What's up everybody! We're back!

What happens when its Sunday, you're bored out of your mind, and you have a half-finished fic sitting in your folders? You post it of course.

I was originally going to make a whole new book for the second part of "Invisible Man" but I decided not to, so I'm just adding it to this one. 

Book 2 is known as "Hide'N Seek" thus the name. 

Now, I do not have the entire fic all written out as I planned to do before I posted. But I have been slowly losing motivation to write this and sometimes posting the story and getting feedback helps bring that motivation back so here we are!

There are 18 chapters for this fic, total. 10 of them have already been written, and the last 8 are all planned out and summarized and just in need of getting written out.

Thank you everyone who read the first book "Invisible Man," and I hope you enjoy this one just as much. The mystery and suspense will be toned down this book, as we already know who was stalking Peter, but there will still be a lot of suspense and risks involved, so I hope you all enjoy this just as much.

 The rating will be bumped up for things that happen in future chapters and I will probably have warnings in the chapter notes beforehand.

With that, let's get started!

Peter woke up in handcuffs.

Given any other circumstances, that might not be so bad. But these were not good circumstances and these weren't even the sexy kind of handcuffs.

He tried to sit up in bed, but his hands had been pulled over his head and were bound to the headboard with a pair of the not-so-regular police handcuffs that he was accustomed to seeing. These were thick, blocky, and tough when he craned his neck backwards to see them, and when he wiggled his wrists it confirmed that they were practically vacuum sealed to his skin. Unfortunately, he recognized them.

These were handcuffs used by the Raft on superpowered inmates - Peter's seen enough villains carted off in these bad-boys to recognize them on sight. Hell, he's been threatened to be carted off in them on days when his public image plummeted.

Looking down, his feet had been given the same treatment at the end of the bed.

Peter squirmed anyway, face pinching with exertion as he tried to break them, but they were sturdy and didn't even budge. He tugged on the headboard itself, trying to break that instead, but it must not have been made with the same metal used on most frames, because it didn't so much as dent. Then again, Peter wasn't really feeling like himself right now. Maybe it was him problem and he needed to be more awake before he attempted a breakout.

He collapsed back down with a huff when neither cuffs nor headboard gave way. With nothing else to do, his eyes wandered. The room looked like his room, but he was all too aware now that it was nothing but a very good copy. Now that he was looking closer, the desk was obviously new, despite scratches and scuffs that had been etched into the legs and sides where it would be moved or bumped. Clothes were too systematically scattered on the floor to be natural, and now that he was looking, he recognized his old shirts that had been stolen from Aunt May's house. The walls were cleaner than they should be because the watermark in the corner was gone. He wasn't sure if his laptop and camera were new or if they'd just been nabbed from his original apartment, but either way, Chameleon had certainly done his research.

Chameleon. Peter's teeth gritted together. What did that slimeball want?

Peter should've known it was him stalking him, after all, it fit Chameleon's motif. Blending into crowds, disappearing from the naked eye, sneaking up on him with the face of someone else. Peter was just angry that he hadn't put the pieces together earlier, especially considering the last time Chameleon pulled shit like this.

The first time was back before he'd even considered Wade a dating option. Hell, back before he considered him as a real friend. Chameleon had been following Peter for days, playing mind games and keeping him on his toes. The only difference was that he wasn't trying to keep it a secret. He let Peter know who was after him and he didn't do it very nicely. Chameleon disguised himself as civilians to get close, usually someone old or pregnant so Peter didn't suspect, before whipping out a knife to stab him in the side (which did happen - he still had a little scar) or whispering something scary and threatening in his ear, and disappearing before Peter could grab him. And even when Peter did grab him, he was never quite sure it was actually him.

Chameleon played the part of a terrified, screaming civilian very well.

It drove Peter crazy. He couldn't risk going home, hadn't dared to take off his mask, couldn't even go to sleep for more than a few minutes because Chameleon was always there the moment he closed his eyes.

He waited. Waited for him to slip up. Waited for him to let his guard down before pouncing again. It was all Peter could do but keep on his toes and stay as far away from people as he could manage in a place like New York City.

He was lucky Wade came along when he did. Sure, Peter had thrown him into the building rooftop because he thought he'd been Chameleon in disguise, but Wade proved himself to be the genuine article. Still, even with Wade there, Chameleon managed to nick Peter with a drug that wiped him out cold - which wasn't very hard considering Peter was already dead on his feet - but it was Wade who kept his identity safe.

