Welcome to Story II. You were so wonderfully supportive with Story I, especially with the last chapter, so I'm hoping you'll bring that enthusiasm again.

This is a very different story to With Great Power, which will become obvious with Chapter Three. I hope you'll stick with me. Try to remember if you get impatient that Story III has the Peter and Stones excitement you've been waiting for.

I hope you enjoy xxx

Chapter One

Peter had been gone for three weeks. That was over five-hundred hours; thirty-thousand minutes; nearly two-million seconds; and every single one of them was on Tony for not knowing what was happening. He'd not known Peter well enough. He'd believed he would have taken off on his own; he'd not trusted him to stay and share the burden that was on him. He'd promised Peter that he would be there, take the responsibility of the Stones, but Peter had been alone.

No, not alone—he'd been trapped with monsters who had done who-knew-what to him.

And Tony hadn't known.

How many times had Peter cried? How many times had he begged for help, for Tony to save him? How long did he hold out hope that he'd come for him? What had made him give up hope, or did he always have faith?

Peter had not been cared for, that was clear. Tony could see from the bony wrists and fingers, the hollow cheeks and sharp jaw, that he'd not been fed enough while he'd been imprisoned, and his dry skin and cracked lips made Tony think he was dehydrated, too. How much had that hurt?

"Tony, I need to examine him," Bruce said. "We need to get him out of here."

Tony looked up from Peter's face. "What?"

"We have to get him out of here!" Bruce said urgently. "He needs proper care."

"Yes!"

The need rushed through Tony, and he repositioned his hold on Peter and got to his feet. He expected the weight to be more, to struggle with it, but he could as easily have been holding Morgan. That was impossible, he knew. Peter had to weight more than her, but it felt desperately wrong to need to compare.

"Someone, grab my suit," he said, walking to the door.

"I'll bring in," Barnes replied.

"I will be with you in a moment," T'Challa said, I need to wipe the security footage. He pressed a finger to the comms in his ear and said, "Shuri, I need you…"

Steve led the way off out of the room and through the halls to the stairs they'd descended to enter the raft, passing unconscious guards that made Tony's lip curl in disgust. They must have known what was happening to his kid, they had to have seen it, and none of them had stepped in. He wished he had killed them all instead of following Peter's moral code and leaving them alive.

They got out into the cold Atlantic air, and Peter shivered. Tony hugged him a little closer and hurried up the ramp into the Quinjet. The rest of the rescue party surrounded him and Peter like pilot fish around a shark, all wanting to be close to the object of their concern.

"I need a stretcher and a medkit," Bruce said tersely, and Sam hurried away.

Tony came to a stop and pressed his cheek against Peter's lank hair. "I'm here, kid," he whispered. "I've got you. You're okay."

Though was he? He'd said he think he was before he passed out. Was that fear talking, or did he know something more than Tony? Could he feel something?

Peter couldn't die, Tony knew—and had never been more grateful for it—but he was so hurt, so obviously weak. And he'd turned a gun on himself? What had driven him to that? Why would he have tested the fact of his immortality? The overdose had proven that he could be hurt, so what would a bullet to the brain do to him?

"Here," Sam said, wheeling up a stretcher and lifting away the large black pack to leave it clear for Peter.

Tony started to lower him, forcing himself to let go of Peter, but he couldn't make himself release him.

"Tony…" Bruce said cautiously.

Tony gave his head a quick shake and sat on the end of the stretcher with Peter held against his chest. He locked his eyes on Bruce and said, "Make it work."

Bruce pursed his lips and nodded. He unzipped the medkit and took out a stethoscope, inserted the earpieces, and then lifted the hem of Peter's long-sleeve shirt.

"Oh my god," someone whispered, and another cursed loudly.

Tony swallowed bile. Peter's body was ravaged by starvation. He thought he'd known how bad it would be, had seen his face, wrists, and hands, but Peter's stomach was shrunken, and every rib was starkly visible. Tony had seen this before on TV, images of starving children in third world countries. He had never seen it in person.

Tony fixed stricken eyes on Bruce, and he whispered, "How?"

"In three weeks, with Peter's enhanced metabolism, it wouldn't be hard if he wasn't given enough to eat," Bruce said in a dark voice. "They would have wanted him weak and obedient."

"I don't think he was given anything at all," Sam said, his voice wrecked. "Look at him."

Bruce held up a hand and held the stethoscope to Peter's chest, moving it around and listening carefully. "His heart is steady," he said. "I'm not hearing any signs of damage from starvation. I'm guessing that's the Stones' influence. He would have lost heart muscle, otherwise, when his body ran out of fat to burn. And his lungs are clear. I think the unconsciousness is just sheer exhaustion. He's obviously drained." He touched a large but exceedingly gentle finger to the deep shadows in the hollows under Peter's eyes. "He needs rest."

"He can have it," Tony said, stroking Peter's hair back from his face. "All he's going to do from now on is rest." He hugged him a little closer. "You hear that, kid? You can rest now."

