Itsy-bitsy-spider-fan - Hey, Peter Parker - Tumblr Blog

Happy FFWF! Describe your WIP that currently has the highest word count!

Hello and Happy FFWF! I’ve been having some writer’s block but I wanted to get on and answer some asks so the WIP that has the highest word count is for a dialogue prompt I received way too long ago and basically Peter gets kidnapped, Tony tries to find him and ends up going to the place he’s in and thinking that he’s not there and leaves. There’s a little more to it than that but I don’t want to completely spoil it lol. I also don’t want to finish it until I get back on my Whumptober groove and finish some more days of that (even if October is ending oop)

Hello everyone! It literally warms my heart to have so many asks waiting in my inbox and I promise I will get to them in a few days either after my exam tomorrow or rehearsals the following day! I’ve been in sort of a writing slump so hopefully this will get me back on my previous momentum. Please don’t stop sending asks if I don’t get to them right away, as a smaller writer I cherish them a whole lot. Love ya’ll. <3

Happy FFWF! Describe your current wip with one gif!

Here we go. For Whumptober #4 whenever I can sit down and finish it. <3

Hey I'm sorry people are sending hateful asks over something as silly as being behind in whumptober. That's really stupid and weird to be honest. People should never be demanding content out of you, I'm sorry they're doing that. Tons of people go past October when filling out the prompts, so don't worry about that. Just remember the people who actually care about your content don't care when you post, they're just happy when you do and understand when you don't :)

Hey back, and thank you. Yeah honestly I was more surprised than upset when I opened my inbox and just found a bunch of hate-spam from who I am pretty sure is one person being rude. It is weird and I am trying not to take it seriously but I take that sort of stuff to heart haha. Fatal flaw. But thank you for your sweet ask and I am getting to answer the rest of the FFWF asks and whatnot soon. :)

Hello everyone. I just want to say that I am sorry for the delay in my Whumptober series and that I am still working on it. That being said, please do not send me hateful asks. I never thought I would have to deal with them or feel so bad about them but here I am. I already wrote in the notes on my AO3 that I expected this to extend past October so I don't know what you want me to do. I am still a new writer and while I am very passionate about writing, I cannot compromise my school or work or sleep for this, and I will not respond further to any hateful messages. I hope you guys understand and I hope you all have an awesome day/night. <3

Happy FFWF! What part of writing is the most fun for you?

Happy FFWF! My favorite part of writing is a tie plotting everything out and writing the middle or main scene. Writing the beginning and end can stress me out haha.

Keep It Undercover

Whumptober, Day 3 (Manhandled, Held at Gunpoint, Forced to Their Knees)

AO3 Link

“Are you sure you’re up for this?”

Peter glanced up, careful not to move his head while Natasha brushed some sort of contouring powder on his nose. “I am. I have to be.”

Natasha clicked her tongue. “Hold still.”

Peter had moved without realizing it. He straightened his head, keeping it still while his eyes moved down to watch Natasha’s face wrinkle with concentration as she blended the makeup against his face. Peter had only worn makeup a few times, when MJ wanted to practice eyeshadow on him. Once as a dare, he’d let her do his whole face (not that it had taken much convincing; Ned liked to laugh about how malleable Peter could be when it came to MJ.)

“You know what you have to say?”

“Mhm.”

“Tell me again,” Natasha ordered, pulling her brush away and staring him down.

Peter resisted the urge to sigh --- knowing that with Tony’s life on the line, they couldn’t be too careful.

“I’m a buyer from Manhattan. Zach Angelo. Nineteen.”

The real Zach Angelo had been detained by Steve earlier. Peter would be going in his stead, and the makeup was to make him look older. With limited resources, Peter hoped it would be enough. Luckily, the underground alien-weapon industry tended to be more on the anonymous side.

“What do you have to do?”

“Meet with the handler,” Peter answered robotically. “He will take me inside, and I will plant the flash drive to disable the security on the outside.”

Not for the first time, Peter wished that Tony was there. Not only did he always have a wealth of tech that was perpetually useful, especially considering that Peter, Nat, Steve, and Sam had next to nothing helpful, but the thought of Tony being held captive in a shady weapon warehouse while being subjected to God-knows- what made Peter sick to his stomach. 

They’d targeted Tony on purpose. That was the worst part. They’d needed a genius, an expert weaponeer, a Merchant of Death, and they’d gotten it --- it hadn’t mattered that Tony had left his old weapons industry far, far behind him. The mission had turned into an ambush, and despite the panic that had clawed him up from the inside out, despite the surge of strength and adrenaline that had gotten Peter most of the way across the makeshift battlefield, Peter hadn’t gotten there in time. They’d taken Tony and Peter had been left behind with the others, helpless.

Peter still couldn’t look at Steve without feeling a flash of anger. Steve had been the one to tackle Peter down and drag him away --- kicking and flailing and screaming himself hoarse. And if Tony didn’t make it out of this…. Peter didn’t think he’d ever forgive Steve for that.

Peter blinked when Natasha prodded his side with the end of a makeup brush. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Natasha eyed him expectantly. He flushed.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Then what?” Natasha prompted.

“I keep them distracted. Keep the eyes on me while you guys slip in.” Natasha tilted her head and he amended himself. “Keep myself safe, while the eyes are on me.”

He took a deep breath before continuing, “Locate Tony if I can. Let you guys know through the comms.”

“Last step.”

“If things go to shit, get myself out.”

Natasha squinted at him. “I can hear the hesitancy in your voice.”

Peter’s eyes flicked between Sam and Natasha before he sighed, looking down at the threadbare couch in the apartment they’d “rented” and picking at the loose threads. “I don’t know how I can leave him there.”

Natasha stood up, wincing a little and hands twitching towards her ribcage. Peter could see the edge of a bandage peeking out from underneath her tank top --- evidence of the nasty hit she’d taken right before things had gone to complete crap. 

Despite the undertone of pain on her face, Natasha’s eyes were hard when she said, “Peter, you and both know that Tony would not want you in there with him.”

“I know---”

“And I’m making sure,” she said. “Walking into this, you are expendable, get that? Tony is the one they want alive. If you get caught, you’re done.”

Peter was opening his mouth before his danger sense could warn him bad idea ahead. “You don’t know that.”

Natasha’s eyes flashed. “If you aren’t going to listen, then we figure out another plan.” Peter would have thought she was being a little too harsh if she had not added, eyes determined. “I am not sending you into that facility to die. That is my one condition, understand?”

“I understand.”

Natasha’s eyes softened and her shoulders slumped. “Thank you.” She glanced at Sam, who straightened, then back to Peter, who was on his feet in an instant. “Go change. We leave in ten.”

-+-

Peter stuck his hands in the pockets of the leather jacket he’d had to borrow from Sam, fingers twisting around the flash drive stitched into the inside of his left pocket and the quarter-sized communications unit stitched into his right. His enhanced hearing meant he didn’t need the comms to be next to his ear, and he could still talk to Natasha and Sam and Steve if he figured something out, or if things got dicey.

The weapons facility was nothing more than a few warehouses bunched together and fenced in by barbed wire that wouldn’t stop any determined person with a bolt cutter or a disregard for their personal health. So no --- the barbed wire wouldn’t stop anyone. That was what the cameras rigged to lasers were for.

The facility was also on the docks of the harbor. Peter could hear waves rushing like the blood in his ears and particularly large ones smashing against rocks. The air was damp and salty. Peter got the vague feeling that he was in a bad movie. Except these guys were way more prepared than any villain Peter had ever seen in an action movie. Alien tech was a real piece of work.

When Peter was almost near the entrance, he slowed down. Kept his gait loose, and casual, if not a tiny bit tense to compensate for the fact that he was theoretically making a highly illegal weapons deal. 

Peter winced when he triggered the lights --- they were a blinding yellow that had Peter throwing his arm up to shield his eyes. Natasha had already made one thing clear: let the handlers come to him.

A few seconds later, two men did, emerging from behind large wooden crates stacked in front of the facility. Peter tracked their predatory movements towards him carefully. He worked with criminals enough on the daily to notice the almost imperceptible bumps in their dark clothes --- disguised weapons that Peter didn’t want to end up on the wrong end of.

With the lights in his eyes, Peter couldn’t see their faces, which was surely their intent. One stepped forward, a little taller, a little bigger than the other. He cocked his head.

“It’s a little late for people to be hanging around here,” the thug spoke carefully.

Peter straightened. “I think I took a wrong turn on Angel Street. Any way you can help me out?”

For a moment, Peter was worried that somehow, the passphrase he’d overheard when they’d staked out the building earlier that day was wrong. The thugs shared a look and Peter subtly braced himself, ready to run or fight if it came down to it.

But his hearing hadn’t failed him. The thugs relaxed. The one who’d spoken earlier stepped forward and patted Peter’s upper arm, keeping a grip on it that Peter thought was probably supposed to come off as casual but Peter knew to be threatening. 

“Zachariah,” the man breathed, both of them flanking him and leading him towards the gates. Peter spotted movement around them: men with glowing purple guns that had Peter’s spider sense flaring dully. “I’m Darrell. This is my buddy Jones. We’ll get you set up.”

Thank you, is what Peter would have said ordinarily. But there were different rules here --- rules that Peter was too afraid to break. “Let’s keep this quick.”

Darrell laughed harshly. “Fuentes pretty much operates on his own schedule, but we’ll see what we can do.”

Peter nodded stiffly, coming to a halt at the same time that Darrell and Jones did. Darrell dug into his pocket with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around Peter’s bicep. Peter eyed him sideways, tensing a little, but Darrell only pulled out a small remote with a glowing teal core and aimed it at the gate in front of them.

Peter kept his surprise at bay as the edges of the fence lit up before swinging open. Darrell pocketed the remote and they kept going. Peter couldn’t resist eyeing him and saying, “Nice tech.”

Darrell shrugged. “This ain’t the half of it.”

Peter believed it, but before he could take another step forward, Jones’ arm shot out and hit his chest. Peter whipped his head around as Jones tilted his head dangerously.

“The bag,” Jones explained. “We’ll have to search it. And you.”

Right. The backpack Peter had also borrowed from Sam. He shrugged it off into Jones’ hands, watching with what he hoped was a neutral or even bored expression. Jones eyed him suspiciously.

“Want to tell me what’s in here first? Feels kinda heavy.”

Peter smiled coolly. “See for yourself.”

Jones narrowed his eyes but unzipped it, reached in, and went slack jawed at the contents: bundles upon bundles of cash, neatly labeled. So much of it that even Peter had not seen so much physical money until Natasha had presented it to him. He couldn’t exactly pose as a weapons buyer if he didn’t have any cash. Luckily, it was all fake --- but really, really good fakes. At least good enough to last while he was inside.

Darrell whistled appreciatively. “Somebody’s come prepared.”

“I’ve been looking forward to this deal,” Peter responded with an uncomfortably mean glint in his eye. “Now if I could see that until later…?”

Jones reluctantly handed it back to him and continued the search --- Peter could tell it was a lot less strict. Money talks, as Mr. Stark sometimes said. When they were satisfied, they resumed their walk inside.

They passed more men who eyed them curiously as Darrell and Jones led Peter to the biggest warehouse. 

Peter didn’t know what he was expecting when he walked inside, but it wasn’t this: a massive room with shelved walls --- as high as the ceiling --- packed full of tech. Large tables and engineering equipment filled most of the space --- Peter could see people in protective masks hunched over the tables, sparks flying around them as they welded together pieces of steel and chunks of salvaged Chitauri parts. Peter was startled to see that at least of the workers were barely older than he was. Peter wondered how the hell they'd gotten themselves wrapped up in this.

“This way,” Jones muttered for the first time, grabbing Peter’s elbow and pulling him past rows of tables that he had to force himself to look away from. “Boss is dealing with a new… employee if you will.”

Him and Darrell laughed harshly, as Peter’s mind raced, linking the possibility that they might have been talking about Tony, who had to be somewhere past the winding hallways up ahead.

Peter wished he could crane his head around the hallways and check. Or better yet, get somewhere quiet and listen. 

“ Peter, ” he heard Natasha hiss from the comms in his pocket. “ Don’t do anything stupid. Stick with the plan. ”

But his mouth was already opening as he whipped his head around to face Darrell. “Do you guys have a bathroom anywhere?”

Darrell’s face went slack. He glanced at Jones, who tightened his grip on Peter’s arm. Peter forced a nonchalant smile.

“If you don’t that’s fine,” he said quickly, heart pounding. “It’s just been a long drive down here, you know?”

Darrell squinted and Peter thought his heart might explode at that point. “I guess we can take you to the bathroom before you see ‘im. Lucky you asked us, though. Fuentes is not as patient, especially with new clients. I guess you know that, though, since he’s your cousin.”

Peter almost choked and for the first time, he was struck with real panic that he desperately snuffed out before it could play on his face. Inside, his mind was reeling. He hadn’t overheard that they were cousins --- he was screwed. Fuentes was going to call him out as soon as he saw him, and most likely, he’d kill him if Peter couldn’t think up a good reason for being there. But now, he was insanely glad that he’d asked for a detour. He furiously hoped he could come up with a new plan, maybe even sneak away and break Tony out himself, but Jones and Darrell were watching him and he couldn’t afford to gain any of their suspicion before he met the actual boss guy.

Maybe if he was lucky, he and Fuentes --- the head of operations, apparently --- were really, really estranged cousins.

Even Peter wasn’t naive enough to think that his Parker Luck would let that happen.

They veered left, down a hallway that had been partially obscured by shelves the same height as the ceiling --- which was at least forty feet tall. Peter almost winced when he saw the poster of Spider-Man halfway down the hallway: pinned to a dartboard and full of puncture holes.

“Not a fan?” Peter asked lightly before he could stop himself. 

Darrell glanced where Peter had been looking without slowing down and scoffed. “You could say that.”

Jones cast a dark look Peter’s way. “I’d kill him if I ever got the chance.”

Fun, Peter thought to himself as they finally reached a set of doors.

“Same,” he managed weakly.

Darrell laughed. “You’re a funny guy, Angelo.”

Nothing about this is funny. 

Peter was pretty sure he was well and truly screwed when they finally rounded the corner and were met with a wider hallway with labeled bathrooms. He almost cried when he saw that it wasn’t just Darrell and Jones in the hallway. A decent amount of people were lingering in this hallway, which smelled like cigarette smoke.

Jones gestured to the bathroom up ahead. “We’ll wait for you out here.”

Peter slipped the backpack off his shoulders and leaned it besides the door --- a peace offering, or maybe some fake insurance so that Darrell and Jones wouldn’t suspect him of doing anything fishy (which, to be fair, he was about to try to do.)

“Thanks, man,” Peter said with a tight smile, fingers brushing against the silver knob.

Think. Figure something out.

Peter’s mind remained tantalizing blank of ideas. How was he supposed to slip away when he was surrounded by people? He never had a chance to open the door. Right as his fingers were curling around the handle, shouts broke out a few yards away. Peter turned his head in sync with Jones and Darrell, just in time to see the fight break out.

“Holy shit,” Peter said without thinking as two guys basically mauled each other. 

Darrell and Jones weren’t making a move to intervene --- until one of the guys pulled out a silver gun, clearly of alien descendancy, and fired it.

Screams went up then from the small crowd gathered around. Purple light blasted everywhere, and the lights went out in the room, bathing them in pitch darkness. Peter watched as glow in the dark, neon purple acid crawled across the floor, dissolving it.

He glanced at Darrell, whose face he couldn’t see enough to read but was stanley rigider than before. “Is that normal?”

“No,” they both breathed, and when the fight continued --- blasts of purple lights creating a headache-inducing strobe light (and distracting ) display, and Darrell and Jones both ran towards it with a thrown back, “Stay here,” Peter made his move.

He wouldn’t have done it if the lights weren’t down but they were and this was his only chance --- Peter sprinted down a hallway, narrating what he was doing in quiet breaths to Natasha and the others.

Peter didn’t know where he was going, but he followed the sound of what he was pretty sure was computer fans and monitors whirring and didn’t stop until he was in front of a door labelled SECURITY.

Peter didn’t waste one second, he threw it open and was immensely grateful he didn’t have to knock anyone out. The room was empty of life, was basically wallpapered in screens and tech, but Peter’s eyes spotted a small warning screen that read: Restoring lights. 45 seconds… 44 seconds…

He fumbled for the flash drive in his pocket, ripping the false pocket seam open, and shoving the thing into the first drive slot he saw on the main monitor. He waited five seconds before Nat yelled through the comms, “ We’re in! Get the hell out of there. ”

Peter spun around on his heel and booked it for the room he was in before, heart pounding at this point. He tried to keep a mental countdown in his head and started to panic when he realized that he might not make it back to where he was --- that everything might be ruined then and there --- but he made it. Barely.

