The sun rose over the shimmering buildings. Helicopters flew over the city for the morning shows, the sparkling rays of sun reflecting off of the glass windows, car horns sounded and the smell of petrol and damp soil filled the brisk air. After years of living in New York, the morning sun never ceased to amaze Tony Stark.

But today, wasn't like every other day.

He sat by a wall of windows on one of the many business couches. His head was buried in his hands, as he thought non-stop about the current problem. With a sigh, he lifted his head and looked sullenly out the windows. Everything seemed to be working the same - everyone was so oblivious. Tony blanched suddenly - why did he care?

But Peter had been missing for . . . 27 hours now. Wait - he was counting? Tony shook his head, trying to clear up his thoughts.

"Tony?" He heard Natasha call from across the lounge. He spun around and saw she stood at the door, a concerned expression on her face. "You can't stay by yourself forever, you know?"

Tony nodded and casted his gaze down to his feet, confused. Natasha walked across the room, the soft 'clop clop' of her heals against the floor becoming the only noise. She sat down opposite him on an uncomfortable armchair. 

"What the heck's been up with you lately?" She asked.

"Uh, nothing, really. Just - you know - thinking about things. Figuring things out." He murmured.

"Ok, that's not at all convincing." Natasha said, sounding dreadfully bored.

"Um . . . ok, Peter's been missing for a day. No one knows his whereabouts." Tony confessed.

"Peter? Who's Peter?" Natasha asked vaguely.

Tony glared at her and rolled his eyes. "Peter Parker . . .? You know, Spider-Man?"

"Oh." Natasha said, still looking slightly confused. "The-the guy who dresses up in those red tights cause of some radioactive spider?" 

"Yes." Tony said, annoyed. "That guy - and I made that suit." He added, slightly offended.

Natasha smirked but Tony didn't join in.

"It's ok. He'll turn up - remember when Bruce disappeared for two years and then just showed up out of nowhere?" Natasha reminded him and Tony nodded.

"It's different, though." Tony whispered, punching his fist into his palm. "Bruce is an adult, he can do what he wants and he knows how to keep himself safe. But, Peter? He's just a kid. I mean, what is he? Fourteen? Fifteen?" Tony rubbed his hands over his face tiredly.

"Hey, we'll find him." Natasha comforted him.

"Yeah . . . it's just the state in which we find him is what I'm worried about."

---

Peter was doused in sweat and shaking. His suit was burnt through around his wrists and his skin was scabbed and burnt raw. Every twenty minutes, a pulse of electricity ran through the vibranium, causing his body to jerk and convulse, as he got electrocuted. 

He had lost track of how long the pulses had been coursing through him, but he estimated about three hours. He was terrified. These people - they were dangerous and Peter was the only one who knew about them. If only he could put his mask back on, he called call Tony. 

But his mask lay a few metres in front of where he - now - lay, well out of his reach. With a tired groan, Peter aimlessly stretched out his arm, reaching with all the strength he had left, but the item was impossible to get to. He collapsed again, his cheek pressed against the cool of the cement floor. He took a few steadying breaths, but he felt tears come to his eyes.

Aunt May - if he died here, she would have no one. It was his fault Uncle Ben was dead, maybe he deserved it. Oh, how worried she must be right now. And Ned! Ned was always so proud of him, what would he think when he finds out a mere gang of criminals brought the; 'mighty Spider-Man' down? Peter sniffed hastily.

He was crying - why was he crying? Heroes don't cry. But then again - Peter wasn't a hero. Peter was a young and naive boy who thought he could take on the world. He learnt the truth too late.

Faintly, as if from down a tunnel, Peter heard a door scrape open. He ignored it, the pain overwhelming him and causing his vision to darken. Footsteps neared and Peter semi=braced himself for more beatings but none came. He heard a sharp intake of breath, like someone who doesn't really know what to say.

"I didn't realise you were so young." Came a confused voice.

Peter pulled his head up, wincing with the effort. He blinked a few times, attempting to gain more focus, but it did little.

