had told him…

A dam broke in Peter's mind and memories came rushing back like torrential waters. Memories that clenched at his heart and throat like a vice and squeezed.

Peter sat bolt upright and cried out in pain from the sudden movement. His back ached, but he couldn't sit still any longer. He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and sprang to his feet. His knees buckled under his weight, and he collapsed on to the floor once more. His vision was filled with gray cement, and for a moment he lay there, too stunned to move. Slowly, Peter lifted his body up so that he was resting on his elbows. A shot of pain bolted through his spine once more as the motion bent his back slightly. He collapsed on the floor once more, and decided instead to just roll over on to his side. He did so, while keeping his back as straight as possible.

Four cement walls and one glass wall. A bed was pushed against one wall. A toilet was in the back corner of the room. In the ceiling, a small air vent pumped air into the room. Peter's brow furrowed as he tried to piece together fragments of his mind. He was here, wherever here was. But moments ago, he had been with Mr. Stark in his lab. And before that with MJ.

But no, there was something else. Something had happened between those two things…

'You killed him.'

With sharp clarity, Peter recalled Mr. Stark's voice. The air released out of his lungs as if he had been punched in the stomach.

How could Mr. Stark say that to him?

Peter clenched his eyes shut as shame settled over him like a thick blanket. Tears dribbled over the bridge of his nose and wetted the floor. A terrible rattling sound echoed in the small room. Peter realized after some time that it was the sound of his breathing.

Peter had never seen Mr. Stark act so cruel. His words stung even worse because of how unexpected they had been. Mr. Stark had always been kind to him.

'You never were, nor could you ever be, a waste of time.'

Mr. Stark believed in him, even when Peter didn't believe in himself.

'You're a brilliant kid, and someday you'll be an amazing man.'

Mr. Stark protected him. He had given Peter two suits that he had designed himself. They shielded him from criminals and anything else that might harm him. No. That wasn't right. Mr. Stark had given him three suits. One of them was a heated suit. Hastily modified in to a cloaking suit.

Peter's right hand dragged along the smooth concrete floor and wrapped around his left wrist.

It was bare.

His watch was gone.

Peter's eyes widened at the realization. Someone had taken it. Fake Claire. The watch was supposed to protect him from her. Mr. Stark had taken three days to design it. They had tested it in his lab.

Then they had talked about Uncle Ben…

'It wasn't your fault.'

Mr. Stark had told him that. He had held Peter while he cried. He had given him the courage to tell his secret to Aunt May.

Peter's hand trembled as he released his wrist and moved to wipe the tears from his face. Moving carefully so as to not further jostle his injuries, Peter picked himself up off of the floor and sat on the edge of his bed. He took a deep breath in and out.

It had all seemed so real. The lab. Rush playing in the background. If Peter closed his eyes, he could recall ever detail. Whatever sedative Fake Claire had developed, it had done a real number on him.

No, not Fake Claire. Dr. Octavius.

That drug had taken all of his insecurities and fears and exaggerated them in vivid hallucinations. Rage burned at Peter's insides as he began to realize what had nearly been taken from him.

They had nearly taken Mr. Stark from him.

Peter's hands clenched around the edge of the bed and the metal molded around his fingers like playdough. Fury wracked Peter's frame with tremors. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this angry. In the weeks following Peter's attack at school, he had worried incessantly about what he had to lose. He had worried that his attackers might take May, Ned, MJ, or Mr. Stark. That they would physically be taken or harmed. It had never occurred to him that something like this could happen. That he could be drugged and have his mind deteriorate. That the image of his loved ones could be twisted in his mind.

Peter had nearly believed that Mr. Stark hated him. That alone was fuel enough to burn the fire of his hatred for this lab, Dr. Octavius, and Mr. Osborn. Mr. Stark was out looking for him. He was certain of it. Peter just had to hold on until Mr. Stark managed to locate him.

Peter supposed that hatred and rage could sustain him until that time came.

"Wake-up!"

Peter's eyes snapped open at the command. It was the same every morning. Well, Peter assumed it was morning. There were no windows and he didn't have his watch. Words, muffled by thick glass, were barked at him and always accompanied by a sharp bang on the glass. Peter took a deep breath of stale recycled air and rubbed a hand over his eyes. Despite the air's unpleasant stale smell, it provided Peter with a small amount of reassurance. It was his only clue to where he was. The lab and his cell were likely underground.

"Stand up! Hands on the wall!" The guard barked again.

Gingerly, Peter stood from his bed. Peter had been held captive by Norman Osborn for five days, and in that time, Dr. Octavius had taken two samples of his spinal fluid and three samples of his bone marrow. Needless to say, Peter's back was killing him. And he was feeling more and more tired with each passing day as his healing factor struggled to keep up with the damage. Silently, Peter moved to the back wall. He placed his hands on it and he heard the glass wall slide open behind him.