When the lights came back on, and the two guys were ripped away from each other with exhausted curses from the other bystanders, Darrell and Jones were just then loping up towards Peter, who was standing in front of the bathroom door with the backpack thrown over his shoulder and a pained smile on his face.

“All done,” Peter said. “Where to next?”

“Here should be fine,” Jones answered, walking Peter back towards the crowd, which was rapidly dispersing. “Boss is already on his way over. He doesn’t tolerate workers using his tech to fight.”

Peter blanched. “Understandable. And where---”

“Jones,” a commanding voice said from in front of them, a man emerging through the remainder of the crowd that wordlessly parted before him, then stopped to observe the interaction that Peter was rapidly starting to be afraid of. “Darrell. Mickey said you were with my cousin.”

Fuentes not only managed to be physically imposing, but everything about him took up space, even in the wide, airy hallway intersection. Maybe it had something to do with his Armani suit, like something Tony would wear if he shopped at Italian Mobster21. His flinty eyes glided right over Peter, not stopping --- like he didn’t recognize him. Peter bit his tongue hard. He didn’t know what to do.

Fuentes’s eyes drifted back to Peter, head tilting dangerously. The man glanced at his lackeys, nodding his head towards Peter between them. “Who is that?”

“Peter, can you get out of there?” Natasha was wasting her breath --- Peter was stuck.

Bile climbed up Peter’s throat as Darrell shot Peter, then his boss, a confused look. 

“This is Zach Angelo, sir.”

Fuentes laughed --- cold and dangerous as his fingers drifted towards his waistband. “Is that who he said he was?”

Peter blinked and there was a gun aimed at his face. He swallowed, brain short-circuiting. Fuentes’s finger twitched towards the trigger.

“I’ll ask you this one time,” Fuentes said slowly. “And I want the truth before I blast your head open. Who the hell are you?”

Peter’s heart dropped.

-+-

Tony had to admit: a makeshift cell in a cheesy warehouse was not where he had planned to spend his evening. It was stuffy and rank and barren and borderline hypothermia-inducing, but unfortunately, Tony had seen worse, and the weapons dealers who had taken him probably knew that. 

The demands he’d been given were clear, the threats even more so, so Tony had done a good job of looking busy outwardly while inside his mind spun, ranging from thoughts of rescue to how the hell do I keep stalling ?

At least he knew that rescue was coming. He may not be so confident if it had just been the others, but Tony knew damn well that with Peter involved, it was only a matter of time. He only hoped that it was soon.

Three sharp raps sounded against the six inch thick steel door. Tony looked up and groaned, dropping his pencil sloppily on the table pushed sloppily against the left side of the room. He had to say that the fake sketches he was coming up with, and the equations he’d scribbled around them, were pretty impressive --- but he didn’t want to test their patience anymore than he needed to (they’d already shown him what they were capable of after he had pushed them too far in the first few hours, and Tony now had a mosaic of bruises on his chest and arms that proved it.)

“I’m going,” Tony droned, glaring at the door. “It’s not my fault you gave me a shitty inventory to---”

He straightened and stopped when he heard the sound of the lock scraping as it was pulled back. The door cracked open, and a guard entered, gun brandished and aimed at Tony’s chest: Tony who quickly put his hands up and stepped back.

“What’s the problem?” he asked quickly, glancing between the black barrel and the plethora of sketches scattered on the table to his left.

“Back against the wall,” the guard ordered, and the mean expression and twitchy trigger finger didn’t give Tony much room to do anything but comply. He moved to the center of the room and backed up until his back was against the wall.

Tony had thought that he’d come to check in on how the sketches were doing, but instead of seizing the blueprints Tony had drawn up, the guard simply kept his gun aimed at Tony, expression cool. 

“Is this some sort of fear tactic?” Tony drawled, unimpressed. “Because if I am being honest---”

“Quiet, Stark,” the guard snapped, glancing between Tony and the door, still ajar. Tony would be a liar if he said he wasn't considering making a run for it. Eyes still on Tony, the guard reached one hand up towards his ear piece and spoke into the activated mic. “Stark is contained. Bring him in.”

Tony’s eyebrows drew together in confusion, but before he could even make an attempt at figuring out what the guy was talking about, the answer was dragged into the room between two guards.

Tony’s heart stopped. 

No no no no no. Not the kid --- anybody but the kid. How the hell did they get him?

The two guards that dragged Peter into the room had him by his hair and his arms, which were cuffed behind his back. Peter was weakly trying to pull free of their grip, face white with fear and dark with fresh, darkening bruises, and Tony couldn’t tell whether or not Peter was meaning to hold back.

For a split second as Peter was manhandled through the doorway, their eyes met. Peter’s eyes were wide and panicked, and a thrill of fear went down Tony’s spine. Clearly, Peter had not intended to end up with Tony. As it was, Tony stood stock still as Peter was shoved down onto his knees. There were two men holding him, and as Tony watched, one of them grabbed Peter’s hair, twisted his hand to get a painful-looking grip on Peter’s curls, and forced his head to stay down. Peter glared at the floor, breathing hard. If Tony had been in his suit, there was no doubt that he would have lit the two men up right then and there.

But he wasn’t in his suit; he didn’t have any of his tech. He was in a cell in the middle of a high tech, fully equipped weapons facility and now Peter was there. Peter who he couldn’t protect --- not really.

He’d have to play things differently.

Tony tore his eyes away from Peter as Fuentes strolled in --- his suit still a disgrace and his mobster haircut looking more gelled up than the last time Tony had seen the man  --- a cold smile twitching on his lips.

Tony eyed Fuentes coolly --- it was all he could do to pretend that his chest was not collapsing in on itself. “What’s going?” He eyed Peter with a carefully constructed air of disinterest. “Who is this?”

Peter tried to look up, but his head was shoved down again. He heard Peter let out a harsh breath.

Fuentes raised an eyebrow, gesturing vaguely towards Peter with a black handgun. “You don’t know?”

Tony squinted at Peter like he was thinking before glancing back at Fuentes. “I can’t say that I do.”

Fuentes cocked his head. “That’s funny. Because he said he knows you, Stark.”

A muscle in Tony’s jaw twitched. “Maybe he’s a fan.”

“Very funny, Stark,” Fuentes said. When Tony didn’t say anything, Fuentes sighed. “Well, if that’s the case, the boy has no use to me anymore, does he?” 

Before Tony could process what that meant, Fuentes crossed behind Peter and leveled his handgun to the back of Peter’s head.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, bottom lip trembling, and Tony’s breath hitched.

“Wait.”

Fuentes raised an eyebrow. “Got something to say, Stark?”

“You got me,” Tony said raggedly. “I lied, okay? Of course I know the kid. He’s my intern, so--- so don’t shoot him. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Fuentes’ eyes sparkled and he finally lowered his gun. “Now that’s what I like to hear.” He glanced at Peter, who was breathing shallowly and not daring to look up and then back to Tony, eyes hard. “I want those blueprints, Stark. And I imagine you don’t want me to see me put a bullet into the kid’s head.”

“Obviously not,” Tony grit out, clenching his fists so hard he thought he might break a knuckle.

“Then I suppose we’d better come to a compromise, shouldn’t we?”

Tony didn’t say anything --- he didn’t need to. Of course he would --- he would do anything for Peter, and that was probably why Peter was in front of him, alive and definitely hurt if the fresh bruises on his face were any indication, instead of dead for being caught sneaking into the weapons facility --- however the hell the kid had done it.

“I’m going to need a response, Stark,” Fuentes droned boredly. 

When Tony hesitated, Fuentes’ eyes flashed. Tony flinched at the gunshot that followed --- he hadn’t even see Fuentes move his gun --- and Tony’s heart almost ripped free of his ribcage at the bullet that embedded itself in the wall five inches above Peter’s head.

“Jesus fuck , okay!” Tony yelled, eyes wide with horror. Peter was squirming even more now. “I’ll do it, I already said that.” 

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Fuentes said with a smirk. He glanced at Peter who, as soon as he caught Fuentes’ gaze, glared at him. “Release him, but keep the cuffs.”

Tony eyed Fuentes narrowly, but Fuentes only shrugged. The other men obliged, stepping back with their hands dropping to their sides. When Peter took too long to stand up, Fuentes grabbed his hair, hauled him up, and basically tossed him towards Tony, who grit his teeth and gripped Peter’s arm to stabilize him.

“I’d advise you not to waste any more of my time,” Fuentes said as his guards filed out before him. “You have four hours. If you’re not done, the kid dies.”

Tony nodded curtly. Fuentes grinned before slamming the door shut behind him. The lock slid back into place from the outside.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter panted, voice shaky. “Are you okay?”

Tony swung around, heart jumping as Peter clutched his side, wobbling on his feet. “Peter. Kid. Talk to me, what’s going on?”

In reply, Peter weakly peeled back one side of his jacket, and Tony swore at the sight of the large dark wet spot staining his side. Blood. He hadn’t seen it against the black of the leather jacket but now he did and his heart palpitated. Peter was shivering, and Tony was quick to do what he could.

“Come on,” Tony said, voice strained, offering his arm out. “Let’s have you sit down.”

Peter nodded gratefully as Tony led him to the only other piece of furniture in the cell besides the table: a gray, threadbare twin mattress shoved in the corner. Tony helped Peter sit with his back against the wall before inspecting the wound.

“What happened?”

Peter grimaced. “Fuentes shot me. It’s just a graze, and it’s already healing it just--- ah --- hurts.”

Tony squeezed his hand but they both knew there was nothing they could do. Peter looked like he was telling the truth for once. “Where are the others?”

Peter cracked a grin. “On their way in, hopefully. Nat sent me in to plant a flash drive---” Tony’s heartbeat and his eyebrows rocketed upwards but Peter saw the look on his face and explained, “It was the only way. After you, uh, after you were taken, we had to go back to this dingy apartment and figure something out. We staked out the building and overheard someone talking about a buyer around my age that would be showing up tonight, so I pretended to be him so they would let me in---”

“Kid, hold on,” Tony said, eyes flicking up towards the ceiling where he had spotted the almost imperceptible cameras within five minutes of being tossed into his cell.

Peter followed his gaze sharply. “The cameras are down, Mr. Stark. I did plant the flash drive. We can talk.”

Tony’s mind was whirling. He could barely comprehend the idea that Peter --- his, his kid, basically --- had willingly entered this hellish facility to save him. Tony never would have allowed it, considering that Peter getting hurt was up there with his top five most frequent nightmares, but he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t a little proud, even if Peter had gotten hurt in the process.

“How’d you run into Fuentes?” Tony found himself asking.

Peter winced. “Yeah, so apparently the guy I was masquerading as was Fuentes’ cousin.” At the look on Mr. Stark’s face, Peter barked out a rough laugh. “Yeah, not my best moment. But I got the drive in and I’m with you, so…”

Tony’s eyes flicked down to Peter’s side. Peter noticed and bit his lip, shifting a little. “The guy’s a maniac, Mr. Stark, you had to have seen it in him. They were beating me up a little---” Peter glanced at Tony’s face and hurried on, “Fuentes pulled a gun out and kind of shot me---” Tony felt sick again at that thought but Peter somehow managed to ramble even faster. “--- Which you don’t even have to worry about because it’s fine even though it hurts like a um, a chic ---”

“I know you swear, Peter, I’ve heard you on the phone with Ted---”

“Only the good bad words, Mr. Stark,” Peter interjected quickly. “And it’s Ned. Anyways, I figured I could either, a) reveal my identity and get out---”

“I almost rather you would have done that,” Tony muttered under his breath.

Peter shook his head. “Uh, no you wouldn’t. They had a dartboard with Spider-Man’s face on it, Mr. Stark. I’m pretty sure I would have actually died if they figured me out.”

Tony vaguely wondered if Peter was aware that he had just set the record for how many mini heart attacks he could give Tony in five minutes. He didn’t seem aware.

“Or b),” Peter finished. “Offer myself up as leverage and see if they’d take me to you.” Peter looked up and managed a tired grin. “And here I am.”

And here you are.

Tony nodded thoughtfully, glancing towards the door and then at the table. His fake blueprints were rolled up on the steel surface. Tony would make sure that they couldn’t even hope to salvage those when he was done with the warehouse.

“There’s a lot of young people here, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, digging into his jacket pocket. Tony heard a faint ripping sound and tilted his head. “They were just building the weapons, I don’t--- they weren’t--- weren’t like Toomes.”

Tony didn’t know if he believed Peter completely, considering the kid always managed to see the best he could in people, but as long as Fuentes and the specific thugs who had hurt Peter were among the ones who were either imprisoned or slightly maimed, then Tony would make sure that they achieved some sort of reform or better option.

“ETA on rescue?” Tony asked, after the silence between them had grown comfortable and long. 

Peter pulled from his pocket a small black object the size of a quarter and held it up. “Nat says in thirty minutes.” Peter squinted and tilted his head like he was listening to something before glancing back at Tony. “Uh, actually maybe closer to an hour.”

Tony scrunched up his face. “An hour? We working with amateurs here?”

Peter laughed and passed Tony the comms. “I’m pretty sure she’s getting S.H.I.E.L.D or the FBI down here, Mr. Stark. It’s a big facility. But you can talk to her.”

Tony faux-begrudgingly took the tiny device and placed it in his ear. “Agent Romanoff.”

“ It’s nice to hear your voice, Tony,” Natasha said. “ How’re you hanging in there?”

“Poorly,” Tony said deadpan, glancing at Peter and watching him slip off his jacket. Tony scrunched his face and mouthed, What are you doing ?

Peter held up his jacket, balled it up, layed down, and used the thing for a makeshift pillow. “‘m taking a nap, Mr. Stark. It’s been a long day.”

Tony blinked, watching Peter genuinely get himself comfy stretched across the gross mattress. He had to admit that the kid made a pretty peaceful sleeper, and at least if he was sleeping, that was less gray hairs he’d be giving Tony in the next hour.

“ Is he seriously sleeping ?”

Tony shrugged, leaning against the wall by Peter’s legs and finally relaxing. He trusted Natasha to work things out from her side and he was glad to finally have something to do besides look busy. 

“What can I say? He’s had a long day.”

In Bad Hands

Whumptober, Day 2 (Kidnapped)

AO3 Link

Mr. Stark wouldn’t speak to him --- would not even look at him --- and neither would anybody else as the Quinjet rose above the smoking ruins of the warehouse that he, Peter, and the rest of the Avengers had finished raiding. Peter thought that the sudden silent treatment was wildly unfair, considering that probably for the first time since he’d been going on actual missions with (rather than against) the reassembled Avengers, he hadn’t done anything wrong.

In fact, he’d gone out of his way to do everything right, even though it had meant that Peter had had to hang back and keep on the perimeter. And he hadn’t complained once.

When Tony deliberately angled his face away from Peter’s questioning gaze, Peter set his jaw and stared at the steel floor beneath his booted feet. Impotent anger bucked in his chest, but he tried not to come off as petulant while desperately wishing he could shove on his mask again without looking suspicious.

I wanted you to be better.

Peter felt like he was reliving the aftermath of the Ferry incident, except this time, he didn’t understand what else he could have done. Clearly, he hadn’t done enough.

Peter felt like he was reliving the aftermath of the Ferry incident, except this time, he didn’t understand what else he could have done. Clearly, he hadn’t done enough.

Peter looked up when Natasha lightly sat down on the bench beside him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tony’s eyes flick their way and his fingers twitch like he wanted to do something, say something instead of letting the silence fester, but when Peter glanced that way, Tony was already looking away, toying with a disassembled watch. Peter swallowed and turned towards Natasha, whose face was a little stonier than usual but who was actively not ignoring him.

“What did I do?”

He kept his voice low because he was pretty sure that if he spoke up, he might do something stupid like start crying in front of everybody. Ever since the Ferry, he’d strived to stay on Mr. Stark’s good side. But it wasn’t just Mr. Stark this time. It was Steve, who had marched him up the ramp and told him to sit down right after the fight had come to an early, flaming close. It was Sam, who wouldn’t stop casting him weird glances like he thought Peter wasn’t noticing. He hated letting anyone down, and especially the Avengers. But, he thought again as the disappointment in himself was burned away by angry heat, the least they could do was tell him what he did wrong. He’d take a lecture at this point.

Natasha faced him, and Peter looked up, when he realized she was actually going to answer him --- until Tony, eyes gliding right over Peter, straightened and shot Natasha a sharp look.

“ Nat .” 

Well, it was one word more than he had spoken to Peter since they’d boarded, but it may as well have been a whole conversation. Natasha tilted her head, eyes steely, but Tony’s face remained hard until she finally caved. Peter shot her a disbelieving look. Natasha’s lips pulled in a pitying smile.

“You did good today, Peter,” she said finally, patting him on the shoulder gently before standing and moving towards the cockpit.

Peter jerked his head back towards Tony, eyes flashing. “Really?”

But he was already looking away.

Peter bit his tongue so hard he almost drew blood. He levelled his gaze determinedly back at the floor and kept it there until his eyes stopped burning, then for the rest of the way back which passed in tense silence.

As soon as the Quinjet touched down on the landing pad at the Avengers Compound, Tony was on his feet, making a break for the door and almost knocking down Sam in the process. Peter was hot on his heels, heart pulsing. He didn’t want to stay the night at the Compound like he was originally going to unless he got an explanation --- or at least a piece of one.

But he barely made it five yards --- not even through the frosted glass double doors --- before Tony whipped around, stopping Peter in his tracks. Sam and Steve averted their eyes from the silent standoff, going around them to get inside. Natasha cast Tony a warning glance but he didn’t seem to see her.

“I want you to let this go,” Tony said finally, when it was just them. 

Peter balked. “Let this go ? Just ignore the fact that for some reason everyone is refusing to talk to me? To look at me? But I should just let it go.” He let out a sarcastic scoff. Tony’s sharp gaze didn’t waver, maybe even grew sharper. “What did I even do, Mr. Stark?”

Tony didn’t say anything for a beat. Then, “We’re not doing this.”

Peter’s jaw almost dropped in angry disbelief, but Tony was already turning around and marching through the doors, calling behind him, “Go check in with Helen. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The doors shut before Peter even moved. Then he was angry again, so angry he felt hot, as he followed Tony into the building. His mouth was open, a yell already forming, but then he saw Sam and Steve, eyeing him as he eyed Tony --- who walked past them deeper into the Compound with a fleeting, shared glance --- and Peter snapped his mouth shut. He didn’t want to do this in front of them, especially when they’d already proven that they were going to take Tony’s side.

Casting one last angry glance Tony’s way, he walked towards his room where he had dumped his overnight bag, hands shaking. Peter slammed his hand against the spider emblem on his chest as soon as the door clicked shut behind him, stepping out of the suit and kicking it away when it tangled around his ankles. He had probably never changed into his clothes so aggressively, and even the soft cotton of the gray sweatpants or the faded NYPD hoodie that used to belong to Uncle Ben didn’t make his anger subside.

Peter was lying down on his side on his bed, mindless going through his phone but not quite succeeding in distracting  himself. When Tony approached his door fifteen minutes later, Peter tensed and set his phone down, waiting for the knock that came a few seconds later.

“Who is it?” Peter called, knowing exactly who it was.

Tony’s reply was curt. “You never checked in with Medbay.”

“I’m fine.”

Peter waited for Tony’s response which came after a long sigh. “Can I come in?”

“Are you going to talk to me?”

The door opened. Peter sat up, eyeing Tony skeptically. Tony barely breached the doorframe. “Even if you’re mad at me, Peter, you need to go make sure---”

“I told you I’m fine,” Peter said shortly. “And you are the one who was mad at me first. I’m only mad because you won’t tell me why.”

A muscle in Tony’s jaw ticked. “Go check in with Helen.”

“Tell me what happened first,” Peter challenged, clenching his fists.

Tony shot him an irritated glance that Peter didn’t care for. “Peter, I don’t know what to tell you---”

“What happened ---”

“--- except ,” Tony snapped. “That you’re just going to have to trust me.”

Peter shot to his feet. “Trust you? What, trust you like you trust me? Because I don’t think that you’re going to like that particular brand of trust, Mr. Stark.

Tony’s eyes flashed and he crossed his arms. “Watch your tone, kid.”

Peter scoffed bitterly. “You don’t get to tell me what to do if you’re not going to---”

“Don’t I?” Tony countered, livid.

Blood rushed in Peter’s ears. “No. You don’t.”

Tony’s eyes flicked down towards the side of the bed. “I think the suit on your bed says otherwise.”

Peter looked at the suit, crumpled and wrinkled, and when he looked his face set. “You want to hold the suit over my head? When I didn’t even do anything? Then take it.”

Tony recoiled, surprised, but he still caught the suit when Peter thrusted it towards him. “Peter---”

Peter was already whipping around him and grabbing his backpack off the floor, shoving the spilled clothes in it with trembling hands. “I’m going home.”

“Peter, don’t---”

“I’m going home,” he repeated fiercely, jerking to his feet with the backpack on his shoulders and swiping the back of one hand across his eyes. “And you can call me when you want to actually talk. I’m not doing this.”

Peter ignored Tony calling after him as he left the room, chest heaving and eyes burning. He had never meant for either of them to go this far, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

“Peter, head back to the jet.”

“What? Mr. Stark, but the fight---”

A loud explosion --- the warehouse going up in flames. Peter was surprised --- it was supposed to be one of their more simpler missions.

“Is over for you,” Tony finished harshly. “Fall back.”

“What did I do---”

“Damnit, Peter! Listen to me.”

A harsh tone, so cutting that Peter inhaled sharply. But he listened.

And that hadn’t been enough.

Peter was halfway across the wide field in front of the Compound when a car swerved to a halt in front of him --- wrecking the grass in the process. Peter’s mouth fell open as Happy got out of the front door.

“Did you not hear me calling you?” Happy barked, but Peter caught the underlying concern. He shook his head minutely. Happy looked at him and sighed. “I’m not letting you walk home. Get in.”

Peter wanted to argue but that was a long walk, and he was tired, and even if Tony had sent Happy --- which he must’ve --- Peter was willing to overlook it. Plus, he didn’t want to have to fight Happy about it. Happy wasn’t the one flipping out on Peter during missions for no reason.

“Fine.”

Happy glanced at him, almost relieved, before getting back in. Peter cast a glance towards the Compound before sliding into the backseat. He was the one to press the button on the back of the console and put the partition up. 

He opened his phone as the car pulled back onto the main road, leaving flattened emerald grass behind it. His fingers hovered over calling May but he decided to text her instead.

Hey May, change of plans. I’m coming home tonight.

Her response chimed in a few minutes later: You just managed to catch me on my break. Is everything okay? I have a double but I can call out and we can hang out tonight?

Peter chewed on his lip. No, I can talk to you later. Larb you.

He could practically feel her concern through the phone but he didn’t let himself change his mind: Larb you honey. Call me if you want to talk earlier. I’ll be back around midnight.

Okay.

He closed the app and shoved his earbuds into his ear, playing some music, leaning his head against the window, and letting his eyes fall closed for a bit. He just wanted the day to be over.

-+-

Peter had expected the apartment to be empty and lonesome when he arrived, but he didn’t expect for the quiet to be so… suffocating. May was gone and Tony would probably continue not to talk to him for the foreseeable future and he was exhausted.

Peter dropped his backpack into his room before reemerging to make some food. As if prompted by the sudden hunger, his head started to ache: low and dull at the back of his skull. And persisting. Two glasses of water and a generous bowl of mac and cheese later, it hadn’t gone away, had maybe even worsened.

Peter wrapped himself up in a blanket and laid on the couch, switching on the TV and switching to Big Bang Theory, something he used to watch with Ben. It didn’t make him feel better, and even though he had been so tired in Happy’s car, it was like he’d just chugged coffee. 

But Peter tried to sleep anyways, headache be damned, and he might have succeeded if the blaring sound of his Star Wars theme ringtone hadn’t stirred him out of the uneasy drowsiness he’d managed to achieve. Peter blindly pawed for his phone, accepted May’s call with a blurry-eyed swipe of his thumb, and held it to his ear.

“May?”

“Peter,” May breathed. Peter’s chest tightened and he sat up. Something about her voice made his spider sense go berserk. Peter clutched the phone tightly, flicking his eyes around the shadowy apartment. Searching for threats that weren’t there, at least not disguised amongst the darkness. “Are you there?”

“Yeah, May,” he said slowly, heart strumming. “I’m here. What’s going on?”

She was trying to keep her voice light but Peter knew better, knew his aunt even without his spider sense warning him that something was wrong, something was so wrong, he needed to get to Aunt May. His head started to pound.

“I’m on my way up to our floor,” May said tensely. “I need you to let me in when I get there, okay?”

Peter bit his tongue so hard he almost tasted blood. “Okay. Whatever you want. I’ll do it, just make sure you’re safe okay?”

The message wasn’t for her.

“I’m here.”

On cue, three slow knocks sounded against the front door. The call ended and Peter dropped his phone on the couch. He could hear them --- his aunt just outside the door and two people with her.

“Peter,” his aunt called, voice strained, as if she knew he was hesitating --- or knew what he’d give up to keep her safe. “Open the door, honey.”

He had no choice, but there was a lesser evil --- to let them in and keep her safe, no matter what price he had to pay. Peter opened the door, and the urge to throw up curdled in his stomach.

There was a gun to his aunt’s head.

Peter had never seen his aunt afraid --- not like this. Not like she was then, stuck between two men in dark clothing with a handgun pressed against her temple.

Peter recognized the man on her left, and he wished he hadn’t, because that meant that this was Peter’s fault and Peter didn’t know how he could live with himself if he lost the best thing he had. He wouldn’t let that happen --- one way or another.

Mac Gargan offered him a twisted smile. “Aren’t you going to let us in?”

Peter glanced between May and Gargan and the man who he didn’t know and nodded stiffly. May let out a hitched breath that made Peter’s blood heat as they shouldered her through the door. Peter’s fingers twitched.

“What do you want?”

Peter didn’t recognize his own voice --- stony, cold. He stood as still as marble by the door, praying he wouldn’t set the men off. All he could do was watch as they dragged a chair out from the kitchen and roughly pushed May into it. Peter clenched his jaw shut so tightly he thought he’d break his teeth. 

He’d definitely knock out theirs if Aunt May wouldn’t be the one paying the price.

Mac Gargan nodded to his buddy and handed off the gun. Peter watched the interaction, muscles so tense he thought he would snap in half if any of them so much as looked at May the wrong way. 

He couldn’t make a move for them --- not yet. Not even as Gargan’s pal kept the handgun leveled at the back of May’s head: May, who was watching him with thinly veiled fear. 

May, whose eyes flicked to Gargan who had moved to rummaging through the kitchen and then back to Peter before she said calmly, “They think you’re Spider-Man.”

Peter managed to school his features at the last second, eyeing Gargan with confusion that he prayed looked genuine as the scarred man reemerged from the kitchen with a thick roll of duct tape. 

“I’d watch your mouth, Ms. Parker,” Gargan’s buddy threatened lowly. “I’d hate to have to hurt you.”

Peter shot his eyes at Gargan, who was eyeing Peter strangely. Peter wished he could sing his praise to May because it looked like she’d hit on something --- Peter didn’t think she would have said that if Gargan knew for sure.

“I don’t understand,” Peter said.

“You can wait your turn,” Gargan snapped at him before pulling his gaze away from Peter and marching towards his aunt. “We’ll have this conversation once my insurance is… secured.”

Peter made a frantic movement forward that was quickly aborted once the gun hovering above May’s hair was shoved forward against her head --- a clear warning for Peter to back. Peter was helpless, but he backed up.

The duct tape made a ripping sound as Gargan started to unroll it. “Relax, Parker. I’m not going to hurt her. Not a lot, anyways.”

“Don’t---”

“ Peter ,” May interjected, shaking her head minutely.

Gargan scoffed out a mean laugh. “Your aunt’s a smart woman. I’d hate for you to make me do something to her that I’d regret.”

We both know you wouldn’t regret it.

But he stayed still as Gargan rolled the duct tape around and around her arms and her legs and the chair until he was satisfied. Peter wished he would have left it at that because the anger that surged through him when Gargan pressed a strip of tape to his aunt’s mouth made his blood boil.

“There we go,” Gargan said appreciatively, stepping away and throwing the lighter roll of duct tape onto the counter. He faced Peter, eyes growing dark. “And now we talk.”

“I’m not Spider-Man,” Peter said instantly, as Gargan’s pal lazily played with the gun behind May’s chair.

Gargan scowled, sidling up to Peter and running his eyes over his face. “See, your aunt said the same thing, but I think you’ll forgive me for not believing you, yes?” When Peter shot him a hopeless look, Gargan smiled. “I think I’ll have a look through the bedrooms. And then, I think you, me, and Louis will go somewhere more private to talk.”

“Louis,” Gargan continued to the man above May’s head. “You watch him. He makes a move from his spot, you shoot her, understand?” Peter bristled. Gargan noticed and grinned at him. “Just in case.”

Gargan disappeared down the hallway and Peter was forced to wait --- wait as he heard their stuff picked at by a criminal. He tried to talk to May in the minutes that followed, but when Louis shook his head, Peter wasn’t willing to test it, knowing that he couldn’t get across the room before Louis could get a shot off --- and it would only take one shot. Peter wasn’t about to let anything like that happen. He settled for flashing May a reassuring smile that she couldn’t return.

You’re going to be fine. I won’t let anything else happen to you.

May flinched when a bout of cursing sounded from his room. A satisfied smile threatened to pull at his lips but he stifled down the urge. Clearly, Gargan hadn’t found what he was looking for --- Tony had Peter’s suit, and the rest of Peter’s tech was either in the ceiling or disguised.

Sure enough, Gargan stomped out of the rooms like a maniac. Peter expected Gargan to go for him, but the man snatched the gun from Louis and waved it in the air like an idiot. An idiot that Peter was still unwilling to cross.

“Where is it?” Gargan demanded. 

“Where is what?” 

“The suit ,” Gargan spat, face red. “I didn’t lose everything for you to---”

Peter was the one flinching when the gun fired, and for a moment, his heart stopped until he realized that the bullet had gone through the ceiling, a result of Gargan’s wild arm movements. Peter glanced at Gargan in horror, Gargan who was eyeing Louis frantically.

“You think anyone heard that?” Gargan asked. Louis only nodded and Gargan swore. “ Shit. Fine, we’re leaving.” Peter didn’t have a second to be relieved before Gargan’s eyes snapped to his. “You’re coming with us, Parker. Unless you want me to---”

“I’ll do whatever you want,” Peter said instantly. “Just take me, and we can leave, okay?”

He glanced at May, whose eyes were bulging in fear. He could tell she didn’t want him to go with him. He offered her a small smile. I’m sorry.

Gargan fished through his pockets and produced a little vial that Peter couldn’t begin to guess what was. Nothing good, but he doubted it was deadly, even knowing Gargan’s contacts. It would probably put him to sleep for a while --- long enough for them to get him wherever they wanted.

Gargan held it out. “Drink it.”

Don’t be stupid, Parker.

Peter could almost hear Tony’s voice and regret clenched in his chest --- regret that was snuffed out as soon as he saw Aunt May, sitting in the chair, screaming something against the duct tape that made Peter’s heart crack.

“How do I know you’ll keep your word?” Peter asked, gripping the vial in his hands.

“I guess you don’t,” Gargan said, but the smile dropped off his face once he saw the look on Peter’s. “I’ll call the police myself. Make sure they know where to find her when I’m gone. When we’re gone.”

It wasn’t much of a promise, but considering that Peter’s options were to refuse and let them shoot May then and there or go with it and do everything it took to make them keep their word, Peter uncapped the vial and held it to his lips. The liquid tasted like battery acid sliding down his throat.

The effects were immediate. Peter swallowed the rest of it and let out a sharp cough. His vision was swimming, head filling with air, knees wobbling, buckling, body tilting forward until he was on his back at May’s feet, gasping for breath as he looked at the ceiling with dimming consciousness. 

Gargan and Louis were saying something to each other, but it sounded garbled and far away. Peter felt hands on him, pulling him up up up into the air before his vision collapsed in on itself like a dying star, leaving a black hole in its place which dragged him down… down… down.

-+-

Peter had never drank alcohol before, but he imagined being hungover felt a little like the way he did when he woke up. Peter groaned and lifted his head, instantly aware of the pressure of something thick and cold around his neck. A metal collar with what he was sure were tiny prongs on the inside that dug into his skin.