Peter gave no sign that he was hearing him, but Tony felt better for saying it.

T'Challa came up the ramp and said, "We've copied the video feed from the prison and wiped it from their system. They'll have no proof we were ever…" He caught sight of Peter's shrunken stomach and chest as Bruce stepped aside, and his eyes widened and jaw clenched. "They did that to him?"

Barnes nodded. "I think it had to be Thuri. He was with Peter when we found him, and there was other evidence he was involved in Peter's… care."

T'Challa narrowed his eyes, and Barnes looked away.

"Okay, lock down, people," Steve said. "I'm getting us out of here."

Bruce pulled Peter's shirt down again, hiding the horror that was his emaciated chest and stomach. Then, he took the blanket Wanda had retrieved for him. He tucked it around Peter and then placed straps over his legs and hips.

"You staying like that, Tony?" he asked.

Tony nodded and leaned his cheek against Peter's hair. "I am."

"Okay, then hold on to him tight."

"Where are we going?" Steve called back from the cockpit. "Wakanda or Tool Shed?"

"Tool Shed," Tony answered quickly. "

T'Challa frowned. "We have the equipment and expertise needed to treat him in Wakanda, and—"

Tony shook his head curtly. "No. I know what you're offering, and I appreciate it, but I'm not taking him back there. He was already attacked once. Bruce can handle it." He turned to Bruce and lifted a challenging eyebrow. "Can't you?"

Bruce grimaced. "I need more supplies that we have there, Tony. He needs IV hydration, at least, and I don't have it. And he needs more nutrition that we can give orally. His stomach is going to have shrunk drastically, and he needs a massive amount of calories and protein in him fast. He'll need total parental nutrition, at least at first."

"Then we'll get them," Tony said. "Call Helen Cho. She said she was going to DC when she left Wakanda. She can get what we need and bring it to us."

Bruce stared at him a moment, seemed to see his resolve, and said, "I'll see what she can do."

"Tool Shed," Tony called back to Steve. "And fast."

"We always are," Steve said.

Tony steadied himself as the engines fired and they lifted, and he held Peter closer and whispered in his ear. "We've got you now, kid, and we're going to take care of you. I've got you." He swallowed the lump in his throat and finally said the words he'd been holding back for so long, feeling like he was cheating without Peter conscious to hear them but needing to say it for himself, "I've got you, and I love you, Pete. I'm never going to let you get hurt again."

The moment Rhodey got the call from Tony that it was safe to leave, he was in his suit and flying towards the Tool Shed. He arrived before the Quinjet, and so got to work preparing the place for them. He'd seen Peter on Tony's live feed, seen how thin he was, so he did the only thing he could think to do to help when they got Peter back—he cooked.

He wasn't much of a chef, but he could fix up a pretty good mac and cheese from scratch that Morgan always requested when he visited. He took the ingredients from the fridge and got to work, cooking the noodles and fixing the sauce. When it was ready, he topped it with grated cheese and stuffed it in the oven and then started heating milk for hot chocolate. Peter would need the calories, and it was something homey and comforting that Rhodey thought he would like.

When he heard the Quinjet approaching, he turned the burner down and rushed outside to meet them. The jet touched down, and the ramp lowered, and Rhodey stood waiting at the bottom. Barnes, Sam, and Wanda were off first, and they all bore serious looks, their eyes strained.

Rhodey was a little surprised. Sure, he'd seen it was bad, and obviously, they were worried, but they had Peter back now. They could take care of him. The worst was over. This was just about recovery, and they were all there for that.

He shifted from foot to foot impatiently, as Tony appeared, Peter in his arms and Bruce at his side, and he felt a new pang of worry that Peter was being carried. He would be tired, though, weak, and Tony would want to hang on to him. Then he got a better look at Peter's lax face, and he realized he was still out. Sleeping, he had to be sleeping, but as the light reached him when Peter stepped out of the plane, he saw what he hadn't been able to see clearly on the suit's feed. Peter wasn't just thin—he was starved.

"Jesus," he breathed.

Bruce patted his shoulder as he passed and said, "Take him down to the med-bay, Tony. We've got some of the stuff we need there. We'll do better when Steve has picked up Helen. But we can make him comfortable, get him on fluids, and clean him up a little. That'll help when he wakes up."

Tony nodded and walked past Rhodey without looking at him. Rhodey turned and stared after him, horror in his gut, and then he rushed in after him, through the door that Barnes was holding open for him.

Sam sniffed the air and said, "You're cooking?"

Rhodey felt foolish now that he'd thought Peter getting back, eating and being comforted with hot chocolate, was going to be an option. "Yeah. I'll shut it down."

"No," Sam said. "Get it done. We all need to eat."

Rhodey gave his head a quick shake. "I've got to be with Pete."

"Then I'll do it."

"Yeah," Rhodey said vaguely. "There's milk on the burner, I was going to make… Never mind. But the mac and cheese needs another ten minutes."