Peter didn't try to fight them of. He had tried the first day, but all four guards behind him were armed and had their weapons trained on him. He had been naïve to think that he could escape that easily. All that had gotten him was a bullet in his leg. A wheel chair rolled up behind him and he sat down in it. The guards locked the cuffs around his wrists and ankles.

A guard pushed Peter in his wheelchair to the lab where Dr. Octavius awaited. By now, Peter had memorized the route from his cell to the lab. Straight. Turn left. Straight. Another left. Straight again. Pass by an elevator. Peter had seen someone use that elevator on his third day in captivity. He would need a key card to use it. They arrived at the lab doors and Peter saw the guard tap in the code on the key pad.

The doors slid open and Peter was wheeled inside. The scent of antiseptic burned at Peter's nose unpleasantly and made his nose crinkle. He quickly schooled his expression in to a neutral one. He didn't believe that Dr. Octavius knew about his enhanced senses, and he wanted to keep it that way. It was the only advantage he had. The ace up his sleeve.

"Morning, Peter! How are you feeling today?" Dr. Octavius asked brightly, as she did every morning. Peter rolled his eyes as the guard moved his wheelchair beside the examination table and moved back a couple of paces. A second later, Peter could hear the safety on a gun being clicked off behind his head.

"Just peachy." Peter replied sarcastically. The doctor was standing in front of him and was releasing the restraints binding him to the chair. The rules had been laid out on his first day here. Don't struggle or try to fight, or you'll lose your head. Peter didn't think that they would actually shoot him in the head. They needed him alive, after all. But he also knew that they had no ethical qualms about shooting him in non-lethal places. "Hey, Doc, how about today I draw your blood instead?"

A slight frown pulled the corners of Dr. Octavius's lips down and Peter smiled at her irritation. He felt triumphant as he lay down on the table at having annoyed her. Annoying her may not be within his best interests, but it was the only small way that he could rebel without being maimed.

"Don't call me Doc, unless you want me to start calling you Bugs Bunny."

She fastened the cuffs around Peter's wrists and ankles a little tighter than usual. They bit in to his skin uncomfortably. The guard left as soon as Peter was secured on the table.

"Sure thing. How about 'Doc Ock'?" Peter quipped back, hoping to go two for two. Dr. Octavius nodded her head appreciatively and smiled.

Damn it.

"Well, that has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

Peter didn't respond. Silence fell over the lab as Dr. Octavius began her usual routine. She took a swab of the inside of his cheek. Then she drew a couple vials of his blood. She did this everyday, and oddly enough, Peter had grown accustom to it. Peter knew that she would then spend a couple of hours analyzing the content of his blood and running it through various tests. At this point, it had become a bit tedious for Peter.

"You're not very chatty today. Normally you never shut up." Dr. Octavius said while she gathered the vials of blood and placed them in cold storage. It was true, Peter normally rambled about anything and everything while he was being poked and prodded. He found that quipping witty one-liners and purposely annoying the doctor helped to keep his anxiety at bay. Like human experimentation was just an ordinary and mundane thing to happen to him. Today, he just couldn't be bothered to keep up the charade.

Rather than leaving him alone to go and test the blood samples, Peter was surprised to find Dr. Octavius returning to his bed side. This was out of the ordinary and Peter felt his pulse begin to race.

What was she going to do?

Dr. Octavius leaned down to further examine his hands. With one hand, she flipped his hand so that the palm was facing up. The latex of her glove brushed against the raised setules on his palm and they grabbed hold. As she tried to pull her hand away, the glove ripped. Shreds of white latex clung to Peter's palm. His heart rate sped up double time as a glimmer of interest lit up the doctor's eyes.

"Fascinating…"

Peter had to distract her. Anything to get her mind off of her new found discovery. His mind supplied a gruesome image his fingers being flayed, and a cold sweat broke out all over his body.

"Why are you studying my healing factor?" Peter blurted out. He wasn't certain that she was studying his blood and bone marrow for that purpose, but it seemed like a logical guess. His question did manage to successful distract the doctor. She placed his hand back on the table and turn to look at him strangely.

"Most scientists would say that there is no such thing as a stupid question. But that one really is flirting with the line." She stated while looking at him like he had just asked what 2+2 was. "Why wouldn't the scientific community be interested in enhanced healing capabilities?"

"Well, the scientific community would want to know how to help people. But Norman Osborn doesn't really seem like the kind of guy to study this sort of thing for the sake of helping others." Peter was rambling. The longer he kept her talking, the more likely it would be that she would just move on and start her usual blood tests. Dr. Octavius smiled wanly and suddenly looked very tired.