A collar. Peter felt his stomach flip --- he’d never been humiliated like this.

Peter shifted in his chair, already aware of the cuffs on his wrists that kept his arms behind his back. He didn’t recognize the room he was in. It was dark, and damp, and windowless, like they were underground. Maybe they were --- Peter didn’t remember being moved, where they had taken him.

Taken.

It all came back to him at once: May, Gargan, and even his fight with Tony that almost guaranteed that help would be delayed.

Peter straightened, resisting the urge to snap his cuffs --- he was pretty sure he could, but Peter didn’t want to show his hand just yet: not if Gargan hadn’t made up his mind. As if summoned by Peter’s thoughts, Peter heard footsteps. Voices. Gargan and Louis, close by and getting closer:

“You didn’t find the suit?”  Louis.

“I ransacked the bedroom, and nothing,” Gargan seemed pissed. Peter vaguely wondered how long he’d been out --- how long Gargan had had to fester over the truth. “ It doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out. One way or another, the kid will talk.”

Louis let out an exasperated breath. “I didn’t get into this for you to not be sure. ”

A tense pause. “Are you questioning me, Louis?”

“ I’m not--- look. I need this money, okay? We can’t hand over the wrong person, Gargan.”

“Then trust me, Louis. This is the right guy. I’ve heard his voice.”

“He’s just a kid, though.”

“He’s old enough to know when to quit. Instead, he stuck his nose in places it didn’t belong and now he’s paying for it.” A pause. “He got me arrested, ruined everything for me. And he was there, at the warehouse when it was destroyed. My whole team scattered, man. You’re the only one I’ve got.”

“I know, ” Louis breathed, and the footsteps were picking up again; they were getting closer. “ What do we do if we’re wrong?”

Gargan stopped, probably mulling it over. “Give him back to his aunt. We can’t have the feds on our backs anymore than they are. If he gets returned, we find Spider-Man, get the money, and get the hell out of here.”

May was okay. Peter had never felt relief so potent --- so Gargan had left her. How could he return Peter to his aunt if she was dead? He couldn’t have. Peter seized the thread of hope and latched onto it. He could get through this.

“I’m guessing you have a plan, then?”

“ Always. Follow my lead. ”

The door swung open. Peter pretended like he had just been sleeping and eyed them with bleary eyes.

“Good morning, Parker. Or should I say, Spider-Man?”

Peter tried to look confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Gargan nodded at Louis, who slipped his hand into his pocket. Peter didn’t understand what was going on until the collar around his neck came to life with a surge of electricity that had pain searing his neck. Peter’s muscles were frozen --- he couldn’t scream, could only writhe violently in his chair before the current stopped.

“You like it?” Gargan asked, sounding far away. “I got it from my old friend. The Shocker. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

Peter sagged backwards in his chair, head thrown up to the ceiling as his breaths came in short pants. Gargan kept speaking.

“What about my question? Did that refresh your memory?”

Peter eyed them harshly. “I’m not---”

He cut off with a jagged gasp, seizing up again, feeling his brain melt from the pain that took his breath away. Gargan glanced at Louis, who pressed something that halted the electricity. Peter’s eyelids fluttered, already tired.

“I don’t know how much you know about me,” Gargan said lowly, next to Peter’s ear. “But I don’t like liars.”

Peter managed to roll his head so he could glance at Gargan. “Why are you doing this? I’m not---”

Gargan’s face reddened and before Peter could blink, a fist was slamming into his jaw. Gargan must have been wearing some sort of rings that Peter hadn’t noticed because it felt like he had been clobbered with a brick.

“I’ll ask you again---”

“I can’t---”

Peter saw stars. His lip split and his jaw ached. Peter took a second to breathe harshly through his nose. Gargan grabbed his chin and forced them to face each other. Peter just glared.

“Tough kid,” Gargan said with a sinister smile. “But everybody breaks. Let’s see if you like knives any better.”

Peter set his jaw, refusing to give in, as Gargan stood and reached into the back pocket of his jeans. It wasn’t like he could do much --- Louis was watching him, one hand clutching a remote that Peter knew would activate the collar.

When Gargan raised his hand, it was to extend the blade of a foldable pocket knife that he threateningly waved in Peter’s direction.

“Save yourself, kid,” Gargan advised, dragging the flat of the blade along Peter’s cheekbone. “We can end this right now, alright?”

“What do you want Spider-Man for so bad?”

“Personally?” Gargan asked. “Revenge. But you would already know that wouldn’t you?”

“Who are you trying to give him to?” Peter asked, titling his head. “Who’s your contact?”

Gargan’s face darkened. “Time’s up.”

Peter tried not to flinch as he dragged the knife down, not putting quite enough pressure to cut until he got to Peter’s jaw. Peter tried to jerk his head away from Gargan’s hands but Gargan grabbed his hair with one hand to keep him still before using the one holding the switchblade to slice a line across his jaw.

Peter’s nostrils flared in his last second attempt to keep himself from making any type of noise. Gargan watched the blood drip down Peter’s face, eyes flinty and sadistic. 

“Parker.”

“I- I can’t---”

Gargan sighed and eyed Peter piteously. “I tried to warn you.”

He shoved the knife into Peter’s shoulder.

This time, Peter couldn’t cage the pained shout that it drew. Pain like white hot fire had him viciously straining against his bonds. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to suck in air as Gargan ripped the knife out. Peter tried to breathe but his lungs were working too fast and every hitched breath he took seemed to do nothing. 

“Gargan,” Louis said quickly. “Look. His face.”

Peter’s eyes blew wide with horror. He realized what Louis had seen before Gargan did. Peter couldn’t bear to look at the man as he felt the cut on his face slowly stitch itself together --- so superficial that it took seconds.

Gargan stepped back with an exhilarated laugh. “Holy shit. I was right.”

Peter’s face was burning now, red with humiliation. His secret had just been spilled, and his act had been shredded to pieces. And now he was at the mercy of a psychopath unless he could get the damn collar off but he didn’t think he could get it off before they fried his brain.

Gargan patted his shoulder roughly and Peter stifled a yell, eyeing him coldly. “You put up a fight kid, I’ll give you that.”

Peter closed his eyes, breathing hard. When he opened them, Gargan was wiping his knife on the thigh of his jeans. Peter laughed through bloody teeth.

“You’re going to pay for this.”

It was simple --- a plain fact. Gargan knew he had Spider-Man, and that meant that he got everything that came with it. But Gargan didn’t seem to get it --- didn’t seem to hear what Peter did, what was Gargan’s doom. Gargan sauntered forward, eyeing Peter with amusement that Peter couldn’t wait to see wiped off his face.

Peter only wished he could be the one to do it.

“You think so, Spider-Brat? And how do you intend to make me?”

“I don’t intend to make you,” Peter said quickly, snapping his cuffs behind his back. Gargan didn’t seem to notice. Peter jerked his head to the door that Gargan had emerged from earlier. “That’s what they are for.”

Realization settled on his scarred face too late. Peter had enough sense to close his eyes as Iron Man blasted through the door with a repulsor blast strong enough to warp steel --- and then some.

Peter was on his feet as soon as Gargan wasn’t, catapulting himself towards Louis. He was a split second too slow. He collided with Louis at the same time that Louis slammed his thumb down on the remote.

Peter hit the ground like a rock dropped into a lake, clutching desperately at the collar as he heard Tony shout, “ Stay down !” at Gargan, somewhere far off. Natasha yelled something too, dropped to her knees beside Peter whose eyes were rolling up as agony encompassed him.

The pain stopped --- and not because they had found the remote. Peter hadn’t even seen Steve, but when his proper awareness was restored, Sam and Natasha were helping Peter upright while Steve threw aside the collar that he had managed to rip in half directly off of Peter’s neck.

Peter took a deep, shuddering breath. He had thought he was done for.

“Peter.”

Peter rolled his head towards Tony, who was sprinting towards him --- the suit disassembling around him as he ran. Peter swallowed.

“I’m sorry,” Peter blurted, still trying to even out his breaths. “I had to give myself up, they were going to---”

“Peter, hey, calm down kiddo,” Tony breathed, but Peter could hear the tension in his voice that probably wouldn’t fade until Peter was delivered back to the Medbay in one piece. “May told me what happened. I’m not upset --- how could I be?”

Peter nodded, but before he could say anything else, Steve shot them both a glance. “The FBI’s on their way in. Peter doesn’t need to be here.”

Tony offered Peter a strained smile. “Right as rain, Cap.” He reached down and squeezed Peter’s hand. “The Quinjet awaits, kid. Let’s get you out of here.”

Peter was too relieved to do anything but nod.

-+-

Peter didn’t need Tony’s arm to be wrapped around him, helping him down the Quinjet ramp, but he didn’t complain. Not after the hellish experience he’d just endured. Not after he’d finally gotten Tony to explain to him what had gone down after the raid on the warehouse --- the warehouse that had apparently been inhabited by a sister group of Toomes. The place was full of salvaged Chitauri tech and was mainly operated by Gargan --- who Tony assured him had a special cell awaiting him back on the Raft, as well as a wealth of inmates that Gargan hadn’t taken with him with some righteous bones to pick. 

But that wasn’t why things had hit the fan afterwards.

“There was a lab,” Tony had explained tensely. “A research lab. And it was full of pictures of you --- of Peter Parker and of Spider-Man and a few other leads they were following. They were hunting you down, kid. I was worried. Christ, I was scared out of my mind. But I never should have taken that out on you.”

“No,” Peter had agreed softly, leaning his good shoulder against Tony’s. “Mr. Stark, if I am ever in danger like that, you have to promise you’ll tell me.”

Tony had hesitated, so Peter sat up and faced him, eyes pleading. 

“I should know,” Peter said. “Promise me you won’t hide it from me. I can’t--- I can’t be out of the loop. Not like that.”

Tony hadn’t looked happy about it, but he’d promised. Peter settled back down, tension easing slightly. He ignored the small itch in his brain that made him wonder if Tony was just saying that to make him feel better. Peter would just have to trust him. Both of them would have to trust each other.

May was waiting for him outside of the Compound, and Peter finally let himself relax once he saw her. Immediately his eyes burned, and he was too relieved that she was okay they hadn’t hurt her he had his aunt back to be embarrassed about it.

Tony let him go so that May could hug him tightly, and Peter had forgotten about the half-healed knife wound in his shoulder. “I larb you, Peter, you know that?”

Peter sniffed. “Of course I do, May. I larb you too.”

She smiled and it was a watery smile but they were both okay and alive and it didn’t matter. She leaned back and brushed a stray strand of hair out of his face. Peter watched her, pinpointing exactly when she noticed the electrical burn marks around his neck. Her fingers hovered above the marks that Peter hadn’t himself caught a glimpse of before she glanced at him with a tight smile. Peter wondered when he’d have to tell her about what had happened --- he didn’t like scaring her, but he doubted he’d be able to get out of this one.

“I guess we should get you down to Medbay, huh?” she asked lighty, stepping further away. 

Peter shrugged. May raised an eyebrow and Tony stepped beside her, already shaking his head.

“That wasn’t a question, kid,” he said. “Helen’s probably lost her mind already. You’re a popular guy, you know that?”

Peter eyed him, unimpressed, but allowed both of them to drag him inside, towards the Medbay that he was way too familiar with for his own liking. Truly, he’d rather sleep in his own room at the Compound (maybe not the apartment just yet) or grab some food, but Tony could always be counted on to sneak him the latter and May always knew how to make him feel comfortable even in the chemical-smelling, bright, often loud (for Peter) Medbay.

After that, well. Peter could roll with the rest of the punches. 

First Impressions

Whumptober, Day 1 (Waking up restrained; shackled)

AO3 Link

“Hey, what are you--- wait, leave him alone---”

Peter was stirred into a thready consciousness by his spider sense flaring at the back of his neck seconds before the water was dumped over him: ice cold, shocking, and a hell of a wakeup call.

He jolted upright, skin freezing over, eyes snapping open, wrists pulling forward only to be stopped by a pair of thick cuffs that kept his arms up over his head. Peter jerked his head up, breathing raggedly as icy water dripped down his face, ran down his eyes and nose and lips. The frigid water that now drenched him from his head down had chased away any lasting drowsiness and now all there was was panic, tightening in his chest as he watched the man in front of him set down a wet metal bucket and then crouch down in front of him so they were nearly eye to eye.

“Sleep good?” the man asked gruffly, a sinister grin twisting on his face.

Peter got the feeling he didn’t actually care, so he pressed his lips together and glanced around, eyes immediately locking on a flash of motion on the other side of the room--- a boy chained to a radiator across the room, barely visible just beyond the man’s shoulder. Peter’s gaze shifted. He caught a short glimpse of the molding, decrepit basement he was in --- cracked concrete floors and walls, wooden rafters running across an unfinished ceiling, stone stairs to his left leading up to a plain door, a singular lightbulb dangling from the ceiling and casting muted light across the room --- before the man’s hand shot forward, gripping Peter’s chin and forcing their eyes to meet. His wicked grin had dropped into a scowl.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” the man said curtly, squeezing Peter’s jaw one last time before letting it and grabbing something off the floor. He raised something and Peter tried to flinch back, pressing his back against the wall he was sitting up against. “Smile.”

Peter squinted against the water dripping into his eyes and the camera flash that popped against his vision, almost blinding him. The man lowered the camera and stood, heading for the stairs Peter had noticed earlier.

“What the hell do you want?” Peter asked, voice more gravelly than he intended. The man’s laughter followed him out the door, which he shut and locked behind him.

“What a dick.”

Peter turned his head, wincing when brilliant pain struck his skull like an ice pick being shoved through it. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his head still, waiting for the pain to stop before he opened them again. When he did, he followed the voice. With the man gone, Peter could clearly see the other captive: a teenage boy with sandy brown hair who was across the room with his hands chained to a radiator in front of him --- in front of him, not above his head like Peter’s hands were.

He looked Peter’s age and ordinary enough, but ordinary tended to stop applying to people who were kidnapped.

“What happened? Where are we?” The questions were out of his mouth as soon as he was done inspecting the room for answers. His gaze caught a small window the size of a textbook above the other boy’s head, but he dismissed it quickly. It wasn’t big enough to climb through --- for either of them to. A thought occurred to him and he paused. “Wait --- who are you?”

His head was starting to throb even worse. The boy pursed his lips, eyes narrowing in what might have been distrust before his face cleared of doubt. “Harley. And I don’t know where we are.”

A southern-sounding accent and Peter was suddenly left wondering if he was still in New York.

“What happened to me?” Peter repeated, swallowing in a poor effort to try to make his mouth less dry. He tentatively looked up, wincing again, and shook his cuffed arms, which were looped around another close-ended pipe jutting out the wall. “Or us, I guess.”

Harley tilted his head, eyebrows drawn together. It was when the light hit the side of his face that Peter noticed the darkening bruises around Harley’s eyes and over his cheek.

“They knocked you out. I thought they killed you,” Harley said, and he would have managed to look kind of calm if Peter didn’t see his hands shaking. “Do you remember?”

Peter licked his lips, the cold on his skin increasing --- and not just because of the dread swelling in his chest. He was sure he could break the cuffs above his head if he tried, but he wasn’t sure about Harley and whether or not he was trustworthy, even if they were sort of in this together. He also wasn’t sure why he was here in the first place --- or why an important chunk of his memories seemed to have been erased.

“You don’t remember that, do you?”

Harley was perceptive and when Peter glanced up at him, shifting to try and bring some feeling back into his shoulders, his face was dark.

“No,” Peter said quietly. “Uh, I remember I was leaving my house and, uh... “ Peter chewed his lip in thought before giving in. “Then nothing.”

He took a second to focus and listen for anything upstairs. It was almost silent, and the only heartbeats he could hear were his and Harley’s. The man who had been here before had left, and if Harley’s information was reliable --- which it probably was --- then so had whoever else had taken them. Peter heard Harley sigh and looked back up.

Harley leaned against the radiator he was chained to, looking tired. “They took us --- me first but eventually we stopped in front of a street and they dragged you in too.” He straightened a bit. “You’re Peter, right?”

Peter was too tired to figure out how he knew that. He nodded.

“Right,” Harley said, shifting and bumping his cuffs against the radiator hard enough that it made a small sound. “I almost thought you were going to get away but then one of them hit you with a crowbar or something and you dropped.”