He rushed out of the room, through the halls past the labs and storage areas, into the med bay where Tony was laying Peter on a cot and Bruce was pulling up a stool close to Peter's head and guiding Tony to sit on it.

When Peter was settled and Tony was sitting at his head with his fingers stroking Peter's dirty and tangled hair, Bruce fetched a tray of supplies and a bag of fluids which he hung from a hook beside Peter and then hesitated. "We need to get an IV in. Going by what happened last time he needed one in Wakanda, Tony, you might need to…"

Tony flinched. "Yeah, but I've never done it before." He looked at Peter's face and said. "He's not held any of us back so far, and he sure as hell didn't hold the asshole with the gun back, so maybe he'll let you do it."

Bruce unwrapped an IV cannula kid and said, "Okay, Peter, it's me, Bruce. I'm going to put an IV in so we can get you some fluids. It's not going to hurt, just a pinch, and it'll make you feel better. Just let me work okay."

There was no response from Peter apart from a shallow breath between cracked lips, and Tony gave Bruce a nod.

Bruce picked up the needle, which looked tiny in his huge hands, and patted the back of Peter's hand where a vein was already bulging. With a whisper of reassurance, he inserted the needle, then pulled it out slowly, leaving the tube of the cannula in place. He did it all exceedingly carefully, gently, the movements looking strange with his sheer bulk.

He hooked up the IV, released the clamp, and said, "We won't get instant results, but it'll work faster than the TPN will when we set that up. I think I'll put him on oxygen, too; his breaths are pretty shallow."

"I'll get it," Rhodey said, needing something helpful to do to soothe himself.

Bruce shot him a smile. "The masks are in the second cupboard and the tank in the supply closet.

Rhodey rushed away and fetched what they needed and carried it back, wheeling the large oxygen tank on a rolling trolley. Bruce took it from him and set it up, placing the mask over Peter's face. His breath fogged it with an exhale, and Bruce nodded approvingly.

"I want to clean him up," Tony said. "He's got the stink of that place on him."

"I'll get the stuff," Rhodey said, pleased to have something to do again.

He went to his bedroom and got clean washcloths from the bathroom cupboard and a bottle of liquid soap then rushed back to the med bay where Bruce had set up a bowl of water on a rolling trolley and Tony was using a pair of scissors to cut away Peter's dirty and smelly clothes.

When he pushed the front of his shirt open, Rhodey gasped and took an involuntary step back. "What did they do to him?" he whispered, his voice filled with the horror he felt and the sight of Peter's visible ribs and shrunken stomach. He'd never seen anything like it in person before.

"It's what they didn't do," Bruce said. "I don't think they fed him at all. His metabolism sped the process. He's alive because of the Stones, I think."

"How could they have let this happen?" Rhodey asked. "They were supposed to protect him."

"He went willingly," Tony said, his voice cracked with strain.

"But how was that asshole able to hold a gun on him? That should have been impossible. Peter could have stopped that without hurting anyone?"

Tony frowned. "I guess…" He sighed. "I don't know. I mean, he thought they were going to hurt Morgan, so maybe he was stopping them working properly." He squeezed his eyes closed and a tear slipped down his cheek. "He was scared. And he said…" His eyes flew open, wide and stunned. "He tried to tell me! God, he tried, and I didn't know. When I spoke to him that time, he told me to go home to Morgan. He sounded so… I messed up. Oh god, I should have known."

"We couldn't know," Rhodey said, more to comfort than because he believed it. "They had the tech to make us think he was in Queens when they called. He obviously couldn't say anything to tip us off other than what he did. We were all fooled."

"I am going to kill Ross for this," Tony growled.

Neither Bruce nor Rhodey argued. Rhodey couldn't speak for Bruce, but he wanted Ross dead, too, no matter what Peter's morals would say about it. He was the reason this had happened. He'd put him on The Raft, he'd been the one that saw Peter starved. If Rhodey was ever going to do one good thing in his life again, it was to make sure Ross knew the same pain Peter had suffered in that place.

Tony took the washcloths and soap from Rhodey, wet the cloth, squeezed on soap, and ran it over Peter's stomach and chest, bumping each ridged rib. As the water trickled down Peter's side, he made a small moaning sound, and his breaths sped.

Tony quickly dropped the cloth into the bowl and leaned to whisper in Peter's ear. "Pete, it's okay, I'm here. That's it, you can wake up now. You're safe."

Peter had stilled again, though, and Bruce said, "I think it's too soon, Tony. Finish cleaning him up. It'll be better when he wakes if you do."

Tony sighed and picked up the cloth again. Rhodey took the second and moved to Peter's other side. Mindful of the IV in the back of his hand, he lifted Peter's thin arm and wiped away the grime that had accumulated over his captivity. It helped to do it, to feel useful, and he lost himself in the motions of helping Peter, the kid he loved, the kid they'd almost lost.

So… Good news — Peter is safe. Bad news — pretty much everything else. Sorry about that. This is a recovery story, for sure.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx