All he knows is pain, and orders.

It's always been like this.

At least, as long as he remembers.

He can't remember life before the pain.

But he knows someone cares.

Used to, at least.

-----------

"Rhodey, he's been gone for eight weeks. I can't just give up."

"I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to rest. You're not going to be able to help him if you're near dead from exhaustion. How long has it been since you last ate?"

Tony rubbed his eyes. "Sometime last week."

His friend groaned. "I'm calling Pepper."

In the end Tony relented, and forced himself to sleep and eat.

--------------

The boy knows that what they do isn't normal. Isn't what they say it is.

It isn't training.

It's torture.

But he doesn't know anything else.

So he doesn't resist.

-------------

Peter woke with a jolt. His senses were going haywire, and his memories-

His memories. They were back.

Then the noise broke through his confusion.

People yelling.

Explosions.

Screaming.

The sound of gunfire.

Then the door to his cell is rammed open, and someone comes through.

It's a woman.

Her hair is red, and she's wearing a black suit.

When she sees him, her eyes widen, her mouth drops open, and she sinks to her knees in front of him.

"Peter?"

"Aunt Natasha?" He asks softly.

She presses a finger to her ear. "Tony? Get down here. Now."

Minutes later, a suit crashed through the door.

It seems to study him for a microsecond, then opens.

Tony steps out, his eyes fastened on Peter's shaking form.

"Pete?" He asks numbly, unable to process the sight of his son.

At the sound of his voice Peter tries to stand up, but the chains force him back down, a choked gasp of pain escaping from his throat.

Tony immediately moves, dropping to his knees beside Peter, and pulling his kid into his arms while Natasha works on the cuffs.

As soon as his hands are free, Peter throws his arms around his dad, fingers curling into the thin fabric of Tony's shirt, stifling the sobs that refuse to stop.

Tony rocks back and forth, whispering soothingly into Peter's hair, and pressing gentle kisses to the top of his head.

Natasha steps out, talking quietly to the team.

Peter doesn't let go.

Not when Tony lifts him up, carrying him through the halls to the ship.

Not when the team catches sight of him, muffled gasps, and exclamations of surprise.

Not when they make it back.

Not even when they try to put him on the bed. He refuses to let go.

It feels safe. Like holding on to his dad can erase the past eight weeks.

Tony feels the same. So he holds his kid close.

Then Peter woke up.

-------------

Peter opened his eyes slowly, expecting to be with Tony.

Then he felt the pain in his body, and the cold floor under him.

The smell of blood and sweat.

"No," he mumbled. "No. Please no."

He shoved himself up, hitting the wall with his arm. "No!"

"No! Was it a dream? Please, please I can't be here..."

He hit the wall again, the metal shuddering under his hands.

"PLEASE!" He screamed. "PLEASE!"

He slumped on the floor, curling up and hugging his knees to his chest.

Sulent tears leaked down his cheeks, erasing the grime.

"Please dad... please..."

------------

"Peter?"

Peter shot up at the voice.

"Dad?"

He could see Tony bending over him. "Why didn't you escape?"

"I couldn't."

"You should have."

"You're not even here. If you cared you would be here."

"Why do you say that? I might be here."

"Youre not here. Because if you were you would be getting me out."

"Maybe."

With that, the image vanished, leaving Peter in more pain than he had before.

----------

He saw him again.

But it didn't hurt him like before.

It actually helped.

He could talk to his dad.

Even if it wasn't real.

He could feel better, having said goodbye to him.

Because Peter was dying.

He knew that for certain.

He hadn't eaten, or had anything to drink, which slowed his metabolism, which stopped healing his injuries.

So he was dying from blood loss, dehydration, and starvation.

Which sucked.

------------

He fell asleep, fully expecting to never wake again.

-----------

Tony slammed his hand on the keyboard. "Nothing. Nothing..."

He rested his head on his hands. "What if he's gone, Rhodes?"

His friend rubbed his shoulder. "He isn't. We'll find him."