“Huh,” Peter said, arms twitching as he tried to bring them down to gauge the injury on his head. He suddenly remembered why he had been out and about --- where he had been going. Stark Tower, to get his head stitched up by an actual medical professional instead of in his low-lighted bathroom by himself. The people who had assailed him weren’t the only criminals to get the drop on him that evening. “That explains the headache.”

Harley barked out a low laugh. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got more than a headache, Peter. I’m surprised you’re even awake right now.”

Peter hummed a quiet affirmation, swallowing again because his mouth was dry and he was thirsty. He was starting to wish he’d come to his senses earlier --- maybe then he could have tried to get some water out of their captors.

Well, he reminded himself bitterly as he started to shiver, they had given him water. Too much.

“So, Peter,” Harley spoke again as Peter gingerly tilted his head back and looked at the barren ceiling. “How do you know Tony Stark?”

Peter snapped his head down so quick he almost gave himself whiplash on top of the pain that lashed through his skull which he promptly ignored. “ What ?”

“That’s why we’re here,” Harley answered. “Ransom.”

Peter was still tripped up and felt himself start to stumble over his own words. “They want--- How do you know Tony Stark?”

“I asked you first.”

Peter mulled over that before deciding to go with the truth. If Peter was going to break them out of there --- and he still wasn’t sure if it was better to do that or wait for the cavalry --- they needed to trust each other. A small portion of the truth couldn’t hurt.

“I’m his intern,” Peter said truthfully, not pulling away from Harley’s scrutinous gaze.

He was telling the truth. Technically, Mr. Stark had made Peter his intern after the whole Vulture incident. It took a while, but they were there now.

“His intern?” Harley asked disbelievingly, and Peter squinted at him. “Not his kid or something?”

“Just his intern,” Peter said stiffly. “What about you then?”

Harley looked at him before the scrutiny dropped. He shrugged, a small motion, and rattled his cuffs again. “We’re connected.”

When Peter shot a dubious look his way, Harley cleared his throat and said, “I met him once. Threatened him with a potato gun too. But I think I made up for it by saving his life, so.” Peter raised an eyebrow as Harley leaned back against the wall. “I was actually on my way to meet him when this happened.” He raised his cuffs an inch as if Peter didn’t know what “this” meant --- not that Peter was focused. His mind was moving a mile a minute, trying to decipher what was going on.

He opened his mouth to say something and closed it --- head hurting again --- before finally saying, “You saved his--- wait." It clicked. "You are potato gun kid?”

“Potato Gun what?”

“Mr. Stark said---”

Peter cut off abruptly  when he heard a door slam somewhere above them, then footsteps thumping against carpet. His skin crawled and he shot a glance at Harley, who was instantly more awake.

“What? What is it?”

The other boy got up on his knees as much as his bindings allowed and looked up towards the staircase where Peter moved his gaze too.

“They’re back,” Peter said quietly, because he definitely heard two sets of footsteps. “I can hear them.”

Harley had gone quiet, not questioning Peter for a second, which made him relieved. Maybe he could leave this situation with his secret identity unscathed --- or maybe Mr. Stark would show up first, which would be exponentially better. Even if Harley did know Tony, Peter wasn’t sure how much trust he could or should put in a boy he’d just met.

“Okay,” Harley breathed. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said, because he didn’t. “Do what they want, I guess.”

It was a terrible idea but until Peter could think of something better, it was all they had --- and Harley wasn’t coming up with anything either, though his face was creased with thought.

“You know,” Harley began under his breath. They had both wordlessly gotten quieter. “This was my first week in New York. ‘S pretty shitty.”

Peter breathed out a soft laugh, even though nothing was really funny. “That sucks, man. If it makes you feel any better, Iron Man is almost certainly on his way right now.”

Harley’s eyes swung to his. “You think so?”

I know so, Peter wanted to say, but he had to face the fact that unless their captor had immediately sent the ransom demand --- which he sorely doubted --- Mr. Stark didn’t even know Peter had been on the way to the tower, so it was really up to how fast May noticed that Peter wasn’t checking in after patrol. He cursed himself for not telling her where he was going either.

“My shoulders are killing me,” Peter mumbled.

Harley glanced from Peter’s face up to his cuffed hands, which were surely bruised and raw around his wrists if the pain was anything to go by. It wasn’t like the rest of Peter was in better shape. Harley didn’t need to spell out that Peter had fought hard for Peter to feel exactly how hard he’d fought.

“Maybe they’ll let you loose,” Harley said quickly as Peter heard footsteps approaching the top of the stairs. “Ask them to go to the bathroom.”

Peter didn’t say anything, concentrating hard on the noises upstairs. He’d thought they were coming his way but they’d stopped. Peter almost jumped when they started yelling:

“What the hell are we supposed to do now, huh? I thought you said he was going to accept the damn ransom!”

“He was!” retorted someone, but they sounded unsure. Peter recognized his voice: the guy who had taken his picture. “And he will! Besides, it’s only been a few hours. We can make Stark stew --- just give it time.”

“Time? Really, Carter? How much more time? And who the hell are these kids anyway? Why would he care?”

“For one, he’s a superhero for crying out loud. He saves people. But I showed you the files. One of them’s his intern,” Carter replied. “But they’re both on his private server in encrypted folders. And the Parker kid’s been seen hanging around him more than a few times. They’re comfortable together. That’s way more than an internship, I’m telling you. I promise it’s the break we were looking for.”

The other man paused, probably mulling it over, and Carter pushed on, “Listen to me, James. This is it.” He let out a hysterical laugh. “We’re gonna be rich, man!”

James let out a hot breath. “Yeah, okay. I trust you.”

“You trust my hacking ---”

“Whatever,” James shot back. There was silence and Peter thought they were done before James continued, “What’s our next step, then?”

Carter didn’t hesitate. “Leave ‘em down there. We can take a video tomorrow and the worse they look the better. Stark will pay up.”

James laughed. “He better. That island is not going to buy itself.”

Peter tuned out after that, sagging against the wall again. They seemed like they were safe --- for now. He glanced back at Harley, who was watching him. Peter caught a short glimpse of his face: head tilted, eyes curious, before the lights went out. The darkness further confirmed that he wouldn’t be seeing James or Carter until the next day. Why else enclose them in shadow? He was glad for the window above Harley though, even if it wasn’t a means for escape. It let a small patch of moonlight onto the concrete floor, and let him tell the time, at least somewhat.

“I don’t think they’re going to bother us until tomorrow,” Peter said. Harley stared at him for a beat before settling down too. Peter felt a sort of kinship spark in his chest. At least now he knew they were surely in this together --- and Harley was Potato Gun Kid, so if push came to shove, he could lose his qualms about Harley knowing --- not that Mr. Stark didn’t have ways of making people forget.

“We should probably get some sleep,” Peter added tiredly, sitting up despite his dimming awareness. “I can wake you if something happens.”

“This isn’t like the movies, Peter,” Harley said, but he looked tired too. “You don’t have to stay up. If shit is going to happen, it’ll happen.”

“It could be like the movies,” Peter offered, trying to sound more in control than he was. “Besides, I don’t know if I’ll be able to fall asleep with my arms like this.”

Harley’s face dropped and he made a movement forward that was quickly aborted when his cuffs were pulled. Peter could tell he wanted to say something but there was nothing to say. Harley looked at him one last time before angling his body against the radiator and trying to get comfortable up against it.

“So much for going to the bathroom,” Harley mumbled, and when it went silent, Peter was acutely aware that he didn’t want Harley to stop talking.

The quiet felt too real, too unnerving. And Peter liked Harley’s voice, he realized. Maybe him and Harley could be friends, when they got out of the dingy basement and preferably to the luxurious Medbay in Stark Tower. Or to a restaurant --- either would be superb.

Peter listened quietly in the darkness. It was cold, in the basement, as if the lights going off had sucked out the miniscule amount of warmth there was. Or maybe that had been the water. Peter was still soaked, and now he was shivering as he waited for Harley to fall asleep. Eventually, he did: Peter heard his heartbeat steadily fall into a calmer, steadier rhythm and his breaths even out. Still, Peter waited until he was sure that the other boy was completely out before letting his walls drop. Then, he let out a hitched breath and hunched forward, trying to breathe through the inferno that was consuming his skull.

He could feel the differences in injuries. The blow from the crowbar was on a whole other plane from the half-healed cut below it --- something that felt like it had happened years ago. It was like his head had a heartbeat of its own, the way it pounded.

Peter was stuck. He didn’t want to stay in this basement any longer than he had to, but revealing himself to a kind of-stranger --- a circumstantial acquaintance --- plus two petty criminals seemed like too big of a risk to take, and not just for himself. What if Harley got hurt in the crossfire of whatever fight inevitably broke out?

Peter had to think. Mulling in the darkness was a start, but his mind was sloppy because of the cold and the head trauma. He needed to come up with a plan that would get them both out --- one that had zero chance of failure. He could imagine what would befall Harley or even himself if he messed up.

He groaned quietly and leaned back against the wall. He was still freezing, and shivers wracked his body. After a moment, he made one decision.

He needed to heal up before he did anything, at least a little bit. Maybe bring the pain in his head down from agonizing to bearable. Then he would figure out something to do. Maybe between now and morning, he’d know. Maybe between now and morning, Mr. Stark would have tracked him down.

For the next few hours, Peter dozed. It wasn’t quite sleep, but it allowed his healing factor to get a crack at the concussion. Sure enough, when Harley finally stirred in the earliest hours of the morning --- if the patch of gray-blue sky visible through the miniscule window was any indication --- his head felt somewhat better.

“Peter,” Harley whispered in the near darkness.

Peter’s eyes flitted up from his lap to Harley’s. “I’m awake.”

“Still?”

Peter shrugged --- barely visible. Harley shifted on the floor.

“My legs are numb.”

“Same.”

“Shouldn’t you try to sleep?”

“Maybe.”

Harley groaned softly across the room. “Are you always so cryptic?”

“No, just when I get kidnapped,” Peter deadpanned.

Harley cracked a smile. “You’re horrible.”

“Thanks.”

Silence fell, besides their breathing. Peter knew James and Carter were still upstairs; he could hear them sleeping and hoped they wouldn’t wake up soon. He still needed time. Time to come up with a plan since Mr. Stark hadn’t found them. Peter had total faith that if Mr. Stark did know where he was, he’d have already been here.

They were on their own.

“Harley,” Peter said after a while, when the men upstairs started to stir. “When they come down here, I need you to stay quiet. Don’t draw attention to yourself. I have an idea.”

Harley straightened. “Care to share it with the class?”

“No,” Peter said, rolling his wrists in a poor attempt to restore some feeling to them. “Just trust me.”

“ Or you can trust me and we can figure out something together,” Harley shot back quietly. “Because I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself, but you look horrible.”

“I’m fine.”

Harley scoffed. “And I’m a city boy.”

Peter scrunched his face. “Where are you from again?”

Harley looked surprised by the sudden change of conversation but answered anyway. “Tennessee. I’m guessing you’re from New York, then?”

“Yeah. Queens.”

“Hm.”

Silence again, until Peter heard voices upstairs. He listened carefully, trying not to let anything play out on his face.

“Is the camera set up?”

“Ready to livestream once we bring ‘im up here.”

“Come on then.”

Footsteps, approaching the top of the staircase. Peter tuned out.

“Harley?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember what I said about being quiet?”

“Remember what I said about not caring?”

“I’m serious---”

“Peter, we’re in this together---”

“Harley, just--- listen to me, okay? They’re coming.”

Harley’s face grew grim, maybe a little confused on top of that, but Peter continued flexing his hands, rolling his wrists, stretching arms: trying to get into fighting shape. Well, he wasn’t going to fight just yet. Not until and unless he needed to.

The lock slid against the door, and if Harley wasn’t convinced that Peter was right, he was then. The door opened and Peter felt his blood rush --- warming him --- and his heartbeat jump --- revving up. He’d heard what the men had said before the lights had gone off a few hours ago: hopefully, they'd put more of their stakes in the “Parker kid,” which was Peter.

All he’d have to do was get them alone and take them out --- two quick punches which would be like cutting butter for Peter, even in his less-than-ideal condition. Harley wouldn’t have to know --- and he surely wouldn’t be in harm's way.

Peter recognized Carter first: the man who’d taken his picture. James must be the other guy, hanging back towards the staircase. Peter assessed their faces, burned them into his memory just in case he needed to pick them out of lineup later. Though for the way that Mr. Stark moved in these situations, he doubted he’d need to, but it was a necessary precaution.

Carter was clearly the one in control --- and he looked it too. He was imposing, tall and bulky, with a mean face like smashed in bulldog. Peter knew that somewhere behind the demeanor though was a functioning brain; you didn’t get into Tony Stark’s personal servers without one, even if he’d barely breached them. James was tall, too, but lanky, jittery. He hung back towards the stairs but not in a way to suggest he couldn’t wrestle down an average teenage boy.

Luckily, Peter wasn’t one. He’d faced bigger and badder and had spent too much time in the dirty basement thank you very much. He strained his wrists, barely moving. He didn’t want to break the cuffs until they were secluded, but it was a small relief to know that he could.

“Keener,” Carter said, a wicked smile on his face. “You’re up first.”

For a moment, Peter’s brain short-circuited at the startled look on Harley’s face. His eyes shot to Peter, panic lit up in them, and Peter finally realized what Carter had meant by “Keener.” Or rather, who.

“Wait,” Peter said, stumbling over a leaden tongue as Carter kicked Harley’s legs aside and grabbed the boy by his hair. “Get the hell off him.”

Carter’s flinty eyes flitted over to Peter, who was leaning forward as much as he could, dread scooping out his chest like pumpkin guts. James was already kneeling down Harley’s cuffs, preparing to drag him away, while Carter gripped Harley’s shoulder with one hand and Harley’s hair with the other, holding him in place.

“Shut it, Parker,” Carter snapped without turning, and Peter bit his tongue hard in anger. “Keener, up.”

Harley’s cuffs were undone and despite the way he thrashed and swore blue murder, the boy was dragged up onto his feet. Peter had two cards to play, so he blurted out the first thing that came to my mind, suddenly uncaring of the pain in his head or the sinister look that never really left Carter’s face or the way that Harley flashed him an angry, disbelieving look.

“He won’t get you anything!” Peter yelled. “Not like I will! Take me and I’ll get you whatever you want.”

Carter froze, James froze, everything froze. The petty irritation drawn on Carter’s face was washed away by greedy hunger. Harley’s eyes were wide, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Peter could almost hear him saying What are you doing? as Carter tilted to his head hungrily, casting a knowing glance at his partner.

It’s a good thing Harley didn’t actually ask him that; Peter couldn’t have answered. But now that he had their attention, it was too late to back out. He’d have to figure something else out.

“Care to elaborate?” Carter asked lowly, gripping Harley’s hair tighter and pulling his head back: an unspoken threat. Harley was seething, jaw clenched and posture stiff between the two men holding him up. Carter shoved Harley back into James’ arms, eyeing Peter darkly. “Speak, Parker.” Peter swallowed, eyes flicking between Carter and Harley.

“Put him down and I’ll talk.”

Carter’s jaw twitched, and he cast his partner a glance before nodding his chin curtly towards the radiator. Harley’s resistance to both James getting him back down by the radiator and Peter’s plan was evident, but futile. Carter was already moving and in seconds, Harley was cuffed again and staring at Peter hopelessly.

Peter ignored the way his neck prickled when Carter walked forward: slowly, like a tiger stalking up to its prey. He crouched down, even slower, before his hand shot out, gripping Peter’s chin --- pressing the rest of his hand against Peter’s neck hard --- and roughly jerking his face upward.

“I don’t think you realize how this works,” Carter said, taking time to drag out his words as if Peter wasn’t beyond caring. He had two things in mind: get himself out of the room, then get them both out of this place.

“I call the shots around here,” Carter said gruffly, holding Peter’s face and using his other hand to snake up Peter’s neck, into his hair. Peter only sat stiffly, unwilling to give in. “And you listen, understand?” When Peter remained stoic, Carter gripped his hair like he’d done Harley’s. “Last chance to answer me.”

Peter shot a glance over Carter’s shoulder, towards Harley. He flicked his gaze back to Carter in time to see a muscle under his eye jump. Then, in the space of a breath, and in a motion that Peter might not have been able to dodge even he wanted, Carter stood and slammed his knee directly into Peter’s face, pulling Peter’s head down by his hair in the process.

Harley’s shout was lost in the ringing of his ears that followed the sound of Peter’s nose snapping, sending blood down his face and onto his shirt.

