Assuming that they fed him twice a day, Peter spent four days like this. It felt like so much longer, but Peter had read about people in isolation. They always thought they'd spent more time than they had.

He cried more than once, missing home, missing his aunt, fearing for his life, he screamed and punched the walls, he recited formulas and Spanish, and he bounced and skipped around like nothing was wrong. No one spoke to him. Not unless they deemed it necessary.

Peter was on the verge of doing something stupid. The last meal he almost tore the mask off while the person took his tray away and begged for the time, the date, a conversation. He wanted to know how his aunt was doing. Where was he? How much longer would he be here? Were the Avengers coming? Were they alive? Were those agents alive? What did they want? Why was he here?

How could just four days drive him so close to insanity? He felt like he was going insane. He spaced out more, he lost control of his emotions more, it was getting harder and harder to think, and he had no real concept of time. And his dreams. They became so vivid, he sometimes had a hard time differentiating them from reality.

After his meal where he nearly lost it, he curled up under the bed to cry. The camera couldn't see him there, at least not fully. After a long run of frustrated tears, he eventually drifted asleep, wishing he could handle all this more stoically, like other the heroes would have.

"Peter"

He curled further in on himself, willing for sleep to stay. It was cold and he'd rather not deal with it just yet.

"Peter"

His eyes shot open, only to be greeted by Norman Osborn's upside down face. He inhaled sharply and jumped up. But didn't make it very far before he hit his head on the underside of the bed. White specks dance across his vision. Norman chuckled and disappeared. Peter rubbed his head and watched the man's feet warily as he walked away from the bed and sat in the chair.

"Good evening, Peter. Why don't you come out from under there." He sounded pleasant and friendly, the way he used to sound towards Peter before Peter learned his secret.

Evening?

Peter pulled himself out and stood. He took in the man in front of him, leaned back in the chair, legs crossed, relaxed, but still business like. His hair had been slicked back, not a hair out place, and his clothes looked expensive. More expensive than an escaped convict should be able to offord. Peter hated him. Hated every last bit of him.

"Have a seat." The man gestured to the bed.

Peter sat, blinking in surprise when he was met with a cushioned surface. There was a mattress on the bed again, thicker than the last one and a new blanket. He looked back at Osborn, immediately suspicious.

Osborn put his elbow on the table and held his head with two fingers and his thumb. His head tilted like a curious dog. "What were you doing under the bed, Peter?"

Peter frowned, not really feeling like explaining himself to the biggest jerk in the universe.

The man lifted an eyebrow. "I asked you a question, Peter. You may speak."

Peter bristled, not liking that Osborn assumed his silence was obedience. But wasn't the goal to be obedient?

"I don't like people watching me sleep, it's creepy, and it's a little hard to sleep with the lights on." He said, looking at Norman flatly.

But Norman only smiled. "Well, you've been exceptionally good this week-"

This week? Had he been here a whole week?

"- and as promised, you're being rewarded. You'll get a shower and a change of clothes today, and we're raising the temperature of your room, also, as you've ready noticed, you get a mattress." He sat back up, pleased with what he was telling him. "I'll see what I can do about the lights at night, but the camera stays on. I'm sure you can understand."

He had missed a week of school. He'd missed a Spanish test. Aunt May had been worrying about him for a week. Was she alright? Was she still with the Avengers? Were the Avengers still looking for him?

How much longer would he be here? How much longer would he last?

He'd been here a full week and gotten absolutely zero opportunity to make any progress with his game plan. But wait, he would be taken out of the room to bathe. Right? He might be able to at least learn something useful. Like a clue to his whereabouts.

Norman snapped his fingers in front of Peter's nose, jolting him out of his thoughts.

"Pay attention, Peter." He reprimanded. "I just said that I'm also giving you the freedom to speak, but only to me."

Peter blinked. He hadn't seen that one coming. Norman waited expectantly.

Peter cleared his throat. "Why would I want to do that?"