"No, just one." She mumbled. Peter could hear her clearly and a thousand new questions sprung up in his mind.

"What did you say?" He asked, pretending like he couldn't hear her. She shook her head tiredly before straightening up.

"You're very optimistic." Peter frowned at that. What did that have to do with anything? Peter guessed that she was trying to distract him. "Don't worry about it. Norman Osborn is first and foremost a business man. Your blood cells are very lucrative assets to the company."

Peter stared dejectedly at the ceiling. The plaster had started to crack in some places, though Peter knew that they were too small and too far away for others to notice. Silence permeated the lab. Peter lay on the table. Alone.

It was the twelfth day.

Mr. Stark still hadn't come.

In his heart, Peter was starting to fear the worst. That Mr. Stark couldn't find him. That he would waste away and die here.

Times like this were the worst. When Dr. Octavius would leave him alone, strapped to the table, in order to do something else. At times like these, it was just Peter alone with his thoughts.

Maybe Mr. Stark had already cut his losses and moved on. Maybe he had already found a new kid to take under his wing. The thought brought tears to Peter's eyes. He pressed his eyes shut but the tears escaped anyway. Wetting the shell of his ears and soaking in to his hair.

Dr. Octavius could come back at any time. Peter refused for her to see him like this. He took deep breaths to calm himself. His breath, the only sound in the lab.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Doors were sliding. Too soft and faint to be the lab doors. Peter's eyes snapped open as he realized that they must be the elevator doors. He strained his hearing and could faintly hear footsteps and two voices.

"… just need more time." Dr. Octavius said.

"You need more time?" a man's voice asked. Peter realized after a moment that it was Norman Osborn. Their footsteps halted just outside of the lab doors. "My son needs more time. Unfortunately, I can't give you a time extension any more than I can give him one."

His son? Peter had heard of Harry Osborn before, but what did he have to do with-

"These things can't be rushed. If I could just have one more week-"

"You're in no position to demand anything!" Peter flinched at the noise. It was the first time he had ever heard Mr. Osborn shout. Even without his enhanced hearing, he probably could have heard that. "First you promised me that you could discover a cure if you had samples of the boy's blood. But then what happened? You couldn't do it and we ran out of blood. Because of your failure, we had to kidnap the boy. And now, Tony Stark is tearing the city apart looking for him." Peter's heart lept to his throat. Mr. Stark was looking for him! He did care about him! A small measure of guilt settled in to Peter's stomach for ever having thought that Mr. Stark would abandon him. "With the resources that Stark has, it's only a matter of time before he tracks the boy to this location. So tell me, Doctor, how exactly do you expect me give you more time?" Silence stretched on for a moment or two. Idly, Peter wondered if Mr. Osborn was really waiting for an answer. Or if he just wanted to see Dr. Octavius squirm. "I want results. I expect them by tomorrow night."

One pair of footsteps walked off, the sound becoming more and more faint. Suddenly, the lab doors slid open and Dr. Octavius stormed in to the room. Dozens of new questions were running through Peter's head. Mr. Osborn had mentioned a cure. A cure for what? And, more importantly, for who? The man didn't look sick, but then again, not all illnesses are visible. Peter tried his best to wipe all emotion off of his face. He wasn't supposed to have heard that, after all.

Peter followed the doctor with his eyes as she went about the lab, collecting various medical tools on a tray. Her actions, though calm and controlled, seemed to be barely suppressing her agitation. Finally, she snapped on a pair of latex gloves with more force than necessary.

"Someone's testy." Peter teased, though panic was starting to rise in his chest. She ignored him and set the tray next to the table he was lying on. "So, same as usual? You gonna draw some blood, swab my cheek?" She ignored him again, and walked to one of the counters. Peter recognized it as the counters where she kept the drugs. Panic was clawing at his lungs. "Hey, c'mon Doc. What's with the silent treatment?"

"No, I'm gonna take a tooth." She said calmly as she approached him, needle in hand.

Peter's heart stopped. His healing could repair everything she had done to him up until that point, but it couldn't regrow a tooth. Dr. Octavius leaned over him to inject the syringe into his IV port. A blind panic swept over Peter. He leaned up as far as he could with his limbs restrained. His teeth latched on to the sleeve of Dr. Octavius's lab coat and he bit down hard. She cried out in pain as Peter's teeth sunk in to her wrist as well as the coat. With all the strength he could muster, Peter whipped his head to the side. The doctor's grip slipped and the needle flew out of her hand. Peter heard a crack of glass as it hit the floor.

"That's enough!"