Peter didn’t have a chance to really recover his bearings when his collar was getting seized and his bleary-eyed, bloody face was being pulled upwards. Carter twisted his bloody shirt in his fists. Peter stared up at him, breathing hard through his mouth.

“Now,” Carter said, lips twisting upwards. “Either you can finish what you were saying earlier, or we bring the other boy up to make a fun video for your boss. You pick.”

It wasn’t much of a choice in Peter’s eyes. He scowled.

“I’m the one you want,” he reiterated, breaths harsh. “Harley has been in New York for a few days. I’ve spent every weekend at the Avengers Compound for six months. Believe me, I have the bigger price tag.”

He was bluffing, because he had no idea how well Mr. Stark had kept in contact with Harley after the potato gun/Mandarin incident that he had told Peter the tiniest bit about, but Carter didn’t call him on it --- not that Peter gave him much of a chance.

He pressed on. “I’ll do whatever you want, say whatever you want. Let me prove it to you. Just leave him out of it.”

Carter shook his head amusedly and stepped back. “You really think you’re the hero, don’t you?” Peter didn’t dignify him with a response, because he’d gotten what he’d wanted --- both of them had. “James, help me bring up.”

Peter stayed still as James pulled a keyring out of his pocket. With both of them standing above him, he couldn’t see his arms or them unlocking them, but he immediately felt the tension dissipate when his bindings were pulled away.

Peter let out a choppy sigh of relief that was short-lived when he was tossed forward instead of hoisted upwards. His arm felt like it was filled with TV static --- he couldn’t catch himself, could only brace himself as he hit the ground on his stomach and was nudged by a booted foot onto his back.

“Change of plans,” Carter said from above, grinning down. “I think we need to roughen you up a bit first. Make sure you’re camera ready.”

Peter didn’t know what his reaction was, but it was swiftly replaced with one of pain and shock as a foot caught his ribcage, then the side of his face, then his stomach. Harley was yelling again, and Peter was losing the will to go along with it. But almost as quickly as the barrage of blows began it was over.

Peter was left gasping wildly on the floor while James grabbed his limp arms and cuffed them in front of him. His everything ached, and when they hoisted him up, he had to bite his tongue to keep from saying something stupid.

They dragged him between them towards the stairs, and Peter rolled his head to the side in time to see Harley’s face before he was taken upstairs, the door slamming shut behind him.

Peter wasted no time --- the vigilante in him bucking to life. The second the door was shut, he snapped his cuffs like it was toilet paper around his wrists and not steel, then whipped around to deliver a knockout blow to James, who grunted out a choked gasp of surprise before his eyes slipped shut.

Carter managed to react quick enough to pull out something black and shiny that Peter realized was a handgun at the last second; the bullet sank into the wall above Peter’s shoulder and Peter kicked the offending weapon out of the guy’s hand. Carter was clearly outraged. He lunged forward like a maniac, managing to tackle Peter into something large and wooden --- a bookcase Peter was pretty sure; he couldn’t really see where he was --- both of them tripping over James, slumped on the floor. They hit the bookcase and rolled onto crusty carpe; Peter noticed it was an ugly shade of burnt orange that even Aunt May couldn’t find character in as he got to his feet, shaking out his arms. Peter spat blood out of his mouth and this time, Carter was the one beneath him, looking up as Peter grabbed the man’s black jacket collar and yanked him up directly into his fist: effectively knocking his lights out.

It was almost worth the wait.

Peter doubled over to catch his breath, more worn out than he’d been since he had to run a mile in gym with his asthma --- pre-bite. It was Harley’s screaming that drew him upright, faint behind the thick door. He must have heard the commotion and probably thought the worst.

Peter staggered over to the door, one hand clutching his ribs --- one of which was definitely broken --- and cracked it open, calling, “One second!”

Carter didn’t stir as Peter rolled him onto his side and rifled through his pockets until he was able to produce the same ring of keys and a phone: a burner at that. Peter shoved it in his pocket and limped back over to the door atop the staircase.

Harley watched him with wide, wild eyes as Peter made his way down the stairs and towards him, key ring in hand. Peter thought Harley would be attacking him with questions --- that’s what Peter would have done anyway --- but instead he watched unblinkingly as Peter unlocked the cuffs, watched them drop onto the floor with a metal clatter, and watched Peter kick them away.

“Sorry,” Peter breathed, extending a hand and pulling Harley to his feet. “I should have---”

Harley was colliding with Peter in an instant, and before Peter could blink he was wrapping his arms around him tightly in a panicked hug --- body shaking, even. Peter hesitated before returning it, leaning his head against the top of Harley’s shoulder as his adrenaline started to crash. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten, and the plethora of injuries all rendering to his nerves at once certainly wasn’t helping.

Harley pulled away first, but his hands were still gripping Peter’s upper arms tightly. “I thought you were dead, Jesus. You’re crazy, you know that? You and Tony must get along swell.”

He stepped back and scrubbed a hand through his hair, glancing away. Peter cracked a tired grin and produced the burner phone from his pocket victoriously.

“Maybe you’re right,” Peter said as Harley pressed the heel of his palms against his eyes. “But at least I got this. Help will be here before we know it.”

Harley looked up and couldn’t resist grinning, tired as it may be. He flicked his eyes towards the staircase. “You, uh, took care of them right?” Peter nodded slowly and Harley managed to look a little pale despite his country tan. “Right, well, I am not going to ask. Not yet, at least,” he added with a pointed look at Peter, who looked down, stomach rolling at the idea of another person knowing who he was. Maybe he’d tell Harley, but the uncertainty was there, and he doubted the nerves would leave until he left the house. “You think they have food up there?”

“Probably.”

A trip up the staircase later, Harley cast a satisfied look at James' and Carter’s unmoving --- but definitely living --- forms as they entered the stomach of the house, which turned out to be a cabin. Peter managed to keep himself upright until they got to the living room. Even though the thought of food made their stomachs growl, the thought of staying there a second longer repulsed both of them, so they stumbled out onto the porch, inhaling deeply and casting shaky smiles each other’s way.

Peter ended up sitting on the front steps, carefully lowering himself down as to not further aggravate his injuries, while Harley all but collapsed onto the porch swing, which creaked obnoxiously in the gusty wind.

“Did ya call him?” Harley asked from behind him.

“I texted him,” Peter responded tiredly, before propping his arms onto his knees and laying his head on his arms. He was freezing but it wasn’t cold enough to make going back inside the cabin worth it. He wished he had a jacket --- or even a flannel. Harley had both but Peter wouldn’t take it from him anyways. The phone made a sound; Peter's eye skimmed over Tony's response. It felt like a balloon full of tension was popped in his chest. Peter relaxed, casting a hopeful glance at Harley.

“He’s coming.”

---

Tony wildly grabbed at his phone as it went off four times --- no seven --- times in a row. His heart dropped as he fumbled to unlock it, mind racing as he thought above what the hell it could be. Another ransom picture? Or worse, some sort of video like they’d threatened?

He opened the attachment first, brain short-circuiting at the sight of the blurry selfie of Peter --- Jesus was that blood? --- and Harley laying down on a porch swing in the background. If the picture didn’t mean that Tony was having some sort of stroke or mild heart attack, the six texts from Peter certainly confirmed that he was losing his mind (or maybe that was the lack of sleep and sustainable food):

Hey Mr. Stark it’s Peter can you come get us

It’s Peter here is the address:

Also please bring food we are okay but we're starving

Also Harley might have guessed I’m Spider-Man he looked suspicious

Thank you

:)

===

Thank you so much for reading my official debut into Whumptober (2020 or otherwise). Because of outside preoccupations, I will probably take more than a month to get this all done but I fully intend to do so. Hope to see you on the ride!

Don’t Leave Me Alone With Me

By @itsy-bitsy-spider-fan for @papered-owl

Rating: Teen and Up

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, James “Rhodey” Rhodes, May Parker (mentioned)

Summary: 

Peter landed on his side, ears ringing violently and thoughts hazy. He was shaking, or at least he thought he was, until he hazily looked down. The building was shaking. He snapped his head around to look through a window and watched dust and rubble start to fall past the glass.

“--Peter,” Karen said loudly in his ear when the ringing stopped just enough for him to hear the AI’s urgent voice. “You need to get out of there. The building’s unstable. It’s going to collapse---”

Panic whipped through him. Peter furiously moved for the window he’d broken on his way in but he knew with growing dread that he wasn’t going to make it. His mask lit up at the last second, and he ducked into the only spot highlighted in green.

When he looked up, it was to see the building come down on top of his head.

OR. Peter gets trapped under a building during a battle. 

AO3 Link

@friendly-neighborhood-exchange

**The formatting is much better on AO3. I recommend using the link provided. (Full tag list on AO3 as well.)

Don’t Leave Me Alone With Me

Peter was taking a break from his patrol when the text came in, flashing across the HUD he was still getting used to in glaring red font:

From TONY STARK: Problem in Manhattan. Want to swing by? Your AI has the address.

Peter nearly dropped the half-eaten churro he was holding in his haste to stand up before tossing the remainder of it to a nearby pigeon. When duty called -- or really, when Tony Stark called -- sacrifices had to be made.

“Tell him I’m on my way, Karen,” Peter said as he pulled his mask down to cover his whole face. “And, uh, let May know what’s going on.”

“Affirmative, Peter,” Karen replied, and he grinned before shooting a web at a nearby skyscraper and pulling himself up into the air.

Already, Karen was plotting the fastest route to get to the fight, and Peter wasn’t wasting any time. Lately, Mr. Stark had seemed to be making some semblance of an effort to keep Peter more than just on the radar, but it had been a while since Peter had been called in to actually help anywhere. He didn’t want to let Mr. Stark down -- like, ever. 

“Okay, Karen, fill me in. What’s going on?”

Karen’s chirpy response was immediate. “News reports indicate that flying robots have been attacking upper Manhattan. No civilian casualties have been reported as of yet and police officers have begun evacuation procedures.”

Peter groaned. “Killer flying robots again? Do these villains not have any originality?” 

The only time that Mr. Stark ever seemed to call Peter in was for fighting off robots. Apparently, there was more Chitauri tech circulating than either of them had thought, though Peter could only imagine how much worse it would be if the run of the mill villains doing things like stationing attacks on Manhattan would have gotten their hands on any of the Stark tech on the plane that Peter had saved from the Vulture.

“Based on data from recent encounters, it would appear they do not,” Karen asked, seeming to miss the rhetorical part of Peter’s question.

He laughed. “Alright, I’m glad I have statistics to back me up. Who’s there right now?”

“Tony Stark and Colonel Rhodes are at the scene.”

Peter faltered, missing a mark with his web and sending one into thin air. He swore as he shot out another and clumsily swung around the side of a building. “That’s it?”

“I’m afraid so,” Karen replied, managing to sound genuinely sorry. 

“Hm,” Peter said, growing more serious as he realized that without the help of anyone else, this fight had the potential to grow very, very messy. “What’s our ETA, Karen?”

“You are two minutes out.”

“Awesome, thanks.”

“No problem, Peter.”

Peter was approaching the fight before he knew it, and despite what he was coming up to, he was filled with a familiar rush of exhilaration when the silhouettes of the robots came into view. As soon as he was in range, Karen patched him into the communications channel Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes were using, and Peter flipped onto a roof as his ears exploded with noise and chaos, loud from the battle beneath him.

“--on your left, Tony--”

“--got it--”

“--ETA on Spider-Man--?”

“I’m here,” Peter chimed in, leaping off the roof and propelling himself onto a nearby building to get a closer look. “What’s going on Mr. Stark?”

“An anonymous source just sent dozens of these things into the sky,” he grunted, and Peter could see the Iron Man suit blasting a flurry of robots out of the sky. “Apparent motive is unknown. We’re fighting to disable and destroy them.”

“You got it,” Peter said, taking quick stock of the situation. “Chitauri?”

“Only of course.”

Peter grimaced, eyes following a robot as it careened his way. He quickly shot a web at the thing, jamming its robotic propellers and sending it spiraling towards the ground. The robots were vicious, and clearly more advanced than the ones he’d faced over the last two months when his encounters with bots were more frequent. The robots had long, wicked-looking blades for arms and razor-sharp propellers that made it impossible to get too close without getting slashed to pieces. Right before he sent another robot slamming into the empty street below, Peter noticed a glowing purple core in the thing’s chest area behind a thin framework of steel resembling a ribcage.

“Has the area been evacuated?”Peter grit out as he leaped into the fray, using a web to pull a bot into his ready fist, where he smashed it into a mess of shattered circuitry and crushed metal, all while deftly avoiding the blades extended his way.

Rhodey’s response was prompt. “The robots seemed to be linked to this specific quadrant of the city. They won’t go anywhere else. Police have evacuated the buildings inside this quadrant.”

So everything seemed to be under control then. Except… Peter didn’t think that was the end of it. It couldn’t be. The robots were numerous, sharp, but not much more than annoying in the grand scheme of things. Left unchecked, they’d probably wreak havoc on civilians but damage to surrounding areas was minimal. Why would a villain even bother?

As he wove around the side of a building to send a bot to an early demise, his skin crawled. He took out the bot and stopped, perched on the side of the building. They had to have been fighting for the better part of thirty minutes, but the robots had barely seemed to decrease in number.

Peter’s eyes narrowed on a swarm of bots rising from out of nowhere, and heading straight for Mr. Stark. Only the core in their chest wasn’t purple… it was red? And flashing instead of just glowing. That could only be bad news, a thought further emphasized by his spider sense flaring violently. 

Peter punted a bot out of his way as he moved without thinking, swinging himself forward and furiously heading towards Mr. Stark. The swarm had broke apart, probably overwhelming Mr. Stark’s built-in sensors, but one was heading right for his back, and Peter had to act fast---

He slammed into the bot, sending it flying onto a nearby rooftop seconds before it exploded. In the seconds that it took for Peter to slam into the rooftop of an adjacent building, he was only relieved that he’d managed to get the thing away from Mr. Stark.

“Peter!” Mr. Stark yelled sharply, as the blast carried Peter onto a nearby rooftop, where he landed sloppily. 

“I’m fine,” Peter managed, shooting a web and pulling himself up. “The blast radius on that thing is insane!”

“Blast radius?” Rhodey asked quickly. “What are you talking about?”

“The robot exploded,” Mr. Stark explained hastily as he and Peter fought back to back. “It was rigged with a bomb. The kid stopped it.”

“What the hell do we do then?”

“Keep it contained,” Mr. Stark bit out, returning the favor and blasting away a robot that Peter hadn’t managed to take out. “I think this was the last resort for whoever the hell sent these things out here.”

“Watch out for the cores in their chests,” Peter cut in. “The purple ones are fine, but the red ones explode.”

“Friday, you got that?”

“Affirmative, Boss,” a faint female voice said from inside Mr. Stark’s suit.

The intensity of the fight surged, leaving little room for more chatter. Peter could barely keep track of all the robots swarming around him. Without Karen and his spider sense, he would have been toast. 

“Kid, watch your six,” Mr. Stark called in his ear, and Peter barely managed to propel himself away from an exploding bot. 

“I am not looking forward to cleanup,” he breathed, circling back to hopefully cut the numbers down on these things. 

Rhodey laughed in his earpiece and Peter grinned to himself, heartbeat galloping irregularly as the fight dragged on. Already his muscles were getting sore from having to snap himself back and forth to avoid getting blown to bits. Exertion made his skin damp with sweat, and he vaguely yearned for a shower. He’d already been patrolling for hours before Mr. Stark had asked for help (and jeez, saying there was a “problem” in Manhattan was a severe understatement; these things bypassed problematic and went straight to catastrophic.) So yeah. The exhaustion was compounding. 

Maybe that’s why his next movements were too slow.

The robot slammed into his chest like a truck before he even knew what hit him, drawing a swear out of his mouth and sending him smashing through the window of a building behind him. Glass caught his fall and he groaned.

“Kid, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he grunted, rolling to his feet. “I just---”

His spider sense flared and Peter threw his hands up to cover his head as two of the robots who had followed him into the building exploded. The double explosion knocked him sideways, rattling his bones and sending heat searing over his body as he was tossed backwards like a wet rag.

Peter landed on his side, ears ringing violently and thoughts hazy. He was shaking, or at least he thought he was, until he hazily looked down. The building was shaking. He snapped his head around to look through a window and watched dust and rubble start to fall past the glass.