Just then Friday spoke. "Sir." Her voice was...frightened? "Sir. You have received a call. I suggest you answer."

Tony shot up, moving to the big screen. "Show it."

It started out black.

Then a face.

"Hello Stark!" The figure called. "I have something you want, and you have something I want."

He turned to someone behind him. "Show the boy."

The video changed to a camera feed, showing Peter.

Tony gasped at the state his kid was in.

There was no skin on his arms and legs that hadn't been damaged, bruises, cuts and scars covering them.

His face was pale and dirty.

But his eyes.

Oh his eyes.

They were dark, haunted, the look of a cornered animal.

It turned back to the f
man. "The boy hasn't eaten. Nor has he had water. His metabolism isn't helping very much. And his mind is playing tricks on him. He seems to keep seeing you, coming to rescue you. Then being disappointed."

It switched, once again to Peter.

This time, he was talking to empty air.

"Dad?"

"I couldn't. You don't understand."

"You're not here, are you?"

"If you actually cared you'd be here."

Tony's heart broke at that. "Oh Pete...  I'm trying."

Then the criminal, once again. "You give me the money, I give you coordinates."

Tony gritted his teeth. "Give me my son."

He smiled. "Sorry, no can do. Unless you give me five million. Right now. Then you can have your precious little Petey pie."

"I need to get it together."

"Dont be late Stark. After another three hours, your boy will not survive."

Then he was gone.

Rhodey turned to Tony. "Tell me you tracked that."

Tony nodded, already suiting up.

------------

Peter drifted.

The pain was gone, which he was grateful for.

He knew he was dying.

He just didn't want to go.

He wanted his dad.

As if in consequence of his wish, the door of his cell was blasted down, and Iron Man stepped through.

"What do you want?" Peter mumbled, wishing his words wouldn't slur.

The suit of armor opened, and Tony knelt beside Peter. "Oh Petey, I'm so sorry. It's okay now, you're safe. I'm here."

Peter stirred, trying to push himself up, but failed. "No, what're- what're you doing here?"

Tony frowned. "I'm getting you out of here, buddy."

Peter let his head flail to the side. " 's not real. You're not here."

Tony felt his heart shatter. "No, it's real. I'm here."

Peter sighed, his eyes already closing. "I wan'ed t' say g'bye dad."

Tony scooped him up, the armor forming around him first. "No buddy. No goodbyes. Hang on."

------------

Peter didn't want to open his eyes.

It smelled nice, and he wasn't in pain.

Was this what it felt like to die?

He liked it.

It was peaceful.

Then he heard voices.

"Is he okay?"

Was his dad dead too?

Was he seeing things?

Or was Peter not dead?

He wanted to find out, so he opened his eyes.

He was in a hospital room, white, and clean. Several machines beeped and whirred around him.

Bruce and Tony were by the door, Tony talking and gesturing frantically, and Bruce calling him down.

"What if he doesn't wake up?"

Peter raised himself up on his elbows. "I don't think you have to worry about that, dad."

Tony and Bruce both spun, Tony immediately going to the side of his bed. "Pete?"

Peter grinned up lazily. "Hey. You know, I don't understand why people take drugs. Seeing things isn't fun."

Tony sat on the side of his bed, gently pulling him into his arms.

Peter wrapped his arms around Tony, relishing in the feeling of actually hugging his dad. Being able to touch him. For real this time.

Then his facade crumbled, and tears soaked Tony's shirt, while Tony tried not to cry himself.

"You were there, and then you weren't, and I thought I was safe, then I was back, and I kept seeing you, but you weren't there, and I thought you didn't care!"

Sobs shaking his body, Peter curled up, pushing himself further into Tony's embrace.

Tony held him tighter, rubbing soft circles into his back.

"Listen to me, Pete. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I love you kid. You're my son. I wouldn't leave you there. I couldn't. I care about you more than anything, okay?"

Peter nodded slowly, his sobs slowing.

Tony leaned against the headboard, holding Peter tightly against him.

"You're safe."