Dr. Octavius's lab coat fell to the floor and four long rubber tubes inflated from her back. One of them wrapped around Peter's knee while the other three suspended her body two feet above of his. They held her horizontally so that she was directly over him. Her bushy hair hung in front of her face, a few of the locks were long enough to brush against Peter's cheek. Her eyes were focused on his, and for a moment Peter thought that she looked deranged. A second later, a mask of calm control slipped over her features once more. A hiss of compressed air sounded and the arm wrapped around Peter's knee inflated with more air. Peter yelped in surprise as it squeezed his knee painfully.

"I'm in no mood for your shit today." Dr. Octavius growled, her hazel eyes glaring in to his brown ones. "I got the boss breathing down my neck and an impossible deadline to meet. So here are your choices. Option one; I give you the sedative, you fall asleep, and I take a tooth. Option two; You struggle, I break your knee and don't give you the sedative." The claw around his knee became even tighter. Peter hissed in pain as he could feel his knee threatening to bend back the wrong way. "You'll be in agonizing pain and I'll still take a tooth. So, what's it gonna be?"

'Don't cry, don't you dare.' Peter ordered himself. Tears sprung to his eyes despite his efforts. He couldn't speak, so, in lieu of words, he opened his mouth. Dr. Octavius smiled victoriously as her rubber arms lowered her to the ground.

"Good choice."

Peter was staring at the ceiling once again. There was a tiny air vent in the ceiling of his cell. Too small for him to squeeze through. Peter wished, more than anything that he had droney with him. The tiny mechanical drone spider that resided in his suit could fit through that vent.

Actually, no. Scratch that. Peter wished more than anything that he had some Spidey-profen. His gums were inflamed and his right cheek was swollen. It throbbed in time with his heart beat. Hours had passed since Dr. Octavius had pulled his tooth. Peter had asked that she do it without giving him the sedative. It had been excruciating, but at least Peter wasn't experiencing crazy hallucinations. He knew what was real and didn't have to spend hours afterward sorting his head out. His first experience with it had been terrifying, trying to differentiate real memories from fabricated ones. In Peter's opinion, the pain was worth it.

As lightly as possible, Peter ran his tongue across his teeth, hissing in pain when his tongue hit the spot where his top-right molar should be. He could still taste the blood.

He was running out of time.

Today, Dr. Octavius wanted a tooth. What if tomorrow she wants an organ? How long before there was nothing left of Peter for Mr. Stark to save? It was a sobering thought that elicited terror in Peter's heart.

Gently, Peter stood up and began to pace the small area of his cell. The need to move, to do anything was overwhelming. In the midst of his pacing, he caught sight of his reflection in the glass wall. After so much blood letting, Peter's skin had started to turn pale and waxy. Dark circles lined his eyes. Peter reached up with one hand and cupped his swollen cheek. He looked terrible. It was true that Peter had looked more beat up before. When he had stopped Mr. Toomes he had walked away looking much more bloody than he did now. But he had never looked so sickly before. It was then that Peter realized two truths.

He had to leave, or he would die.

He couldn't afford to wait for Mr. Stark anymore. Peter had to save himself.

Peter sighed and leaned forward to lean his forehead on the glass. He had to leave, but he didn't even know where he was. If he somehow managed to escape this building, what then? Peter closed his eyes and breathed for a moment. He recalled the conversation that he had heard between Mr. Osborn and Dr. Octavius. Mr. Osborn had said that Mr. Stark was tearing the city apart looking for him. The city. Peter's eyes widened.

Was he still in New York? Was he being held at Oscorp? No, surely it couldn't be that simple. But, then again, Peter supposed that it was possible. He recalled that, on his school field trip, the tour guide had said that all research and development for Oscorp was done in the same building. Peter knew that he was in the sublevel of a building. He knew this because the air smelled recycled, there were no windows, and the elevator next to the lab only had an upward arrow button on it.

So, Peter concluded, he was likely at Oscorp. Just a few floors above his head, Secretaries were working their 9-5 jobs and other schools were doing their own field trips. A hysterical laugh burst from Peter's lips at the thought.

How would he get out?

Peter straightened up and regarded his reflection once more. There was no way that he would be able to escape from the lab. The metal restraints on the lab table were much too strong for him to break. It would have to happen during the transition between his cell and the lab. There were four guards, with four guns. If he tried to overpower them, they would shoot. He already had one scar in his leg to give testament to that fact.

Peter would have to out-smart them.

Peter closed his eyes and tried to focus. All he needed was a moment to break free. He needed them to drop their guard long enough for him to escape. He would steal one of their key cards so he could use the elevator. But first, he needed that golden opportunity to arise.

Surely, they would lower their guard if they thought he was dying. Or if he was in need of medical attention.

Peter's chest felt light and for the first time, he dared to feel hopeful. He remembered Dr. Octavius's voice coming from everywhere and nowhere. During his hallucination, he had thought that she might have been FRIDAY.