“--Peter,” Karen said loudly in his ear when the ringing stopped just enough for him to hear the AI’s urgent voice. “You need to get out of there. The building’s unstable. It’s going to collapse---”

Peter furiously moved for the window he’d broken on his way in but he knew with growing dread that he wasn’t going to make it. His mask lit up at the last second, and he ducked into the only spot highlighted in green.

When he looked up, it was to see the building come down on top of his head.

When Peter opened his eyes again, everything was still. The dust had settled. The building had stopped groaning and contorting. Darkness blanketed him, wrapped around him like a too-tight glove. For a moment, it was quiet: so quiet that it made Peter’s stomach swoop. He wasn’t even sure he was alive until his ears exploded with noise: staticky voices and explosions from his comms. The battle was still live, but Peter was… he was down. No --- worse. 

He was stuck. Again. 

“Karen,” he said hoarsely, furiously trying to stave off the approaching panic attack before it swallowed him up. “Karen, can they hear me?”

“You are muted,” came her monotonous reply.

Peter let out a hitched breath, clenching his teeth so hard he thought he might crack them. There was dust all over him, covering his mask and making the darkness thicker and impenetrable. He would need to take it off, or at least wipe it off if he wanted to regain his bearings, but that would mean moving and possibly upsetting whatever high-stakes Jenga tower he was under and the thought of that sent terror so sharp and icy through him that it took his breath away.

Or maybe what took his breath away was the notion that the second worst experience of his life was unfolding again.

Except this time, Peter wasn’t stuck under a warehouse.

He was stuck under a skyscraper.

The pocket he was in was barely big enough for him, that much was made clear even without sight. He was on his back, with both of his legs pinned down under something, and even though his arms were free, he could barely bring them up towards his mask. The left one felt broken. Moving it drew a strangled gasp from his throat so he swallowed and switched to his right, which wasn’t much better. He was pretty sure the cloud of shock and maybe adrenaline wrapped around his brain was muting the true nature of his injuries but he was more grateful than concerned. Karen hadn’t told him he was bleeding to death, at least. He cautiously lifted his right arm.

“Peter,” came Karen’s voice as his gloved fingers shakily slipped beneath the edge of his mask. “I would advise you not to remove your mask while the air filter is functioning.”

Peter’s hands stilled: he hadn’t considered that. The air filter, because of course Mr. Stark had thought of everything. Peter clenched his teeth and wiped off the dusty lenses of his mask instead. Almost immediately, his eyes started to adjust. Karen turned on night vision without any further prompting.

He almost regretted being able to see. The panic he had staved off before punched through his chest with a new fury as he stared up at the rubble trapping him. It was terrifying. 

There was about two feet of space between his chest and the makeshift ceiling, which looked so fragile that Peter was surprised it wasn’t crushing him. He could see bent rebar and warped metal barely holding up literal tons of chunks of concrete and steel. Glass that he hadn’t noticed before was shattered and spread out beneath him, crunching and grinding into his back against the concrete floor he was on whenever he shifted.

And then there were his legs. A long pillar thing had fallen, trapping them, holding them down, crushing them, crushing him.

When Peter’s next breaths came, they came short and staccato, choppy and loud in the silence that came with being buried by tons of concrete. Peter’s heartbeat pounded so loud in his ears that he almost couldn’t hear his comms anymore, but he managed to tune in when he heard mentions of his name.

“Peter, we saw the building go down. Are you okay?”

His first instinct was a guttural cry for help, but he managed to stifle the panic down and swallowed dryly. It wasn’t that he didn’t want help. Even laying there in the dark with an invisible fist wrapped around his heart --- squeezing it --- he recognized that they were shorthanded. It was just Rhodey and Mr. Stark and how could Peter draw them away from a fight that still needed to be wrapped up? He couldn’t.

“I’m fine,” he managed tightly. “But I’m done. I can’t---”

“Shit, Rhodey I found it,” Mr. Stark interrupted with a breathy edge of exhilaration. “I found the source.”

“Can we disable it?” came Rhodey’s voice, crackly from interference on Peter’s part.

“I think so,” Mr. Stark replied rapidly. “Peter, are you secure? Can we wrap this up first?”

Something shifted and Peter squeezed his eyes shut as rubble closed in around him. This time, it wasn’t just the building that was shaking and Peter needed to get himself off the comms before he lost it basically in front of them.

“I’ll be okay.” And that wasn’t exactly a lie. He was pretty sure he’d be fine, except that as the panic increased so did the awareness that he was hurting in places he hadn’t noticed before. “Finish it.”

“Alright, see you in a minute kid.”

Peter severely doubted it, but he wasted no time in gasping, “Karen, mute” before the panic swallowed him whole.

Peter clenched his fists tightly and tried to breathe, but his eyes were burning and his chest was so tight he had to make sure that the rubble hadn’t crushed it after all. Moving was impossible and looking up made everything worse. How easily could this come down? All it would take is one stray explosion from a stupid robot and he could be done for. Peter shut his eyes to try and shut everything out.

A pipe burst somewhere above him and he flinched, eyes shooting open. The mass of destroyed rubble shifted, some of it coming down farther, closer to him, and he crossed his hands over his chest --- groaning when his left arm positively throbbed but at least he was ready to hold something up in case it fell. 

A few seconds later, something did fall. It was water, and it was freezing. His whole body felt like he’d dipped it into an icy pond, even though the water coming down was barely more than the sprinklers at school he’d set off on accident during chemistry.

“Peter, you still there? Karen won’t give me a read on your condition.”

So he’d tried, Peter thought to himself as he instructed Karen to unmute. “I think some of her sensors were damaged when I--- uh, took the hit.” He craned his neck back when water sloshed onto his face. He was starting to shiver and his awareness seemed to be ebbing. “Are you guys almost, uh, almost done?”

“Just about, underoos,” Mr. Stark said, and Peter couldn’t even find the energy to be embarrassed about the nickname. “Hang tight.”

Haha. “Not like I have a choice,” Peter mumbled to himself.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Just let me know when you are on your way, okay?”

His voice was quieter than he’d meant, and Mr. Stark seemed to hesitate over the comms, like he should notice something, but the man didn’t. Peter sighed in short relief, almost grateful that the man didn’t know enough to call his bluff.

Peter had stopped sending voicemails to Mr. Stark’s phone a long time ago, especially after the Vulture incident (which he quickly put out of his mind before he lost it again.) Peter barely went over to the Avengers Compound. He only went over with Happy when there was an actual mission and when that was the case, he didn’t have a chance to say much to his mentor. So that was that.

Peter tried to doze off if only to muffle his torrent of thoughts, but every time he let his guard down, his enhanced senses picked up some sound that sent pure panic racing through him. The water had stopped after a while, but Peter was already wet --- so much so that he didn’t know which parts of him were bloody and which were just rained on. 

“How long ‘as it been, Karen?” Peter whispered, shifting and wincing when broken glass dragged on his back. 

“Twenty-seven minutes, Peter,” came her soft reply, and Peter nodded to himself dazedly.

Not much longer, then. Or at least he hoped. Over the comms which he kept forgetting to stay tuned in to, the sounds of the battle seemed to be dying. If Mr. Stark had found the source of the bots like he’d claimed, it had to be drawing to a close. 

Maybe fifteen minutes later, Peter had just found the closest thing to sleep that he could under the circumstances when Mr. Stark let out a victorious whoop. Peter shifted, hope sharpening some of the senses that had been dulled with the growing exhaustion pulling at his eyelids.

“You did it?” he asked, coughing a little after.

“Yeah,” Mr. Stark confirmed with a breathy, battle-worn laugh. “They’re disabled.”

Peter sighed in relief, but carefully, because any movement --- even breathing --- hurt. His left arm had stopped burning, had settled into a tame throb. His legs were numb from the cold but he could feel his toes so he attributed the numbness that drenched him from his chest down to the rust-smelling water.

“--Underoos? You there?” Mr. Stark was asking before Peter even realized he’d zoned out. He was in worse shape than he thought he was. Maybe because he knew he could finally get out of the suffocating pocket of dusty air he’d been trapped in for the better part of the last hour. “Peter? Spider-Man?”

Peter coughed. “What? Yeah, I’m still here.”

“Well, Karen isn’t telling me anything, kid. You sure did a number on her, huh?”

There it was again. That subtle edge of concern that Peter wasn’t sure was real. “You could say that.”

“We’re heading back,” Rhodey said into the comms. “Where are you down at, Spider-Man?”

“Uh, the building. The one that fell, I’m---” The building shifted and Peter’s heart nearly broke free of his ribcage. “Be careful, uh, I’m under it.”

If he hadn’t heard the sharp inhale that followed, Peter would have sworn that the comms had broken what for the way it went silent. Peter tried not to be embarrassed but even in his rapidly deteriorating state of consciousness, he recognized that he had severely messed up in letting himself get taken down --- and like this, of all ways.

“Peter--- Kid, what---” Mr. Stark choked out. He raggedly cleared his throat. “Where are--- nevermind, Friday, track--- yeah, okay--- hold on, kid, I’m coming. Just hang on, alright?”

Peter nodded to himself, breathing hard. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Mr. Stark said quickly. “Rhodey, are you---?”

“On your right, Tones,” Rhodey said tensely, voice hard. 

Peter would have flinched if he wasn’t so afraid to move. The colonel seemed pissed --- at Peter? He set his jaw and closed his eyes. He had acted like a complete idiot. If it wasn’t bad that he hadn’t managed to escape the collapsing building in time, he had lost his crap in the dark and probably all of Mr. Stark’s trust.

He thought of the first time he’d met Rhodey, that first fight with Mr. Stark after things with the Vulture and Liz had settled down --- 

“Tony, remind me. Who is this guy again?” 

“He’s good; a good kid. Like an intern of mine, except he’s jacked.”

“Mr. Stark, really---?”

“You know it’s the truth, kid. Anyways, I’m showing him the ropes but he can handle his own. We can trust him, Rhodey.”

“You can, Colonel Rhodes, I swear---”

“Hm,” Rhodey had said, disbelieving. “It’s just Rhodey, Spider-Man.” To Tony: “Can I at least get a name?”

“Uh, well, he actually---”

“It’s Peter, Mr. Rhodes sir.”

“Kid, really? I thought you said---”

“I thought you said I can trust him?”

“I did--- you can--- of course you can, I---”

“It’s still Rhodey, you can drop the mister. And how old---”

“Like I said, I’m just showing him the ropes.” 

Peter groaned and came back to the present when the rubble shifted, some of it falling down onto his face, crumbling and sliding against mask and he squeezed his eyes shut again---

“Is that you guys? Above me, is that---”

“We’re right here, Spider-Man,” Rhodey said reassuringly through the comms. “Just calm down. We’re almost to you.”

Peter nodded sharply even though he couldn’t see. He’d let himself panic, and now that they were close, he had to grit his teeth and get through it. Easier said than done.

The building shifted again --- worse than anytime before --- and he barely managed to hold back the terrified cry that threatened to leap out of his throat as a chunk of concrete the size of a watermelon dislodged from the unsteady ceiling above him and smashed down four inches away from his head. The entire building was groaning now, but the fear in Peter’s chest didn’t have a chance to spike before a metal-enclosed arm shot through the destroyed wall behind and above Peter’s head.

The Iron Man gauntlet.

For the first time since the building collapsed, Peter breathed. Or at least, he breathed easier. Above him were Iron Man and War Machine --- or was it the Iron Patriot now? Superhero politics were a mess and Peter didn’t want to exert brain power on anything other than getting the hell out of the pocket he was in. Either way, help had come.

“Mr. Stark,” he breathed, squinting violently through his mask as blinding daylight filled the space that darkness had just occupied. “Hey.”

Mr. Stark’s expression was shielded and stoney behind his helmet, but his voice betrayed the man’s relief. And maybe some anger that made Peter’s chest dry. “Hey yourself, kid. Ready to get out of here?”

Peter just nodded, gritting his teeth as the superheroes worked around him, carefully moving and stabilizing the rubble trapping him. 

“You’re a lucky kid,” Rhodey said softly, sounding like he was farther away than he was, like at the back of a subway tunnel. That must have just been Peter. “You couldn’t have landed in a better spot.”

“Thanks to Karen,” Peter mumbled, wishing he could raise an arm to cover his eyes. His headache was worsening. Unfortunately, his arm felt even worse and he didn’t have enough energy to get his unbroken one up anyways.

“Karen?” Rhodey hedged, like maybe he thought Peter had a head injury or something.

To be fair, he probably did, but Karen was very real. Definitely not a hallucination.

“His AI,” Mr. Stark cut in with a short laugh. “And no, I didn’t name it.”

“It’s a good name,” Peter insisted weakly.

“Huh.” Rhodey sounded like he didn’t know what to make of that.

As they cautiously worked, Peter didn’t know how to feel. He was tired --- so tired --- but at the same time was unwilling to let himself pass out until he was in the clear, and especially not in front of two of his heroes. 

Apparently his brain had other ideas. The thought of sleep had just barely crossed his mind when his eyelids started to droop. The fog from before was back, flooding his brain. Except instead of making everything cottony and jumbled, he felt relaxed. The exhaustion was crashing and so was his will to stop it.

“Hey, I think I’m gonna…”

He passed out.

-+-

The first thing Peter registered when the darkness in his brain thinned was the sound of voices, nearby and angry but hushed. He knew a whisper fight when he heard it and decided against opening his eyes; that seemed like too much work anyways in the warmth of… wherever he was. The notion that he was most likely in the Medbay of the Compound comforted him, but the two people arguing quietly did not.

“---what the hell were you thinking?” That sounded like Colonel Rhodes, or--- just Rhodey. Right. He’d almost forgotten. Rhodey sounded ragged. “A kid? And how old? Sixteen?”

“You knew he was a kid---”

“I knew he was young,” Rhodey whisper-snapped back. “It’s not like I had more than his name to go off of---”

“It’s better than it looks, okay?”

“I just pulled a kid from a collapsed building,” Rhodey heaved. “What could make that better?”

“You think I wanted him to do this?” Mr. Stark’s voice was rising, and Peter almost winced. “I don’t need a genius IQ to know that it’s dangerous. But he was a superhero before I was in the picture, Rhodey. I couldn’t keep Peter off the streets if I tried, okay? And I tried.” He let out an exhausted laugh. “I did try, okay? I’m doing the best I can. I’m helping him out. Taking him under my wing. It’s better than leaving him to his own devices. At least if he gets hurt or needs help, I can help him.”

There was a pause before finally, “This is insane.” 

“Don’t I know it,” Mr. Stark breathed. “You should have seen the first suit he had. Glorified pajamas, I’m telling you.” 

A pause and Peter didn’t know if he should open his eyes and let them know he was awake or keep listening. It only took Rhodey to angrily burst, “And what the hell was he thinking?” to convince him to stay “asleep.”

“He’s a good kid,” Mr. Stark answered. “He wanted to help people---”

“Not that,” Rhodey snapped, barely managing to keep quiet, as if it mattered anymore. “Why didn’t he call for us, huh? Jesus, he just stayed under there for… how long? Forty-minutes? An hour?”

Mr. Stark didn’t say anything, just let the tense silence pass.

“He could have died,” Rhodey said finally. “He almost did. Christ.” Another pause, a little longer than the last ones, and Peter swore they were looking at him. “Really needed to scare me half to death, didn’t you kid?”

They were definitely looking at him.

“Come on,” Mr. Stark muttered quietly. “Let’s go. I’ll check on him, later, okay?”

“Sure.”

“And we should probably get you something to drink,” Mr. Stark mused as they walked farther away. “Maybe a coffee?”

Rhodey scoffed out a laugh. “I think I need a Xanax.”

They both laughed, easier, and a door snicked shut right as the room went silent again.

Peter wanted to open his eyes, but he’d gotten too comfortable. Warmth was wrapped around him, dragging him down down down until he barely remembered what he was trying to think about.

By the time Peter drifted to consciousness, he was done with being tired. That wasn’t to say he was energetic, but when he came to, he wanted to stay awake. Wanted to figure things out now while he had the chance and hopefully, he realized with growing dread, avoid the wrath of Aunt May.

Opening his eyes underneath the bright lights of the stark room he was in was almost worse than opening them when the rubble around him had first been shifted to make way for blinding sunlight. He blinked rapidly as he waited for his brain to filter out some of the brightness.

It didn’t happen. Or at least, it wasn’t happening quickly.

Peter tentatively tried to sit upright (maneuvering around his newly-casted left arm) as a headache pulsed at the middle of the back of his skull, free hand reaching out to find a call button or something. The assault on his eyes was so bad that he couldn’t think straight. He always forgot how bad his senses got right after long battles, and this one had certainly been long. 