According to him, Wade didn't let anyone unmask Peter, and he switched their costumes so Chameleon would go after him while Peter got some much-needed rest. He'd managed to hold Chameleon off long enough for Peter to wake up and help take him down.

Wade really saved his bacon with that one.

But there was no Wade this time. Just him.

So, what did Chameleon want? Peter's mind raced with the possibilities. Did he want to sell his identity to the highest bidder? Some good old-fashioned revenge? Torture? Peter swallowed, definitely remembering Chameleon saying something about wanting to wear his skin.

There must've still been remnants of the drug lingering in his system because it was hard to think. Like someone kept teasing his brain with the possibility of higher thinking before pulling it back and leaving him with flimsy wisps of thought. He tugged on the cuffs again and all he got was a clang clang clang. When he pulls more insistently, he's punished with a sharp zap that makes his entire body jolt.

"Oh, don't be doing that," Chameleon tuts, wagging a finger as he walks through the door. He's not wearing a disguise this time, just his own white mask. It's always unnerved Peter the way it looked molded to his face. It reminded him too much of Goblin's mask.

Chameleon is carrying a steaming bowl on a tray that he sets down carefully on the nightstand so he can sit on the edge of the bed next to Peter. "How are you feeling?" It's disgusting how much he actually sounds concerned.

Peter jerked away from Chameleon's hand when it tried to brush a strand of hair out of his face, teeth baring, "What do you want, Chameleon?"

Chameleon looked as though he'd expected as much, but said "We'll talk about that after you eat," as he grabbed the bowl. The spoon clinked around the rim as he swirled the contents and lifted a glob of something for Peter to eat.

Peter didn't.

He glared at Chameleon, leaning his face away from the spoon.

It was probably poisoned. Or drugged. Or both. He wasn't going to put something in his mouth that a villain was trying to feed him. It must've shown in his face because Chameleon sighed and the spoon lowered a fraction.

"I don't blame you for not trusting me. I understand why you don't, but I promise I'm not here to hurt you. Quite the opposite, actually."

Peter quirked an eyebrow, glancing down at the cuffs on his feet and then to his hands. He could still feel a headache from when he'd been tackled to the floor, choked, and then drugged with chloroform. "Gee, excuse me if I don't believe you."

Chameleon smiled softly, the strange material of his white mask moving with his cheeks. Peter wondered how malleable the material had to be to be so animated. Chameleon's face always seemed too animated. It reminded Peter of Wade, but in the worst way possible.

Chameleon lifted a hand and Peter recoiled, preparing himself for the hit, but all Chameleon did was thread his fingers through Peter's hair and pull any loose strands out of his face. Peter stared at him part in annoyance and part in disbelief. His hair had been getting in the way, he just didn't realize his discomfort was so obvious.

More than that, he was surprised with how gentle Chameleon was being. There wasn't a stroke of aggression, or even the slightest indication towards violence in his posture, which was weird. Bewildering, even. Chameleon even went as far as adjusting the pillows supporting Peter's neck and fixing the cuffs so they weren't digging so hard into his skin. He was just about to adjust the blankets too when Peter decided enough was enough and jerked away from him, as far as he was allowed.

"What do you want, Chameleon?" He snapped again, "If you're not here to hurt me, then what am I doing here?"

"Revenge isn't everything, you know," Chameleon chuckled, but sat back on the bed, just out of reach so that Peter couldn't attempt to hit him with his knees. How unfortunate.

"Talk," Peter growled.

"You need to eat first."

"I'm not eating anything until you tell me why you've been following me for the last 3 months."

Chameleon leaned one hand on the bed, quirking an eyebrow, "So, you promise you'll eat your breakfast if I answer your questions?"

Peter scowled. He didn't want to promise him anything, or eat anything he was offering for that matter, no matter how much his stomach grumbled for it. But he also wanted answers. Needed them, more accurately. Panic was on the precipice of his mind and the only reason Peter wasn't lashing out right now was because the drug was still grasping the edges of his brain and his spider-sense was...oddly quiet.

He tried not to think about that and instead excused his calm on good survival instincts. Freaking out rarely helped in these situations, and as bad as it was, this wasn't Peter's first kidnapping. It was the first time he's ever woken up in a comfortable bed, but it wasn't his first time being held by someone he didn't like.

