Peter mumbled incoherent phrases as his head turning right and left, “No! No! Stop!” Tears spilled down the crying boy’s cream-colored skin, “You’re hurting me!” 

Quentin smiled sweetly towards a chained Peter, fiddling with a knife between his middle and forefinger. Peter’s eyes were wide with fear as he had just managed to stutter through trembling lips, “Please don’t hurt me.” 

Peter grunted, attempting to free himself, but all that did was propel him headfirst into an anxiety attack. The very next thing Peter knew, he was shaking all over and his lungs were tightening inside his chest and his body wouldn’t cooperate with his need for oxygen. There was too much anxiety and panic, and the hyperventilating teenager didn’t have anyone to help him through it. 

Tony would’ve spoken softly as he coaxed soft reassurances that would’ve helped the teenager ground onto something to calm his terror-induced self. He would’ve pulled Peter into his arms and softly stroked him until the boy could breathe again. Steve would’ve been gentle too, with his gentle twinkling baby blue eyes of reassurances that everything was going to be okay. His gentle yet always warm arms would’ve guided Peter onto his chest and just hold him until all his boy’s anxiety would just disappear. 

But Peter was far from those loving touches, instead in a place that he didn’t even know on the world map with people who only wanted to bring harm to him. He needed to get out of here, he hated being stuck.

Beck seemed to enjoy Peter’s panic and brought the blade poised above Peter’s hearts, a clear yet cruel indication of what the man’s intentions were. 

Just as Peter screamed, his eyes flashed open and found himself in the presence of a man he had never seen before. The man looked well into his fifties with a bald head and an unreadable, stoic expression. He was leaned into the chair that he was perched upon, suggesting that he had been waiting for the teenager to wake up for a while. Peter thought bitterly, good for him. 

The man lifted his gaze to find a wide-awake Peter who was attempting to calm his breathing. He inquired with a slight curve of the lip, “Sleep comfortably?” 

Still haunted by his nightmare, Peter thickly swallowed, “What do you want from me?” His voice was thick with exhaustion as he looked up at the ceiling, refusing to look into his captor’s eyes. He just wanted to go home, but he was too far from it. He looked at the man through the corner of his eyes, something brought a sense of dangerous familiarity. Beck, he had no memory of, but the more he looked at the man, the more he felt that he had seen him before, probably in a video or in a photo. 

The man chuckled darkly, sending chills racing each other down Peter’s spine, “Peter Anthony Stark-Rogers, secret child of Tony Stark, Iron Man, and Steve Rogers, Captain America.” He twiddled with his calloused fingers, “Also, the man behind Spiderman’s mask.” 

As much as Peter wanted to ask how they found out about him, he needed to know what on Earth he did so wrong to be brought here. So the boy couldn’t help but ask, “Why did you bring me here?” It’s an innocent question, that hadn’t been fully answered yet. 

The man’s eyes twinkled with glee, “As leverage of course. Against Iron Man, or Tony Stark. Whatever you call him, I don’t really care. What’s important is that we have you, and you aren’t going anywhere. You see, your father” he spat, “wronged many people such as myself as Mister Beck who you met two days ago. In 2008, I was controlling Stark Industries and your damn father started to act out, so just like you here, I ordered him to be kidnapped.” Obadiah Stane smiled sickly towards Peter, “Nice little thing money is, a true negotiator with terrorists in Afghanistan. It was a win-win for everyone.” 

Obadiah fumed as he curled his fists tightly, “But Tony had to screw up! And become some superhero by stopping making weapons! The fool! So I had to step in and intervene.” He winked at the incredulous Peter, “Ever heard of the Iron Monger?” 

Peter, disgusted muttered as he rolled his aching wrists, “You’re sick.” 

Obadiah tsked, “But here I am now with you.” He swallowed thickly as he approached Peter, “And I needed to do something to execute the catharsis that came with sweet revenge. First, we wanted Spiderman, Tony does care for his Avengers. Then, we became intrigued, who is Spiderman? And why does he have such a strange connection to Stark? Then we discovered that Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, two of HYDRA’s greatest enemies, have a child.” 

He was right by Peter’s side continuing, “Now, that’s interesting. Who to choose? Then, imagine our pleasure finding out that Spiderman and Peter Stark-Rogers are one and the same. It was too good to be true.” 

Peter’s eyes widened as Obadiah concluded, “Welcome to HYDRA.” He picked up a baseball bat that Peter hadn’t noticed until then and sickly smiled sweetly, “I do hope you enjoy your stay.” 

Peter gulped as his dad’s first villain pretended to crack the bat, eyeing Peter like a fox before it pounced on its prey. Then, before Peter could anticipate, Obadiah swung the bat over Peter’s wrist, causing a bone-crunching sound to fill the room. 

Peter screamed in agony as Obadiah chuckled, “You’re so easy to break, for a brat. I was told that Stark men are made of iron. And iron doesn’t break easily, does it? Let’s find out.” 

The elder man swung the bat over Peter’s other wrist, equally breaking it as he slammed the bat repeatedly over Peter’s arms until they were red and covered in black and blue bruises. He then moved to Peter’s chest, and slammed the bat over and over his ribs, making Peter wince in agony as pain shot throughout his weakened form. Stane moved away from Peter’s chest, slamming the metal bat over and over across every available inch of skin of Peter until all of the teenage vigilante was littered in black and blue bruises. 

Peter felt his eyes pool with water as pain surged all over his body as Obadiah beated him. His face was deep in a wince when Obadiah threw the bat to the side and spoke darkly, “You’re  much like your father dear Peter.” He clapped his hands together, “Let’s see if you’ll break just like him.” 