'Give him another dose. I don't want him waking up before we have him in his cell.'

'No. If I give him too much, it could cause a seizure.'

No doubt, Dr. Octavius could recognize the signs of someone faking a seizure, but the guards probably couldn't.

Peter's cheek hurt as he grinned, but he couldn't help but grin anyway.

He would live.

He would escape.

He would see May and Ned and MJ again.

He would see Mr. Stark again.

Peter wandered back to his bed to lie down. He doubted that he would sleep at all that night, but he needed to rest his body and plan his escape. The curtain would go up tomorrow morning and Peter would give an Oscar worthy performance.

Long ago, when Peter was new to his powers, he had wanted to test out what the limits of his enhanced senses were. How far away could he hear or see? He had figured out that if he closed his eyes, and became extremely focused on one sense, it would become even more heightened.

To anyone watching, Peter Parker was soundly asleep. In reality, Peter Parker was wide awake and listening attentively to every little sound in the cell. He had been lying on his bed all night long, feigning sleep and instead working out his plan and making note of every small change in the room.

Every 30 minutes, the vent in his cell would pump cool air in to the cell.

The pipes behind the concrete walls would groan occasionally.

Twice during the night, Peter heard a guard walk up to his cell, looked inside, and reported on his radio that Peter was sleeping.

Peter was tired from pulling his all-nighter, but at the same time he was tingling with nervous energy and was having a hard time lying still. Because, well, he had one shot or one opportunity to seize everything he every wanted. Would he capture it? Or let it slip.

Oh, God. He really was tired. Now was not the time for quoting Eminem. Peter gave himself a mental slap and concentrated on his hearing again.

He counted the seconds. The minutes. The air vent started blowing in more air. And then he heard it.

Footsteps. Many of them.

Showtime.

Peter knew, from a first aid course he had taken years ago, that there were two types of seizures. The kind where someone stays frozen and unresponsive and the kind where someone's body jerks sporadically. He decided to fake the latter since it would probably be more disturbing to watch. As the sound of the footsteps approached, Peter started to fake spasms.

"Wake-" The usual guard's voice called but then was cut short. "Hey, what're you doing? Stop that!"

Oh, God. They weren't buying it. Time to go big or go home.

Peter further exaggerated his jerking body and rolled off of his bed and onto the floor. He kept his body ridged as he hit the floor.

"I need Dr. Octavius to report to the holding cells. The subject is having a seizure."

No.

Cold sweat broke over Peter's skin as he continued to jerk on the floor. What if they didn't come in? What if they decided to wait outside for Dr. Octavius to show up. All of this would have been for nothing and Peter's last hope of escape would disappear. He needed to do something. Something that screamed 'help me now, or I'll die!'.

Peter started to make choking sounds in the back of his throat.

"He's choking on his tongue!"

A swiping sound as the key card passed through the lock. The glass wall slid open smoothly on its rails. Peter's heart soared, though he tried not to let it show. One of the guards had a shred of humanity left, and that would save him.

Footsteps rushed inside. But it was only two people. Peter needed all of them in the cell, or his plan wouldn't work. Sturdy hands turned Peter on to his side. Another felt his forehead while a couple of fingers pressed against his pulse below his jaw line.

"Shit. He's burning up." A voice said from above of him. Peter could tell that the two in the cell were kneeling over him.

"His pulse is too fast." The second voice said. "Marv! Get the wheelchair in here! We'll strap him in and get him down to the lab."

The third guard entered the cell, pushing the wheelchair in front of him. Just one more. Peter's nerves tingles in anticipation. Peter locked his limbs in an imitation of someone going through electric shocks. Hands lifted him and tried to sit him down in the chair. Peter was stiff at a board. One of the guards cursed under his breath.

"This won't work, we have to carry him."

The guard was panicking. Peter could hear it. Not just in his voice but also in his elevate heart rate.

"No." The last guard in the hallway called. "We have to wait for the doctor-"

"If the subject dies before Octavius gets here, Norman Osborn will kill us!" One of the guards supporting Peter's body snapped. "So, get your ass in here and help lift!"

There was a moment of hesitation. Peter realized that he was holding his breath. The last guard entered the room. Peter's heart was hammering.

Wait for it.

Peter counted the sets of hands on him. Four sets of hands were on him, slipping under his legs and torso. They began to lift him in to the air. Four sets of hands were occupied lifting Peter, not reaching for their guns.

Peter snapped his eyes open. For less than a second, he took in the shocked faces of the guards holding him; Two on each side of his body.

"Wha-"

Peter drew his knee to his chest and released it, kicking one of them in the face. Not hard enough to kill. Spider-Man didn't kill. But hard enough to knock him out.

