Rating: MA (NC-17)
Summary: Dark AU post-Civil War
Pairing: Tony Stark/Peter Parker
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Betaed by redhawk
The walls towered around him. There weren’t any windows, just hard cement on the floor with walls that sounded like there came no end to them and a heavy metal door between him and the hallway, ready to slide left or right to let someone in or out. There wasn’t a sink or a toilet in the cell; he’d be dependent on the jailer’s kindness for whatever needs he might have. Just a bare empty cell and a metallic slot reaching out of the wall, but just as easily pulled back and removed if they decided to do so. Peter sat on the bed and stared down, barely noticing the prison uniform he was still wearing. His trial was days away and yet here he sat, in Thunderbolts Mountain. They didn’t dare keep him at the Raft or at Riker’s; too many people there wanted him dead. He already knew that whatever was said at the trial, his fate was already determined the second he’d been caught.
His head had been killing him for the past few days. His spidersense was causing a sort of internal goosebumps all over his body; desperately warning him that there was something wrong with his blood, like a foreign invasion that twisted his veins around into working against him instead of for him. It started as a soft jittering that refused to hatch into a full blown itch and had crawled over his heart and nerves until it had his spidersense warning him against his own body. Needless to say that he was clinging on to the proverbial edge of sanity.
Peter wished they’d just send him to prison; it’s what he deserved for betraying May’s memory as he had. He’d been so angry, so sure that Fisk had to die, that he hadn’t even thought about what May would think of him, until Fisk sank down, his massive form falling dead on the gravel. It had lasted seconds, but every bit of them filled with May’s eyes looking away from him and telling him she was ashamed of him.
He had never hated his spidersense as much as he did now, it seemed to be on a constant spike, but he didn’t want to risk letting anyone know. They’d just use it against him. Aside of the threat in his body, it kept reacting to the villains in the cells next to his own. So when it took it up another notch, he barely even noticed. He just barely looked in time to hear the door opening. Norman didn’t even bother leaving the hallway, he simply looked at him. He didn’t smile, but his eyes spelled victory. Peter hoped Norman would just get it over with, but he knew he wouldn’t get off that easy. Osborn wouldn’t let him.
Osborn just stood still. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t have to. Peter got up, ready to defend himself. Osborn simply started a low chuckle and allowed the door to drop closed behind him. Lights went out twenty seconds later and Peter didn’t see him again until after the trial was over.
Peter was now wearing the official Thunderbolt leisure time outfit and whoever had decided to make it white as snow had an utterly weird sense of humor. His food had arrived half an hour ago and he was currently staring at the plastic bowl and fork. He wasn’t wearing any outer restraints, they didn’t need them, not now that the nanobots could keep him from even moving an inch if they decided to turn them on.
He finally placed the bowl on the provided platter and sat down on the bunk, it was the only piece of furniture in the room, if you could call it that. His spidersense spiked and he stared at the door. It slid open and Osborn stood in the door, his huge form blocking the light from the halls.
Peter got ready to defend himself, he had no idea to prepare himself when the nanobots lit into him, firing wildly and making him fall to the ground in horrifying pain beyond anything even he had ever felt in his life. He knew it wasn’t real, that it was just an illusion and yet he couldn’t even bring himself to get up from the floor.
There wasn’t even a chance to fight, the pain stopped for a second and he was still panting when Osborn came up to him and knelt beside him before firing the pain off again.
“Foolish little Peter”, please make it stop, “if only you had given in to me years ago when I gave you the chance, we’d both be free. And instead look at us.” He grabbed Peter’s lip and pulled him up. “Slaves to the very nobodies you tried to protect for oh so long.” He let go and Peter dropped down again. “Were they worth it Peter? Were they worth May’s life?”
“You … don’t..” Peter tried to say, but Osborn just laughed as if he could barely restrain himself.
“It should have been me of course, the one to kill her.” Peter tried to crawl up, but it was more than the pain holding him down. “To snuff the old lady’s lights out. I’ve had plenty of chances. Guess we know now who matters more, May or Gwen.” Peter winced as Osborn kicked him again. “You couldn’t even bring yourself to try and kill me after sweet little Gwendolyn fell of the bridge. Far as I’m concerned, poor Fisk did us both a favor.”
Peter attacked him even through the pain, Osborn kicked him down easy.
“Wrong choice again Peter. But then you’ll come to realize that all too soon.”
Osborn left him lying on the floor and opened the door.
“Have fun gentlemen.”
But compared to the burning, even the soldiers worst attempts at beating him felt like butterfly taps. Peter was left holding his legs, curled up, but barely even noticing the bruises, split lip and the blood coming out of his ears as everything went black. Black and away into the past where it belonged.
Peter woke up in his cell at Stark Tower, the old remembered pain just an afterthought, the feel of blood on his tongue. Stark was there again. As if he even wanted him there, he didn’t know why he grabbed on to him to keep him from leaving when he tried to get up.
Peter barely struggled when Tony picked him up. Fighting was bad, the wrong move. Better to just let himself be handled, it hurt less. Just go along with the flow. I’m not here, here doesn’t exist, it was easier that way. Stark’s hand brushed through his hair as Peter felt himself placed on the bed and tucked under. Kindness was a lie, they were always kind these days, he was too expensive not to.
Peter stretched out, not allowed to make things harder. Stark patted him on the back and left him in the bed. The light went out twenty seconds later. He could still taste the blood on his tongue, it tasted like copper.
He fell back in dreams of Mary Jane; it was all he had left.