"Maybe," he settled on, "Depends."

Chameleon pursed his lips as if that option didn't sit well with him either. He picked the bowl back up, "How about this," he offered, "With every question I answer, you take a bite? That's fair, right?"

Peter eyed him, then the bowl, wearily. "What's in it?"

"Oatmeal," was his answer. "With raspberries and brown sugar."

Peter's eyes widened, "That's-"

"Just how your aunt used to make it for you," Chameleon nodded, "I know."

The implications that Chameleon knew about his food preferences was unnerving. Aunt May did use to make his oatmeal like this if they could afford the raspberries. It was his favorite breakfast meal after wheat cakes.

"How do you know that?"

"Simple. I asked her. She loves talking about you, you know. I hardly had to say a thing and she would go on and on. She really loves you." Chameleon picked up the spoon, scooping up some oatmeal and held it out for Peter. When Peter didn't open his mouth, he gave him a hard look, "Come on, I answered your question and I answered it honestly. Now you honor your end of the deal."

"Why can't I feed myself?" Peter demanded through tight lips, so Chameleon couldn't sneak the bite in. "This isn't much of a deal if the other participant is being held hostage." Chameleon didn't answer, only held the spoon out expectantly until Peter figured he wasn't going to answer anymore until Peter worked with him.

Still, Peter was taught not to put strange things in his mouth, especially if it was coming from a stranger. Did Chameleon count as a stranger if they've fought each other before? Peter wasn't sure, but he still didn't like it. But he had nowhere else to go and he needed to figure out what was going on. It took a few minutes to untighten his pride long enough to open his mouth so Chameleon could feed him the bite. His face flushed at having to be spoon-fed like a child, but Chameleon merely grinned when Peter looked away, swallowing the - albeit- well-cooked oatmeal.

"I think you know why I can't let you feed yourself," he said, scooping up more of the food, "The moment I take those cuffs off you, you'd throw me into a wall or knock me out and leave. And I can't have that." He held out the spoon again.

"Why are you keeping me here? When did you talk to my aunt?"

Chameleon held the spoon out until Peter irritably accepted the food and repeated his question with a full mouth.

"I talked to your aunt a while ago, actually. My intentions weren't sinister, I promise," his lips quirked at the wording. What a time for Sinister Six puns. "I just wanted to get to know her better, that's all. She's a really wonderful person. Running that FEAST center of hers, helping her neighbors, volunteering at everything she can get her hands on. She's a remarkable woman."

When he offered the spoon this time, Peter only hesitated a few seconds before accepting it. It didn't taste strange, or like it had been drugged, and his spider-sense was still quiet.

"As for why I'm keeping you here, it's a safety precaution. You're in a lot of danger, Peter Parker."

Peter's eyes narrowed and he tried to sit up, as good as that did him. "What do you mean?" The spoon was offered and Peter didn't take it this time. He wasn't hungry anymore. He just wanted answers. He just wanted to get out of there. "How am I in danger."

Chameleon's smile is wry and humorous, as if Peter told a particularly amusing joke. It was apparent that Peter wasn't going to eat anymore, so he got up, putting the near empty bowl on the tray and rummaged through the dresser not far off. "How are you in danger?" He repeated, pulling out a syringe and calmly filling it with a bottle of clear liquid. Peter recoiled, flailing in the bed and pulling on the cuffs. They still didn't give way.

"Hey, you said you didn't want to hurt me! You said-"

Chameleon put one knee on Peter's toros and held one of his shoulders down with his free arm. Peter jerked to get out from under him, but Chameleon was putting his weight into it, putting emphasis on the aches in Peter's body, "I don't want to hurt you," he replied, sliding the needle into Peter's skin. "I'm protecting you," he got back up, needle now empty, "from yourself."

"What?" Peter said, wincing from the sting, "What are you talking about? I'm-" his struggling got weaker. "I'm-"

Chameleon shushed him, running his hands through his hair as if to comfort him, "Shhhh, it's okay. It's okay. Just go to sleep, you'll be fine. Don't worry. I'll be right here when you wake up."

Peter wanted to tell him just how un-reassuring that was, but frankly, he wasn't quite sure when he even passed out.

There it is! Hope you enjoyed! Not sure what the posting schedule will be for his fic but hopefully the next one will be posted in a few days.