'Pull your punches if you have to, but don't let yourself get beat just cause you're stronger than your opponent.'

These were completely different circumstances, but Happy had given some pretty solid advice. Peter hoped he would live long enough to thank him for it. The guard dropped like a sack of potatoes, and before the others could react, Peter was twisting out of their grasp.

"Hey!" One of them shouted in surprise. Peter dropped on to the floor in a crouch. Behind him, he could hear the other three fumbling with their weapons. Reaching out with one hand, Peter grasped the armrest of the wheelchair. He spun around in an arc quickly, hitting the other three with the chair. They tumbled to the floor like bowling pins.

Bang!

The gun shot echoed in the small space and Peter could feel a white hot sting in his side. He kept fighting anyway, adrenaline pumping through him and keeping the pain muted. There were only two guards conscious. One had hit his head when he fell. The other two were on the ground, one with his gun raised at him. Peter lept over and the guards. They tried to follow him with their gaze. Landing behind them, Peter grabbed the hair of the guard that shot him in his fist. He slammed his head down in to the cement floor. He didn't stir again.

Peter turned his attention to the last guard. He was pale and staring up at him with frightened eyes.

"Don't kill me!" Peter recognized his voice as the one who had said that he was choking on his tongue. The one that opened his cell. Some of the hatred in Peter's heart was tempered. He straightened up and held his hand out.

"Give it."

The guard stared at him in shock.

"W-what?"

"The gun." Peter clarified. "Actually, everything you got. Hand it all over."

With shaking hands, the guard handed over his gun, key card, identification, and his cell phone. A sense of peace washed over Peter as he sprinted out of the cell. For good measure, he swiped the key card through the lock, thereby locking the guards in his cell. Then he dialed a number on the phone. One of the three which he had memorized by heart. Peter's heart was racing and his hands shook so bad he could barely keep the phone pressed to his ear.

It only rang once before Mr. Stark picked up.

"Who is this?"

All of the air evaporated from Peter's lungs and tears prickled his eyes. Hearing Mr. Stark's voice again, Peter realized that his memory of it had been just a shade.

"Mr. Stark!"

"Peter! Where are-?"

"I think I'm at Oscorp!" Peter shouted before Mr. Stark had finished his question. Remembering the path to the elevator, he started to sprint down the hall. He didn't have time for this. His heart was in his throat. In the distance Peter could hear the whooshing of something running. Something with many legs. It was growing louder as it gained on him. "Track this phone call!" He screamed before something closed around his throat. Something else closed around his hand tightly, causing him to crush the phone in his own gasp.

"Why are you purposely going out of your way to make my work difficult?" Dr. Octavius drawled from behind him. Her rubber octopus arms turned him around slowly and lifted him off the ground by his neck. Just enough so that Peter's feet were dangling. "I thought you understood our agreement?" She asked. The arm suspending Peter from the ground whipped him into the wall. "Don't fight or struggle," She added while the claw tightened on Peter's throat. He gasped on reflex and his lungs burned in response. "And you can keep your head."

Peter wanted to pull the claw from his throat, but both his hands were full. One was wrapped up in another claw and clutching the crushed remnants of the phone. The other held the gun and key card. He was losing strength rapidly, and the key card fell to the floor. He held fast to the gun. Reaching up, he aimed at the rubber arm around his neck and shot. The doctor screamed in surprise as the bullet tore a hole through the arm, rendering it useless. Peter fell to the floor and gasped for air. He aimed quickly at the other arms and fired off three more rounds. They all met their targets.

Huh. It was just like web slinging, except with bullets.

Dr. Octavius let out a frustrated scream as all the arms deflated around her. She slapped a hand to her chest and the arms all dropped off of her like dead weight. She rushed at him, her face contorted into a deranged snarl and her hand raised in a fist. Peter aimed the gun at her. His finger twitching on the trigger.

No, Spider-Man doesn't kill people. Not even inhumane scientists who tortured him for profit.

But, Spider-Man had no problem pistol whipping them in to next week.

Peter side stepped her attack and swung the handle of the pistol down over her temple. She fell down in a heap and something in Peter felt deeply satisfied.

"We both know that's a load of crap, Doc Ock." Peter quipped breathlessly to her unconscious form. A ghost of a smile flitted over his face as he bent down to pick up the key card. He sprinted the rest of the way to the elevator, and his lungs burned from the effort. It almost felt like how it did to run before he was bit by the spider; Absolutely miserable. He didn't dare slow down. He had no way of knowing if Norman Osborn was aware of his escape. He wasn't keen on finding out. He had one goal in mind that he focused on like a laser beam; The main doors of the lobby. That was, assuming that his guess was right and he really was in Oscorp and still in New York.