"Um . . . when you 'interrogated' me," He heard a man say in a clear American accent, putting a lot of pressure on the word interrogated. "You sounded hell young, but I didn't realise you were still in school." He continued awkwardly.

Peter dropped his head to the floor again, too weak to hold it up. Was this even real? He couldn't tell anymore.

"I, uh, I'm sorry. For what he's doing. I think it might be a bit much, I've never seen him this angry before." Peter presumed that the man was referring to Adrian. Peter nodded his head in acknowledgement, though the movement was so small he wandered if the guy had even seen it.

"So, I think I might do something about it." 

At this comment, Peter flung his body up in surprise. It hurt a lot and he regretted it deeply, but the surprise and hope hit him forcefully. He fell back against the wall he was chained to.

"Jeez, calm down." Peter slowly began to recognise the irritated voice and realised it was the same man who had told Toomes not to kill him - the same guy from the parking lot. "Just reminding ya that I can't do anything directly to Toomes, but I can help you, if you want."

Peter nodded frantically, which he - again - regretted. "P-plea-se." He added unnecessarily. Aaron Davis laughed, squinting at the boy.

"That's a nasty bullet wound - is it lethal?" Davis asked. Peter shrugged, struggling to say something through his burning throat.

"M . . ." He began and then coughed. Blood appeared on his lips. "Mask . . .!" He spluttered.

Davis bit his lip, casting his eyes to where the mask lay. "Why?"

Peter glared at him, hoping he would just give in. He didn't. "Please!" Pete rasped.

"I-I don't think I should do that. I'm not sure what you can do when you have it on, but I can't let you go and I can't allow you to get the Avengers." He murmured. Peter sighed heavily, slumping.

"Please though, let me look at the bullet wound."

Peter clenched his jaw as Davis got closer, watching him wearily. He felt him press around the wound, inspecting it closely.

"That doesn't look so good - you've lost tonnes of blood. Does it hurt?" Aaron asked worriedly.

Peter shook his head. It actually didn't hurt - and although he welcomed the numbness that was spreading through his body, he knew it couldn't be a good thing.

"Karen . . . please." Peter whispered, trying to point at his mask. As soon as he said it, he knew he sounded stupid.

"Karen? My name's not Karen." Davis said, slightly amused and offended at the same time.

"No . . . mask - please!" Peter pleaded desperately, pointing uselessly again.

Sighing and muttering to himself, Davis handed Peter his mask reluctantly. Peter snatched it out of Aaron's hands and shoved it over his head as best he could. His first priority was Karen, then the Avengers. He felt sorry for Davis - he hoped he didn't get caught up in it all.

"K-Karen, vitals-!" Peter stuttered.

It seems you have multiple head injuries and have lost a lot of blood. Your bullet wound should be attended to, otherwise you may receive a life threatening infection. You need medical attention immediately, Karen listed calmly.

"Why-why aren't I h-healing?" Peter heaved again and blood splattered onto the cement.

The shocks of electricity has weakened your immune system and advanced healing factor, Karen informed him sadly.

"P-please call Tony St-Stark." Peter whispered, his throat swelling.

"No! No, you can't! Please!" He heard Davis yelling, but he ignored him.

Dialling Tony Stark.

"Peter? What the hell, kid, where've you been?!" Was the first thing that was fired down through the intercom.

"Please help . . . I-I got into a little trouble." Peter mumbled and then wheezed slightly.

"What? Where are you? Peter!" Tony yelled when Peter didn't answer. Truth was, he didn't really know where he was. He swore under his breath when he remembered taking out the tracker.

"I-I don't know!" Peter stammered, tears filling up in his eyes. He saw Davis running out the room, probably to go get Toomes. 

"Are you hurt? Peter, talk to me!" Tony shouted down the line. Peter winced at the volume.

"A little . . ."

"How much is a little?!" Tony's voice was getting louder and louder.

Suddenly, the lights turned off and Peter was plunged into darkness. A cold darkness.

And all Tony heard was a blood-curdling scream, a crackle, then the line beeped out.

---

Questions/Comments/Theories/Suggestions, please leave in comments.

LuvForStydia xxx