Peter whipped his head up when he saw a flash of movement towards the approximate door shape. It was a head, bent and peeking through the doorway. As soon as Peter got a look at the face, the silhouette stepped into the doorway.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter croaked in confusion. “What---”

“Just checking in,” Mr. Stark said quickly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Good thing I did, huh? What’s wrong?”

“Lights,” Peter managed. “Can you turn them down?” Realization crossed Mr. Stark’s face. “Ah, dialled to eleven right? Friday, lights.”

The AI responded instantly, but not verbally. The lights immediately dimmed, and Peter relaxed. The headache was already fading, but the rest of his pain wasn’t. Peter shouldn’t have gotten so worked up, because he hadn’t wasted a thought on wha moving around might do to aggravate his injuries.

And aggravate his injuries he had. Peter winced as pain flared in his arm --- casted or not --- his knuckles, his legs, and his back. His back was probably torn to shreds because of the glass. His whole body hurt, now that he stopped to think about it, but mainly in a few spots.

Peter didn’t complain --- he’d take the pain to being stuck under a building any day --- but he didn’t have to say anything for Mr. Stark to read him like a book. The man’s face pulled with sympathy.

“I have a doctor working on synthesizing pain meds for you,” Mr. Stark told him, easing into a plush-backed chair near Peter’s fancy hospital bed. “But we had to give you some of, uh, Steve’s for now.”

Peter nodded, toying with the sheet draped over his lap. “Where am I, again?”

“The Medbay in my tower---”

“Your tower? I thought---”

“I didn’t tell you?” Mr. Stark asked curiously, cocking his head. Peter shook his head minutely. “I bought it back. Figured if I was going to be your mentor and all I should have a base, with a Medbay of course, nearby.”

Peter blinked. “You bought the tower back to help me?”

Mr. Stark shrugged, almost managing to look nonchalant. “Good thing I did. Didn’t think I’d need the Medbay so soon though, to be honest.” He glanced back at Peter with a hint of a smile.  “It’s mostly office now. I kept my penthouse though, for you if you ever need to drop by. And the Medbay too, in case you ever get webbed up over your head.”

Peter blinked again when he heard that nugget of information but he managed to put his shock aside and ask hesitantly, “So, uh, what happened? After I, uh---”

“Passed out?” Mr. Stark finished, face darkening a hint. “Rhodey and I managed to get you out. Think you gave us about three heart attacks though when we got a good look at you.” He paused and raised an eyebrow. “Three each.”

Peter dropped his gaze. “He’s mad at me.”

“You heard that? Well, you’re kind of right. But he’s not mad at you because you messed up or whatever is going through your noble brain right now. Actually, I’m a little peeved too. So tell me.” Peter glanced up with a grimace. “Why didn’t you say anything? I know your comms were working.”

“I, uh, well…”

“Well?”

“I didn’t want to bother you guys,” Peter blurted, eyes widening when he read on Mr. Stark’s face that that was the Wrong Answer. “Uh, I mean there was only two of you with me down and there was like way too many robots for you to handle so I figured--- okay, so maybe I should have said something.”

“Right answer, kid,” Mr. Stark said, but his voice was a little tight. “Alright, second question.”

“Oh, jeez.”

“What did you mean by ‘not again?’”

Peter froze. “What?”

“You woke up for a minute,” Mr. Stark began lightly. “After you first passed out. You were muttering that phrase. ‘Not again.’ And you were talking about Toomes…?” Peter’s mouth was too dry to get a word out. “You were talking about the plane, right? The plane. Peter?”

“I guess I never told you about that night, huh?” Peter said weakly after he managed to find his words. “Toomes uh, he… well. He dropped a building on me.” 

He tried for a laugh and fell short. As if he could ever laugh about that. But the last thing Peter wanted to do was tell Mr. Stark about it. About how helpless he’d been. About how he’d screamed himself hoarse calling for someone that wasn’t there. About how bad he’d let himself fall apart when he was alone. 

“It turned out okay. I got out and followed him and took down the plane and well, you know the rest.” There was silence again that Peter hurried to fill. “It was okay though,” he reiterated. “I guess it happening again just was… too much.”

Peter wondered how many other people had managed to render Tony Stark speechless. Probably not a lot. 

Mr. Stark blinked, like a lot, before finally saying, “What part of you getting a building dropped on you is okay? You know what, scratch that. Why didn’t you tell me? Who were you trying to save by keeping it in, anyway?”

“Well, it’s not like you made it easy,” he found himself almost-snapping defensively. “I thought you hated me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Mr. Stark said slowly. “But we’re changing things up, alright? I don’t want you to think you can’t tell me if you are literally dying so we’re going to do something about that. After you get better, of course. I can’t be passing on any of my bad habits.” He stood up, brushed imaginary dust off his thighs and headed towards the door.

Peter found himself straightening. “You’re leaving me here?”

Mr. Stark spun around. “Nope. Just stepping out to call your aunt---”

“You didn’t call my aunt yet?! She’s going to kill me,” Peter moaned.

“---and then I’m thinking we get to talking about an internship. Okay?”

“As long as you tell Aunt May that I physically could not text her, and therefore I should not be lectured for not checking in, then I think an internship would be, like, super cool Mr. Stark,” Peter said, beaming. “Thank you.”

“Your message will be relayed,” Mr. Stark answered, before his face became serious. “And can you drop the Mr. Stark now? Tony’s fine.”

Peter tilted his head, his brain flashing back to that time in Happy’s car with Mr. Stark. He couldn’t resist it.

“Thank you but, uh, I don’t think we’re there yet.”

Mr. Stark’s face dropped into an unimpressed scowl faster than a neuron firing off, making it more than worth it. Feeling like he was floating on clouds, and more relaxed than he’d been probably ever, Peter laughed.

🌹

Excerpt from a potential Whumptober fill:

Peter turned his head, wincing when brilliant pain struck his skull like an ice pick being shoved through it. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his head still, waiting for the pain to stop before he opened them again. When he did, he followed the voice. With the man gone, Peter could clearly see the other captive: a teenage boy with sandy brown hair who was across the room with his hands chained to a radiator in front of him --- in front of him, not above his head like Peter’s hands were. He looked Peter’s age and ordinary enough, but ordinary tended to stop applying to people who were kidnapped.

Send me a rose!

for every "🌹" received in my inbox i'll post one random sentence of a random WIP i'm currently writing

Thanks for the tag @lost-lunar-wolf! And I’m so sorry it’s taken me this long!

3 ships:

1. Parkner

2. Spideytorch

3. Interwebs

4. Spideychelle (I know it said 3 but oh well haha)

last song: Wasting All These Tears by Cassadee Pope

currently reading: Rereading Harry Potter; I’m on book two

currently watching: Re-Watching Glee and watching Umbrella Academy

currently consuming: straight air (nothing)

currently craving: chocolate milk

@ironxprince @justme--emily @littlemissagrafina @lyssismagical @ironcuddlystark @iron-loyalty @hold-our-destiny @jelly-pies @jolinarjackson

If any of you have done it sorry for tagging you twice! I’m too tired to check so just ignore this if this is a double tag :)

tagged by: @riskreyes

rules: tag 9 people you want to know better!

3 ships: I’m usually so romance blind lmao but uhh I love:

- fai/kurogane from tsubasa chronicle

- abby/seb/sam from stardew valley

- paarthurnax/true and everlasting peace and happiness from skyrim

last song: waiting on the summer by VHS collection

currently reading: sadly I don’t read much anymore - mostly though because I’m writing my own stories? which is a good thing. But my favorite book is The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman

currently watching: A friend and I are trying to complete a full rewatch of parks and rec before it gets taken off Netflix

currently consuming: I just finished a lil bag of mini cookies

currently craving: I never stop thinking about ice cream

I tag: @hello-gan @infinitylyric @weyoun @dovahcaine @nothingcompares2u @ahintofsunshine @chaoticarchfey @joyful-soul-collector @amaroksantics

Jay’s Masterlist

 AO3

Oneshots

Don’t Leave Me Alone With Me 6k - IronDad, Peter gets trapped under a building during a battle; Tony finds out more about Homecoming night

Hold Onto Me (I’m a Little Unsteady) 4.7k - IronDad, Post-Endgame Angst with a splash of whump; Peter is not having a Good Time; Tony lives; Happy Ending

(After)life of the Party 5.8k {Only on Ao3) - IronDad with a splash of Parkner; Peter gets poisoned

Drabbles/Prompts

“you have to leave right now”/”I’m not going anywhere” - Parker + implied IronDad, Peter gives himself up to Ross to protect Harley and fam

“what happens if I do this?” - IronDad fluff, tickling with an accidental punch thrown

Whumptober2020

Day 1: First Impressions 6k  [Waking up Restrained, Shackled] - Irondad, Parkner if you kind of squint? (Potential start of Parkner)

Day 2: In Bad Hands 6k [Kidnapped, Collars] - IronDad, Peter & May

Day 3: Keep it Undercover 5.7k [Manhandled, Forced to their Knees, Held at Gunpoint] - IronDad

---

Updated: October 7th, 2020

Will continue to add to this as my works grow.

NOTE: Oneshots are posted to AO3; Drabbles will remain on my Tumblr only for now

NOTE #2: I will never ever write St*rker. Everything between Tony and Peter is and will always be platonic and if you ship that, do not interact with my fics.

Happy FFWF! What's a snippet of your writing you're proud of and why? (Link the fic it's from if you'd like!)

Happy FFWF! A snippet of my writing that I am proud of is from Hold Onto Me (I’m a Little Unsteady) and it is as follows:

There was a beat of silence, and unexpected anger was rising in both of them. Tony because he was tired of seeing Peter deteriorate, and Peter because… well Peter didn’t really know. But he didn’t want to breach this right now. He didn’t want Tony to push him into saying something he shouldn’t. He felt like he was standing at a precipice high above an abyss, and he could either step back and give in to what Tony wanted by telling him everything that was going on --- everything that Peter was feeling --- or he could stay in place and let the ledge crumble beneath him.

It isn’t super deep or mind-blowing but whenever I go back and read that fic, it just sort of reminds me how much better my writing has become --- not to mention that I am a sucker for metaphors (even my own.) Thank you for the ask!

Happy FFWF!!! What’s your all time favorite fic that you’ve written? What about it make it your favorite?

Happy FFWF! My favorite fic that I’ve written has to be Hold Onto Me (I’m a Little Unsteady) and I think it’s my favorite because a) I love the “Peter comes back after Endgame and doubts himself trope” and because I genuinely had so much fun writing it.

But my fic for the PJO fandom “Out of Mind, Out of Control” has to be close second just because I wrote what I wanted to see and I find myself going back to read it again just because I can’t quite find one that checks all my boxes. Probably the only reason I didn’t put it first is because this is mainly an Irondad blog :)

Happy ffwf! If there was a theme song for your works, what would they be? You can do as many as you would like. All your fics or even just one:)

Okay so this is tougher for me than it looks because I am really bad at thinking of songs but here is what I’ve got:

1. Hold Onto Me (I’m a Little Unsteady) - easy, the fic title came from the song: Unsteady by X Ambassadors.

2. (After)life of the Party - slightly harder and the temptation to go for the joke is too hard to resist so: Toxic by Britney Spears

Bonus for my unrevealed fic (part of the Friendly Neighborhood Exchange:) Pompeii by Bastille

Thanks for the ask!

😍😍😍

😍 What is your favorite fic trope? 

I absolutely love the Tony gets amnesia and just forgets Peter trope! Like it’s so angsty and the reveal is usually so good (assuming there is reveal; I haven’t read one that ended sadly haha and I hope I never will). I don’t know it’s just *chef’s kiss*!

Send me reader asks

Happy ffwf! What is a line you've read in a fic that you really like? Or if you can't think of one/remember, how about I line you have written yourself?

That’s a hard one because I’ve been doing so much reading lately that I barely have a chance to think, Wow! What a line! Off the top of my head I remember really liking @akillerqueenwrites‘s line in her Irondad supernatural AU (mind this spoiler warning if you haven’t/want to read it) “But despite his sharp words, Rhodey’s breaking apart, tearing at the seams. He loves Peter too.” That line made me so sad but also was just a super good line. I feel like it made everything so much more dimensional and it just reminded me of how lovable Peter Parker is if that makes sense haha. Like there’s Irondad and then BAM! The scene is that much more devastating because Tony wasn’t the only one who just lost someone (honestly though this whole fic was so good and I couldn’t remember how the episode ended and I was blown away and supremely grateful (as well as intrigued) by the ending. I’m kind of ranting here so I’ll stop but there’s your answer.

So thanks for the ask and I will make sure to send you at least one next Friday :D

Happy FFWF! Do you share your writing online? (if so, share the link to it!) Do you have projects you’ve kept just for yourself?

Yes I do share my writing online! Here is my archive: ... and if you’re seeing this you’re on my Tumblr! And a lot of my writing, like 80% of the writing I do probably, I keep to myself. Either because it’s just an unfinished drabble or I just like reading a certain HC or maybe it’s just a fic that I want to develop into a multi-chapter someday when I have free time, I have loads of notes in my notes app on my phone and some tangible notebooks tucked away. Thanks for the ask sorry it’s late (camping.) I’ll be sure to send you at least one this Friday :D

Please ask me some of these! 

Reader asks

😍 What is your favourite fic trope?

👿 What trope do you hate / avoid at all costs?

🤷 What thing that your fandom loves do you just not “get”?

🏆 What do you wish more authors in your fandom would write about?

💏 Who is your OTP?

🤢 Who is your NoTP?

😎 Who is your BroTP?

😭 Has a fic ever left you inconsolable?

🤣 Has a fic ever made your face hurt from laughing so much?

🕵🏾 Do you ever comment/kudos as a guest, even if you have an account?

📚 What’s the longest fic you’ve read in one sitting?

🌍 What is your dream AU?

✋ What reader or write do you think most deserves a high five?

💡 Tell me a headcanon (and who you wish would write it)?

🎵 What do you listen to while you read?

Hi! Can i ask 14, 34? 😊

Always!

14: What’s your coffee order? 

I typically get something with vanilla like an iced vanilla latte or a caramel broule if I am at Starbucks :D

34: Do you like your Hogwarts house or do you wish you were a different one?

Hufflepuff here: I took the sorting hat quiz when I was 12, and four years later, I feel like it is a hard house to be like when everyone always makes them out to be perpetually happy, sunshine-y, and kind of a dull house but I think of myself more as a Cedric Diggory Hufflepuff haha. Anyways I do like the house I was sorted in if only for the sentiment that I don’t hold ambition, loyalty, intelligence, or bravery in a higher regard in respect to each other. I value all of those traits pretty much equally and I feel like I always know when to step back and focus on a certain trait. :)

Thanks for the ask! And anybody can send some in if they want <3

unusual(ish) asks <3

who’s your celebrity crush?

are you single or taken?

rant. just do it

do you think its ok to separate the artist from the art?

how many accounts do you have?

how many pairs of shoes do you have?

opinion on… (specify to the person you’re asking to)

how many accounts do you follow?

favorite brand of clothing?

name a dog

what unusual talent do you have?

what’s the most interesting schools gossip you’ve ever heard?

ever prank called a store?

what’s your coffee order?

what’s a question do you constantly get asked?

if you had to get a tattoo right now, what would you get and where?

google the top song from the year you were born

rant about your favorite musician 

what’s your favorite teacher you’ve ever had?

describe your blog in 3-5 words

what’s a conspiracy you believe in?

if you could see any concert tonight what would you choose?

if you could break one of your bad habits which would you choose?

can you dance? sing?

what’s something you can’t stop buying?

crowds or small groups?

how long before a trip do you pack?

what celebrity would you rate a PERFECT 10?

what quote or inspirational setting do you think is bs?

if you had to dye your hair an unnatural color right now, what would you choose?

you can change one thing about your life right now. what are you changing?

how old do you get mistaken for?

what do you think about a lot

do you like your hogwarts house or do you wish you were a different one?

what does home mean to you?

what do you think you’d be arrested for?

have you ever been called down to the principals office?

post a picture of the outfit you would choose if you could have any outfit you wanted

describe your aesthetic

answer with one of your ‘school memes’ (inside jokes you have with your class/grade) with no explanation 

feel free to reblog or send me some if you’d like! this took forever so reblog please!

To everyone who sent me the asks and for who tagged me in tag games, I will reply when I get back from camping. Happy Friday :D