Peter reached the elevator and swiped the key card through the lock. It took a second for the doors to slide open, but for Peter it felt like ages. Adrenaline and not much else was sustaining him now. The fear that he would be caught now that the end was in sight kept him moving one foot in front of the other, in spite of his weariness. Peter raced in the elevator and hurriedly studied the buttons. It went to all floors, so Peter jabbed the M button and the doors slid shut. The elevator shuddered before it started to rise. Soft music started to play.

Holy shit.

There was elevator music playing in the super secret elevator that lead to the evil human testing lab.

Peter laughed hard. Hysterical and uncontrollable laughter echoed loudly in the small space causing Peter to wince. Tears of mirth sprung to his eyes and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. The hand that was still holding a gun. The sight of it sobered him quickly. Peter kept his eyes on the rising floor numbers. He was still in the sublevels.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Peter's brow wrinkled as he looked down to see what was dripping. Oh, it was his blood. It was dripping on the floor and staining it crimson. With that realization came a burst of pain that his adrenaline had been suppressing. Peter placed a hand on his side and it came away bloody. It wasn't bad. The bullet just grazed him.

The elevator roughly shuddered to a halt. Peter knees buckled under him and he threw out his arms to keep himself balanced. He glanced at the screen displaying the floor number.

This wasn't the main floor.

A second passed. The doors weren't opening.

Peter's heart stopped. He was one level under the main floor. He could make it, if he ran and was stealthy. He had to. Peter dropped the gun to the floor as he forced his hands in the seam between the elevator doors. He pulled them open and the metal groaned in protest. The floor outside was at Peter's eye level. Below it, a dark empty space dropped down in to the elevator shaft. Peter picked up the gun and slid it across the floor. Then he placed his palms flat on the floor and hoisted himself up. It was a bit of a tight squeeze, but Peter managed to wriggle his body through the small space between the floor and top of the elevator door.

It was a lab. A different one from the one a few floors down, but one that Peter recognized anyway. In glass cases on the counter tops, spiders were twitching and spinning webs.

He was back where it all started.

The hair on Peter's neck stood on end moments before he heard footsteps approaching. It was coming from the door way. The only exit and entrance to the lab. Panic seized his heart as his eyes darted around, scouting out a place to hide. Suddenly, he was hit by an idea.

Most people don't think to look up. There were some very thick and sturdy looking pipes over his head.

Peter hopped up on to a counter and climbed the wall. His muscles were on fire and his head felt kind of light. The weeks of abuse was taking its toll on him and he wasn't sure if he would have enough stamina to fight off whoever was there. As silently as he could, He pulled himself up on to a thick pipe and wrapped his arms and legs around it. There was a figure in the doorway, with his arms raised and a gun in his hands.

Norman Osborn.

He paced slowly in to the room, eyes scanning the lab. Peter placed a hand over his mouth and nose to silence his erratic breathing.

"Peter Parker. I know you're in here."

A bluff. Of course he couldn't be certain that Peter was there. He would leave soon, Peter just had to remain still and silent.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

A horrifying chill washed over Peter. His blood was dripping on the floor. Mr. Osborn was turning to look at it, trailing his gaze up to the source.

Their eyes met.

Peter swung his body to the side and narrowly missed the shot fired at him. It ricocheted off of the pipe and Peter saw a red dart fall to the floor. His heart beat was thrumming in his ears. There was nowhere to go up here. His best bet was to get on ground level. Peter swung himself around the pipe and drop to the ground in a crouch. The impact ached in his knees. He dove behind a lab table as a second dart cut through the air to where he had been.

"It's over, Mr. Osborn! Mr. Stark knows I'm here!" Peter shouted from behind the table. This time he was bluffing. He didn't know if Mr. Stark had been able to track the call or if he was, in fact, in the Oscorp tower.

"Goddamn it!" Mr. Osborn screamed. He was running around the table and Peter had to move. He had no more hiding places, and the only option was to reach the door before Mr. Osborn did.

Peter could hear something faint, but rapidly approaching. A sound that he had heard thousands of times before. Metal whirling and heavy armored footsteps.

The Iron Man suit.

Mr. Osborn was rounding the corner of the table as Peter sprung to his feet and sprinted for the door. From behind him, he heard a third dart piercing the air. Peter took a hard left turn to dodge it and the dart flew past him. It bounced with a metallic sound off of... nothing.

No, not nothing. Someone. An invisible someone.

"Get away from him!"

Mr. Stark's suit rippled in to view as he ran past Peter. Red and gold gleamed in a terrible fury. Peter saw terrified helplessness pass over Mr. Osborn that almost made him feel bad for him. Almost. Mr. Osborn's gun clattered to the floor a second before Mr. Stark reached him. A red gauntlet swung and Mr. Osborn was flung across the room. He crashed in to a counter before falling to the floor.

