Part 4 of my oneshot series Take Me Home Where I Can Sing and Drown.
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Peter tried to fight the darkness that threatened to consume him, because he’s afraid of what lingers behind the shadows. He can’t bear the nightmares anymore, he can’t do this! He wheezed, an inhuman sound that he can only assume to be a panicked cough slipped through his cracked lips as he tried to fight against the restraints, knowing full well it’s a losing battle, but couldn’t help the attempt to free himself. 

He harshly smacked himself against the metal, accidentally giving himself a concussion, which sent him into the darkness that he had been avoiding. 

It’s the same dream that he had yesterday, and all the days before yesterday.

Peter’s snuggled against his Dad who softly strokes his head, running his fingers through his extremely stubborn curls as the two curl right into each other like pieces of a puzzle. Tony presses a kiss onto Peter’s forehead and whispers gently, “Goodnight sweetheart.”

Peter wears a weary smile as he closes his eyes into what he expects to be a normal fit of sleep, either dreamless, or a dream that’ll leave him with theories he’d find on Buzzfeed. To his surprise, his dream is a consistency of white that leaves him paralyzed in fear. He opens his mouth to make a sound, yet no sound escapes his lips. 

His eyes are still closed for some reason, and can’t open them willingly. But when he does, he's strapped to a table and heavily donned in restraints and a multitude of metal blades embedded in him. 

He looks up confused, even more so when Beck wears a twisted smirk and fiddled with the sharpest knife Peter has ever seen in his entire life. And that's saying something from someone who has seen the entire weaponry of Natasha Romanoff. 

Beck merely chuckles at Peter's confusion and distress, speaking, "You're so naive Peter. You think people care about you?" A moment of silence lingers when it is broken with a snort escaping his thin, crimson lips, "You're so unbelievably wrong, Stark. It's pathetic." 

Peter's eyes widen in horror as he realizes what Beck intends to do before it's too late. Beck lifts the blade a mere inch above his fast-beating heart and with a swift motion, sends the blade cascading into his heart, all the way through him to the point where he could feel the blade poking out the back of his shirt. 

Peter lets out a cry as he feels his heart tear apart as he cries out for his Dad to save him, but is left with darkness. 

When Peter does wake up, he's greeted by muffled light and a thin cloth covering his eyes and tied behind the back of his head. He tries to lift his head up, but the rough force of a hand that he assumes to be Beck pushes him back down speaking in a voice that sounded far too innocent to match his cruel intentions, “Lay down Peter, you wouldn’t want to make this more difficult than this already has to be.”

Peter freezes as his blood runs cold, what the hell is that supposed to mean? He feels Beck’s hands roam all over him, and clip weird objects to his skin and Peter feels dirty once Beck finally removes his hands off of him. Peter speaks softly, “Beck, you don’t have to do this, please, I’m sure there’s something else I could do.”

Beck chuckles causing Peter to cringe, “Hush little Peter, this won’t hurt a bit.” That’s clearly a lie because all Beck has done to him was hurt him. So it’s only half a surprise when Peter hears a cranking sound and feels something sharp sting his body and travel through his entire body, setting it on fire as his chest heaves forward, and his breathing stops for a moment. 

His chest sinks back down as he heavily pants. It takes him a few moments to process just what had happened to him. He had gotten electrocuted. It takes him a few moments for him to process that he had just gotten electrocuted when his breathing rate increases, and his spine twitches as his lungs won’t cooperate with him, and he can practically feel his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, god, he’s utterly terrified. 

His panic is short-lived because he hears the eerie sound of a lever and Peter feels his fear seize, along with his chest as his lips release an estranged cry that sounds more animalistic than human as he breathes heavily, body shaking so hard that Peter’s vision doubles, and even Beck is waiting for him to calm down and hopefully not fall into cardiac arrest. 

Peter feels the blindfold restrict him, and he needs to see, feel, calm himself down using the tactics his dad taught him, and all he can feel is restriction and his head spinning along to his swaying body, and he begins to think he’s no longer human. He doesn’t realize that he’s whispering for mercy from Beck for him to stop, he’ll do anything just please stop. 