"It's a privilege you will quickly lose if you aren't careful," Norman warned, unbothered. "The boys feel that your behavior has been uncharacteristically compliant. They were saying that they think you might have some sort of plan up your sleeve, despite the consequences for such things."

Norman pinned Peter with a stern look, searching him. Face blank, Peter held his gaze. Norman hummed.

"I don't think you have much of a plan. There's really nothing you can do without putting too much at risk, except wait. And that's exactly what I believe you are doing: waiting for the Avengers to come rescue you, waiting for the right opportunity to present itself."

Peter tried to control the squirming feeling of being trapped and exposed. He told himself that Norman had said it himself in that there was nothing else he could do, so it shouldn't be a surprise that the man guessed correctly. "You caught me. I've been waiting this whole time, locked in a room with absolutely nothing to do by a psycho whose favorite pastime is blackmailing and hitting a minor. What conniving idiot would choose to wait for something to help in such circumstances?"

Norman's mouth twitched in a frown and Peter could practically feel the walls of the grave he was digging himself closing in. But he just couldn't help it. He hadn't spoken to anyone in so long. And damn if it wasn't satisfying.

"I can assure you, little spider," Norman's eyes narrowed, "there isn't anyone or any opportunity that will come for you. You are waiting for nothing."

Peter raised an eyebrow at Norman's intensity. Ignoring his sweaty palms and incredibly dry mouth, Peter tossed another shovel of dirt over his shoulder, "that's what they always say. But Brie Larson did answer my fanmail and it was well worth the wait."

"Make your jokes if it helps you." Suddenly looking calm and nonchalant, Norman adjusted his sleeves and checked his watch. "But it doesn't change anything. You'll understand the truth of my words soon enough." Norman stood. "Come, put your mask on, and hold onto my arm. Try anything and there will be punishment."

Peter reeled back. Disturbed by the very thought holding onto the man, never mind while he was blind.

Norman grinned. "Now, now, Peter, we have to get you to the shower somehow. You really do smell terrible."

"And whose fault is that?!" Peter shook his head and stood, keeping his distance and his back away from the greatly amused jerk. "I am not blinding myself to go anywhere with you!"

The smile on Norman's face darkened as he strode forwards. Peter took a small step back, but kept himself from backing up against the wall. He glared up at the man.

"Are you going to start misbehaving now? Do I need to remind you of the consequences? Dear Aunt May has been so distraught th-"

Norman easily caught Peter's fist, and frowned at the teens tearful glare disapprovingly.

Just hearing her name had tears spilling down his cheeks. He missed her. The idea that Norman had seen her while he couldn't hurt, and burned cold right down to his bones.

"Don't go near her," he growled, voice shaking.

Norman shoved him against the wall, hand on his throat. Automatically, Peter's hands gripped Norman's wrist, and he had to force himself to not fight back.

"Again," Norman spoke lowly, "it's completely up to you whether or not I 'go near her'. Now, are you going to do as you're told?"

It took a moment, but Peter nodded. The answer didn't satisfy as Norman's eyes hardened. Peter bit his lip, knowing what he wanted.

"Yes… sir," he wheezed out. The words tasted like vinegar on his tongue.

Norman dropped him and held out the mask. Peter eyed it warily.

"Peter," Norman pressed warningly.

Reluctantly, Peter took it. He glanced up at Norman with a frown before he slipped it on.

'This was a good thing. Part of the plan. Stop freaking out, Parker.' Peter tried to calm himself. 'You're leaving the room. It's a good thing.'

"Good boy. I don't think I need to remind you of what will happen if you try anything." He let the threat hang heavily. "Now hold out your hand."

Peter did and flinched when Norman grabbed it. He guided his hand to hold onto the crook of the man's elbow. His fingers twitched, desperately wanting to let go. He knew Norman wasn't going to do anything as his spider-sense was relatively quiet, but it was like holding a tarantula: the zookeeper says it won't bite, and you believe them, but it just feels so wrong to have it crawl across your skin.