It was done.

Peter felt like he could finally breath again. Mr. Stark's suit opened up to reveal the man, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and looking more frazzled than Peter had ever seen him. Peter expected him to turn to him, but instead he took long strides to close the distance between himself and Mr. Osborn. He reached down and pulled the man up by the collar of his shirt. His other hand closed in to a fist. It smashed in to his face.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Finally, A sharp snap rang through the room and Mr. Osborn cried out in pain. Peter felt sick to his stomach.

"Mr. Stark, stop! He's down!"

Peter wasn't sure if Mr. Stark was ignoring him, or if he really hadn't heard. There was a wild look in his eyes that seemed beyond reason. It terrified Peter. He ran forward and held back Mr. Stark's arm as he moved to throw another punch.

"Stop!"

That seemed to snap Mr. Stark out of his state. He released his hold on the other man, who fell to a bloody, groaning heap. Peter's eyes found Mr. Stark's. The anguish in them was enough to fill Peter's own with tears.

"Peter."

Tears were falling down Peter's cheeks too fast and thick for him to see properly. Mr. Stark's ACDC shirt filled his vision as them man pulled him to his chest. Trembling arms held him tightly and a hand ran through his hair.

"You can't take him!" Mr. Osborn cried desperately. Mr. Stark's body went rigid and Peter clung to him even tighter. "I need to replicate his healing factor! Stark, if you take him, my son will die!"

"Well you can't have mine!"

Peter's face was still pressed into Mr. Stark's chest, hiding his shock.

Peter was his.

His son.

He was Richard and Mary Parker's son. He was Ben and May Parker's nephew. And somewhere along the way, he had become Tony Stark's son.

A warmth spread through Peter as his arms tightened lightly. He was right where he belonged. Mr. Stark gently loosened his grasp and pulled away. Peter was confused until he saw him walk towards the dart gun lying on the floor. He aimed it at Mr. Osborn and fired.

"See how you like it." Mr. Stark muttered as he watched Mr. Osborn slump motionless to the floor. He turned on his heel and his eyes tightened as they took in Peter's appearance. He strode towards him again and gently grasped Peter by his upper arms. "What'd they do to you." He murmured gently. Peter knew it was a rhetorical question, but it broke something in him. The events of the past two weeks all came flooding back and it was all too much. A sob tore from Peter's throat and Mr. Stark's face crumpled in response. He pulled Peter close again and held him. "It's okay, Pete. I gotcha."

Peter buried his face in his shoulder again and Mr. Stark let him cry. Let him take a moment to process everything that had happened. Here, in the relative safety of Mr. Stark's grasp, everything that he had been forced to not think about for the sake of survival was catching up. It would drown him, if not for his father's presence.

After several moments, Peter started to think about Mr. Osborn's words. The ones he had spoken here, and yesterday outside the lab. The reason for Peter's capture had been to develop a cure for Mr. Osborn's son. All of a sudden, doubt and uncertainty pulled at Peter's heart.

"Is Harry Osborn really gonna die?" Peter asked as he pulled away from Mr. Stark. The man's eyes gained a knowing look as he contemplated Peter's question.

"No." He stated firmly. "I don't know what's wrong with him, but my medical team will help him with whatever it is." Peter nodded his head. He believed Mr. Stark, but guilt still tugged at his conscious relentlessly. Mr. Stark must have seen something in his expression, because his eyes grew stern. "Healing him isn't your responsibility."

For once, Peter was inclined to believe that. Normally he felt that if he could help someone, he was morally obligated to do so. But this... he never asked for any of this. Standing in the lab where it all began, with the man who had mercilessly pursued him lying unconscious on the floor, Peter could feel hatred bubbling up inside him. It was somewhat mitigated by his fatigue.

"They hurt me." He spat, but even to himself, his voice sounded hollow. Mr. Stark's expression tightened.

"I know."

No. He didn't know. Not yet anyway. Someday Peter would tell him all about it, but he doubted that he could anytime soon.

"They took one of my teeth."

Mr. Stark paled and his jaw clenched. He wrapped his arm securely around Peter's shoulders. He wasn't sure if that was meant to ground him or Mr. Stark.

"We can fix that."

Of course he could. Mr. Stark could fix anything. Despite everything that had happened, Peter had complete faith in him. Mr. Stark had once promised him that he wouldn't let anything happen to him. He realized now that was an impossible thing to promise anyone. It was more important and comforting to know that Mr. Stark would always guide him through turbulent waters, rather than make the storm disappear. Peter knew everything would be fine. He had Mr. Stark in his corner. Always.

"Thanks, Dad."

AN: I'm not super skilled at writing action, but I tried my best. Thanks for reading, everyone!