Another jolt of unwelcome electricity leaves Peter crying as he screams for his dad to save him. A lone tears slip out under the blindfold, and Peter feels the watery substance prick each of his nerves that leave him with a heavy urge to itch all over.  

Beck chuckles, “Oh, Peter. Poor, naive, Peter. No one is coming to rescue you, don’t you get it? You are going to die here, all alone in this cell. Do you understand me?” Peter remains silent until a harsh smack leaves his skin stinging and replies, “Yes.” 

Beck snorts in disgust, bringing another smack onto Peter’s face continuing the disgusted tone, “Yes, sir.” 

Whatever game Beck’s playing at is continued, a greater jolt of electricity is forced through Peter’s veins as the electricity crawls and leaves long trails of scars that interlude with the metal scars as Peter lets out another heart-wrenching scream. 

He feels his body seize, and this time there’s no electricity causing it, only his body weak from fatigue and fear consuming his adrenaline, and the next thing Peter knows, he’s back in the scary darkness. 

….

When Peter’s eyes fluttered awake, it's not from another bad dream that has him on the verge of tearing a scream out of his throat, or something harshly impaling him, or the darkness from the blindfold, in fact his blindfold is gone. His eyes fluttered open to find himself in a different room than the one he's been held captive in and the first thing he feels is his teeth chattering and his body trembling so hard that his vision itself blurs.  

He craned his head, finding that he can move his body, which is a much welcome relief from the continuous restraints. Peter shivered again, this time not from the cold biting into him, but the stiff feeling of the metal collar he grew to loathe rest against his pale, grime-riddled skin. He choked out a gasp as his swallow gets caught in his trachea, forcing him to wince as he coughs and splutter, and doesn't have the energy to panic as red droplets spray out of his mouth and onto the grey tiling. 

He’s too weak to freak out, his body feels exhausted from malnutrition and crashed from a lack of adrenaline to keep him coming. He has no clue how long he’s been here, but he’s beginning to think that Beck was right, that no one was going to come for him. His eyes seem to sting when they produce tears, and only a single tear manages to trail down goosebumped, red skin as Peter accepts his fate. 

He doesn’t want to die like this, but he doesn’t write his own book. He used to think that destiny was in the hands of the ones who lived, the ones who fought and prevailed for justice, not by sick psychopaths who deserve something worse than Death, because that would be a shortcut out of the pain that they should endure, because they have inflicted so much on god knows how many. 

It’s only then when Peter realizes that his teeth are chattering and he feels chills wrack his body. He weakly looked up to find a multitude of giant air conditioners at full blast. Peter feels a surge of panic flow through him, his powers make him sensitive to cold temperatures, something about triggering hibernation. But he’s part spider. 

Peter asks confused, “Spiders hibernate? Then why the hell do I see them in the winter?” Peter chuckles, finding his sentence funny, “Oh god, I’m losing my mind.” He remains laughing at the idiocy of it all, he’s near the end of his line, and he’s questioning if spiders hibernate. 

Peter hears the sound of a lever being switched, and he swore he saw snow enter the room. But we’re inside, it doesn’t snow inside rooms, c’mon you haven’t lost that many brain cells, at least not yet. Maybe there’s a window? Maybe you could escape? Yeah, if you could feel your damn toes that maybe. That’s a fair point. He moans as snow breezes through a window that Peter can’t see and hit him right on his face, causing Peter’s cheeks to tint a bright pink as he shivers, eyes scouring for some sort of blanket to preserve some warmth. He looked around the room, only to have his stomach flood with dread when he finds the room bare except for his presence. 

He’s just so cold, and he knows that Beck enjoys watching the helplessness show through as he merely lies down there and sobs. 

Peter merely sighs, unable to muster the energy to try and fight against the cold that threatens to overtake him, pressing his unusually thinner form against the wall, and letting his eyes flutter shut. 

A/N: Hey my dudes!!! Ya girl finally posted!!! I feel so sick rn n unmotivated it's a crime. Also, pls get my previous oneshot (Dear Mister Stark) to 100 votes?