As soon as Norman led him out, he started counting his steps. His bare feet padded across what he thought to be hardwood floor. He stumbled every now and then, uncomfortable with the pace Norman kept. The itch to rip the mask if and bolt overwhelmed him. He was out of the room and nothing physically stopping him. But Aunt May.

"Osborn," Dr. Octavius called from the left, his voice slightly muffled like he wasn't in the hall with them, but in a room.

Norman stopped walking. "Yes, Otto?"

"They have been tested and are ready for use." He sounded pleased with himself.

"Excellent! Just in time, really. I'll come back for them in a minute. Thank you, Otto."

"My pleasure." He'd gotten closer. "How are things with Mr. Smerdyakov-"

"Otto," Norman cut him off, "not in our present company."

"Ah, yes. I forgot myself there, I apologize. Spider," Octavius addressed him, and Peter stiffened, "how are you doing? Excited about the new accommodations?"

Peter thought he was poking fun and didn't answer, but Norman snapped at him.

"Answer him, Peter."

As tempting as it was to ignore them both, he said, "been better. And no not really. Give me a cellphone with some apps, a tv, or even a card deck to cure the boredom and maybe I'll be excited."

Norman laughed, and Peter got the distinct feeling Octavius was smiling.

"We'll get there eventually, Peter." Norman pat his hand. "Just not yet."

Peter bristled.

"I'll see you in a minute, Otto," Norman dismissed and continued on.

They entered an elevator, rode it up in silence, and exited to a carpeted area. Several rooms away people argued.

"You're cheating, Hermon! I know you are!"

"I don't need to cheat to beat your worthless-"

"Max, Hermon, please, could we just play game?" Rhino's deep voice requested.

They didn't listen to him.

"Idiots," Norman grumbled, then shouted, "SCHULTZ!"

All of them suddenly went quiet.

"Yeah, boss?!" Shocker yelled back.

Norman breathed through his nose and Peter suppressed a chuckle at the man's irritation. He sure did smile, though. But instead of yelling back, Norman marched to them.

Peter knew when they came into sight because he heard several intakes of breath and a few cuss words. Humiliation crept into his cheeks at being seen holding onto Norman like a child with a bag over his head by people who used to fear him. Well, sort of. People were rarely scared of Spider-man. But they had been weary of him.

"You have a job to do, Schultz. In fact, all of you do. Get. To. It."

"Ah, sorry, boss. We lost track of time."

Chairs scraped against the floor as people stood.

Norman didn't respond, he only turned and left, Peter stumbling after. He could hear Shocker jogging to catch up.

"So, just gotta watch the bug bathe, right?"

"You'll stand outside the door as he bathes." Norman clarified.

"Right, right. Gotta protect his secret identity and all that. Of course." He responded lightly with a heavy dose of bitterness. "and you're positive I don't need my gauntlets for this?"

"He won't try anything."

"Right, because of the 'blackmail'. Hey, Bug, what's he got on you that has you so docile?"

Peter kept his mouth shut.

Norman suddenly shoved Peter forward. He stumbled from carpet onto tile, his hand finding the smooth surface of a counter.

"We've discussed this, Schultz." Norman's voice was tight with anger. "You try anything, do anything other than your assigned job, you'll regret it."

"Alright, alright, I get it."

There was a pause, before Norman spoke again. "Spider-man, you have forty five minutes. Same rules apply here as in your room. You hear a knock and you stand at the back wall with the mask on and your hands on you head. Leave your clothes in the hamper, there are new clothes on the counter. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Peter just wanted him gone already.

"Very good," he praised, then shut the door.

"He's definitely up to something. I'm telling you, the bug ain't the type to comply even if you break some bones." Shocker said, muffled by the door.

"He won't do anything today, but I am well aware."

Peter tore the mask off as Norman walked away. He blinked away the brightness of the lights. The bathroom was extravagant. A jacuzzi of a bathtub in the corner, a fancy jet shower around another corner, an actual, real, flushing toilet with gold seams, an ocean blue mosaic floor, and a matching sink with a counter the size of texas, also with gold seams.