And then Beck entered the room with a large bucket of water. Peter shrank back against the metal slab he was on, unsure of where this was going, but already knew for a fact that he wouldn’t like it. He dipped his heads down, praying that his dads were doing their best to bring him back home. Peter let out a harsh grunt as the restraints were pulled off of him. Beck harshly grabbed his sore wrists, pulled him off the table and threw Peter onto the floor. 

Peter’s knees banged harshly against the cold, tiled floor, causing a wince to pull on his features. Quentin stood behind him and wrapped an arm around the boy’s neck, putting him in a chokehold. 

Peter gasped as Beck’s hold on his neck tightened, “Stop!” He wheezed, unable to speak. 

This hurts, stop!

Stopstopstop!

I want to go home. 

Peter felt his cheeks tint red and for a few moments the choking teenager thought that Quentin was going to kill him when all of a sudden, the elder man released himself from Peter, still standing behind him. 

Peter immediately moved his hands to his throat, trying to soothe pain as oxygen quickly flooded his lungs. Just as Peter began to feel relief, Beck firmly grasped his head, preventing Peter from moving off his knees. 

Peter was just able to mutter, “What, huh?” when Beck pushed his head into the bucket, completely submerging the former’s head into the water. 

Completely submerged, Peter felt water flood his nose and mouth, slithering into his lungs in fast, cold streams. Peter gagged as he tried to lift his head but failed. Lungs and eyes stinging, Peter was completely helpless as ice-cold water filled his burning lungs. 

Finally, Beck lifted Peter’s head and just as the boy opened his mouth to breathe, he was back underwater, gagging as water snaked into his airways, clogging his breathing. He gurgled as his body felt like it was on fire, praying for some sort of mercy.  

Quentin began to lift Peter’s head when another hand dunked his head before Peter could even open his mouth. Face pressed against the bottom of the bucket, Peter felt his body give up as too much water filled his entire mouth, more so when the hands on his head only pushed his spluttering self further down. 

Just as Peter felt like he was going to throw up, he was harshly pulled out of the bucket. Peter spluttered as he burst into hacks, trying to get the water out of him. And his dizziness definitely didn’t help the wet coughs that Peter was making as his body swayed uncontrollably. There was too much water, and Peter didn’t think he could get it all out of him as his worn head fell to the floor with water spilling out of his cold, quivering lips. He moved his arms who were in a similar state of his lips to his shoulders, trying to calm himself down despite the watery feeling that wouldn’t get out of his head. 

He was still coughing when Obadiah cheerily smiled, “So Peter, how did you like that?” 

Peter refused to meet Obadiah’s eyes as his hands trembled from not only the water but the panic blossoming inside the pit of his stomach. He rubbed his red-rimmed eyes, trying to relieve the stinging sensation that came from the cold water spitting angrily as Obadiah moved towards him, “Get away from me!” 

He tried to move away from his captives, mumbling incoherent angry phrases as panic and fear swirled through his veins. Peter stuttered, “I need to get out of here. Leave me alone.” God, I'm losing it and I’m probably going to die here. The teenager felt so hurt, tired, and hungry that he couldn’t stand up, swaying knees brought him back to the floor. Peter inhaled, crying at the sharp pain that erupted because of it. He didn’t care how childish he was being, all he wanted was to wake up and find all of this to be some twisted, horrible nightmare. 

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a hand latched itself across Peter’s slim neck and tightened. 

Not this again, I already can’t breathe you psycho!

Peter’s eyes widened, forcing the words out, “W-What are you doing?” His veiny hands quickly moved to where Obadiah Stane’s were, trying to pry them off his already aching flesh. Already weak with fatigue amongst other things, his hands fell limp against his sides, leaving the boy fearing that Stane was really going to kill him here and now. 

In a last-ditch effort, the teen helplessly wheezed, “I, I, I can’t breathe!” His dilated irises attempted to meet Stane’s, mentally pleading for mercy, if not his life. As if Stane was telepathic, he removed his hold on Peter speaking, “Funny, your father did the same thing.” He dropped Peter to the floor. 

Peter’s hands once again returned to his bruised neck, trying to rub the soreness away. By then, his whole form was trembling as saw through the blur in his vision what Quentin was twirling in his hands. His face fell as he asked weakly, “What are you going to do to me?” 

Obadiah chuckled, “Dear Peter, we have so much planned for you. Now be a good boy, and take the beating like one.” 

Quentin handed Obadiah whatever was in his hand, and that’s when Peter caught a glimpse of it: a needle. 

And that was all it took for all the color to drain out of Peter’s face. Peter wasn’t scared of a lot of things, but his long-time fear was and would probably always be needles. It was an irrational fear for someone who was the son of the greatest two Avengers to be scared of something many people would see as childish, but for Peter, he began to hyperventilate. 

nononononononononononononono

He was shaking uncontrollably, as he unconsciously backed up till he was leaning against a wall whispering tightly, “Please don’t, please. I’ll be good, I promise.” Tears leaked out of the corner of Peter’s eyes, “I promise.” 

Obadiah turned to Quentin who seemed to enjoy Peter’s panic, “What do you say Beck, you think we can trust him?” 

Beck looked directly into Peter’s eyes as his lips curved to a smirk and replied, “No, I don’t think we can.” 

It was Obadiah’s turn to sinisterly smirk, “Well you heard the man.” 

Peter screamed. 

A/N: mwhahahaha. If y'all could give my archive ofour own acc some love that'd be great.