Liliaeth (liliaeth) wrote,
Liliaeth
liliaeth

fic: Invisble Collar (10/?)

Title: The Invisible Collar
Author: Lore
Rating: MA (NC-17)
Summary: Dark AU post-Civil War
Fandom: Marvel
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 leiadiana

Previous Chapters









10.











The sound stopped, Tony had turned off the television. Peter was still in the same position, yet inside he was shaking. He wondered if Tony could see it? Maybe his heartbeat increased, or his brainwaves sped up, something… the army had always known, no matter how much he tried to stay calm. Wait, just wait it off, breathe and it’ll be fine.

“Peter?”

Peter didn’t move, he hadn’t been told to move. Tony got up and looked at him. He laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder, Peter wanted to shake it off, but he didn’t. Check ups happened, let it go…Tony looked into his eyes, but all Peter saw was the dark. He didn’t like the dark.

“Do you want to go to bed Peter?” They’d turn off the light, put him in the dark.
“I could go and turn off the light, do you want me to?”
No!

But he didn’t speak. His opinions didn’t matter.

He didn’t like the dark, bad things happened in the dark.

Stark grabbed his arms, holding him.
“I’m trying to help you Peter! Tell me what I can do to help you!”

“Send me back. Just send me back.”
Because things were less confusing there, the army ordered, he obeyed, no worries no fear, long as he obeyed. It hurt and it scared him but he knew that as long as he followed orders, he’d know what to do.

He had no such answers here. He didn’t belong here.

“I can’t do that.” Tony said. “You don’t belong there Peter, you’re more than a weapon.”

More?

More like standing in the middle of a training room and being told to fight Venom. With Gargan doing his best to kill him while Peter had to hold him off, knowing that all ten other super villains in the room were barely held back by their own electrical leashes from joining in on the beat down. Cause that’s what it was.

They didn’t let him lead the fight, instead this was his ‘handlers’ day of learning how to get used to him. They sat in a separate room, watching them like this was some kind of video game where he was a character made from pixels that had to fight the first boss. Who cared if he lost a ‘life’, if he got hit? It was just a mark down for his handlers.

Gargan built a tail out of the symbiote and was about to kill him when his handler finally stepped in and stopped him. Peter crawled up under a dozen grins, regaining control of himself for a second, before the next handler stepped into the boot and he lost his body once again.

It was humiliating. Jumping up, crouching down, raising his arms up and down, like the guy was checking the controls and Peter sat there like a back seat driver in his own head, hoping someone could just fire a bullet in his brain and get it over with.

It took two hours before Peter was allowed to leave to his room. Once there he lay down on the slab. It was better than nothing and his bruised and battered body needed the rest. The lights stayed on, it wasn’t near time to sleep yet, so he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the lamp shining in his eyes.

He could hear music playing in the cell next door and desperately tried to ignore it. Not an easy thing to do. Heavy beats of something he didn’t recognize echoed through the walls. It didn’t come through too clearly which was a testament to both the thickness of the walls and the loudness of the music.

Just enough to keep him from nodding off, it was even worse when he put his hands on the walls; he couldn’t stop feeling the vibrations through the rock; the image of someone, something pounding on the floors as hard as a sledgehammer.

He quickly pulled away from it and sat up.

The cement floor felt cold and wet against the soles of his feet, and he knew that if he sat down he’d be freezing even more than he had under the blanket he’d been provided with. He tried to think of his aunt May, but whenever he did, her look of disapproval showed on her face.

He sat down, forming webs underneath him; it barely kept away the cold. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing, but soon the entire room was filled with webbing. It was weird, but oddly familiar, like making the place his own. He looked up when the doors jumped open and he was slightly woozy as the soldiers came into the room.
“Is something the matter?” The soldiers stared at the webs and then at him, one of them grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up.

Peter thought about fighting them, but didn’t bother. If he did they’d just take over his body again, make him even more helpless than he already was. So he let them push him in front of them and towards the showers, while a third guy stayed behind at his cell.

He was forced under the shower, clothes and all, the water soon spraying him, fat drops clinging to his hair. Two more men joined them, holding batons while Peter could sense the danger in the walls surrounding him.

“Get those clothes off you moron!” one of them yelled at him, Peter stared at him in shock and got hit in the back for his trouble. After that he quickly took of the wet shirt. The soldier grabbed it from his hand and glared pointedly at his pants. Peter quickly took them off. The soldier took it from him and threw it against the wall with the shirt.

It was cold and freezing and Peter shivered under the harsh spray of water coming down on him. Before he could do anything, the second soldier grabbed a bus of disinfectant and poured it over him, ordering him to rub it in. Peter still had no idea what was going on.

It lasted no more than ten minutes, it felt like hours had passed. When they finally turned down the water, the soldier threw him a towel and he barely had time to rub away the worst of it, before it was taken away again. The first soldier was holding a bus of talcum powder and started pouring it over Peter. Peter desperately closed his eyes to keep them safe.

They turned him around, again and again, more powder. It itched. He had to sneeze, more webbing came out and one of the guards grabbed a spray and forced his wrists under it. It burned and Peter winced.

Then he was pushed back to his cell. Still naked. The powder was clinging to his half wet skin, his wrists were burning.

When he got into his cell all the webbing he’d left there was gone. He got no explanation, instead he was pushed inside and a fresh set of clothes was thrown his way before the door was closed and the light was turned off. He didn’t even have time to ask if he could go to the toilet.

He didn’t bother to get dressed; he grabbed the clothes and held on to them as if they were a life line. He wished he didn’t deserve this.

But he did









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