For a minute he only stood in slight shock. Where were they?

He finally caught sight of himself in the mirror. He looked like death rolled over, gaunt, tired, messy. He didn't like looking, couldn't even look himself in the eye.

He looked at the door. He doubted he was underground, at least not anymore, and Shocker didn't have his gauntlets on him. Breathing heavily, he took a step towards the door. Then he stopped. He couldn't. Not until he knew for a fact his aunt was safe.

He released a shaky breath and stepped back. He could do this. He could be patient for May.

He ignored how that sounded like a lie and turned away from the door.

He found the folded clothes on the counter and sighed. Yes, the shirt and sweatpants he was currently wearing stunk to the high heavens, but he really didn't want to give them up. Captain America gave these clothes to him and they had been stupidly comforting to have.

Idiotically, he teared up as he tossed them into the hamper, knowing he'd never see them again. He smacked his hands onto his face.

"C'mon, Parker. They're just clothes. Get over it." He whispered.

He shook off the tightness in his throat, and turned towards the shower. He was going to get clean and enjoy his forty five minutes of access to running water.

After finishing his shower, he left the water running to check all of the cabinets and drawers. A hairbrush, a toothbrush, and toothpaste was all he found. Everything had been emptied. He desperately wanted to steal something, take something useful. There really wasn't anything in the bathroom. No hiding places, no nothing. The place was air tight, beautiful, and useless. He shut the water off.

He brushed his teeth four times, then started the bath. As time passed, Peter found himself with his chin rested on the edge of the cooling tub.

He only stared, mesmerized, at the mosaic flooring.

All too soon, Shocker shouted, "ya got five minutes, bug."

With a sigh, he climbed out of the tub and dried himself off. He put on the matching gray shirt and sweats, refusing to look at the hamper. He looked at himself again.

He could do this. He had to. There was no giving up.

He grimced when someone knocked on the door. He got ready and the door opened exactly ten seconds later.

"Hold your arms out in front of you." Norman ordered.

Norman grabbed his hand and snapped something on his wrist. Peter stiffened. His spider-sense did not like it, the cuff or whatever it was. He pulled back his other hand, knowing it was next.

"Peter." He said in warning, causing the buzzing in Peter's head to flare.

The teen released a tired breath in defeat and extended his hand. The second cuff clicked onto his wrist. They were much heavier and larger than normal handcuffs. They covered half his forearm.

"Dr. Octavius designed these for you. They really are something. And perfectly capable of holding you."

Moving, Peter was surprised to find that they weren't linked together. He ran his fingers across the cold glossy surface, not finding any sort of crease.

Suddenly the cuffs slammed together, jolting his elbows and making him flinch.

"They're electromagnetic," Norman explained. "They're also able to give you a nasty shock if need be."

The cuffs released their hold on each other and Peter rubbed his wrists.

Norman snatched one of his arms and put Peter's hand in the crook of his elbow again.

As they left the tile and stepped onto the carpet, Shocker complained angrily, "this is ridiculous Osborn, why can't we just see his face? Don't have t'know his name."

Peter twitched nervously. He didn't like being treated like he wasn't there, and he definitely didn't like being blindfolded with Shocker upset. He'd seen the man lose his temper before and it's not pretty.

Norman spun on Shocker. They were probably nose to nose. "You agreed to my terms. Don't forget where you would be if it I hadn't asked you to join me."

With that, Norman stormed away. Shocker grabbed Peter's arm and pulled him back. Peter didn't mean to, he just reacted, but before he knew it his fist connected with Shocker's face.

Peter froze.

I'd apologize for the cliffhanger, but I totally did it on purpose.

I posted this on Ao3 to just test the site out and it's weirdly not doing well? Idk if it's something I've done, but it hasn't even got 200 veiws yet.

But you guys are awesome. Thank you for reading!