Chapter Text
“Hello Peter, where would you like to go next?”
Peter swings, smiling under the mask as he says, “I don’t know, K. Surprise me.” He glances around, a low buzzing in the back of his mind as the sunlight starts to cast shadows over the city.
It’d been a relatively quiet patrol all things considered, nothing too serious - even if Peter’s senses had hummed with an odd urgency all evening.
A part of Peter chalks it up to residual nervousness about finally patrolling with May’s blessing, if he could even call it that. It’s the first time he’s been allowed out as Spider-Man after a month-long grounding, the longest that May had ever given him such a punishment. Peter can’t help but feel a wave of shame as he recalls how that first conversation had gone-- both better and worse than he could have hoped.
Peter had always imagined there would be lots of screaming and tears, but May hadn’t yelled - hadn’t so much as raised her voice after her initial outburst. Instead May had gone almost silent - asking Peter to explain.
He had, in almost too much detail - watching her eyes flash with indignation when he mentioned Tony Stark’s influence, May immediately cutting him off and demanding the man’s phone number.
It had been the longest few minutes of Peter’s life as May lectured Mr. Stark over the phone, speaking in such a sharp, even tone that even if Peter’s senses were quiet - the sinking feeling in his stomach had only grown.
Listening to her, Peter had felt a sharp pang in his gut as he realized that it’d been a terrible decision to lie to May, wincing at the memory of asking Mr. Stark’s to keep the truth hidden about what the trip to Germany had actually been for. Yet all Peter’s flimsy justifications about simply wanting to protect May had been immediately replaced by guilt at the tension radiating from her as they waited in silence for Mr. Stark’s arrival at their apartment.
Peter guessed that he could hear halfway to Harlem with his super hearing - he didn’t know, he hadn’t really pushed his limits - but he almost dreaded listening in on the conversation the two adults had in their living room, Peter wringing his hands together in his bedroom as he waited.
When he was finally called back in, it was settled - or about as settled as Peter guessed it could be. May had agreed for him to keep the suit for now but still grounded him for a month - something that Mr. Stark was in complete support of even if Peter could tell from May’s expression that she wouldn’t have cared in the slightest even if he had disagreed.
As part of the grounding, Peter hadn’t seen his mentor in the month since, but he had heard from him-- all the time, in fact. There were daily calls and texts to check in and see how Peter was doing, along with promises to get together at Mr. Stark’s lab in the city once his grounding had been lifted-- starting with this coming weekend, to Peter’s excited anticipation.
Utlimately Peter couldn’t blame May for her reaction or the resulting punishment, especially when he could still vividly remember how it’d felt when he sat on top of the Cyclone after his homecoming date from hell, looking out over the city and the wreckage of Mr. Stark’s plane - realizing for the first time just how dangerous this life he was choosing really was.
But now, the air rushing around him and the sights and sounds of the city all within his grasp - Peter is glad for the chance to try again, this time with the knowledge that he isn’t going behind anyone’s back to do so, the promise of meeting up with Mr. Stark this weekend hanging in the air.
Peter should’ve guessed by now that with Parker luck, nothing would ever go according to plan.
He’s mid-swing when he feels it, the low hum in the back of his mind turning into full-fledged panic when he hears the shrill cry of someone in danger. Peter turns as quickly as he can towards the sound, senses screaming as he gets nearer and nearer to the source.
There’s a man there fighting another guy at a churro stand while the owner runs in terror down the sidewalk, Peter seeing the telltale flash of metal - everything within him telling him to get away as far as he can even as he swings closer.
It’s over before it even has the chance to begin, Peter shooting out a web that sends the guy with the gun straight back to the wall behind him - Peter landing and shooting off two more webs to make sure that he’s secure.
“Whoa, Spider-Man! Thanks!”
Peter’s senses are still going off as he looks around, nodding once at the churro guy in greeting before asking, “You alright man?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” the man replies, shaking his head furiously as he says, “Wow, I didn’t think I’d ever see Spider-Man again. You’ve been gone for awhile.”
Peter half-smiles under the mask, touched that the people of New York missed him as much as he’d missed this. But despite the danger seemingly having passed his body still feels wired and ready for a fight, senses screaming at him to get out of there even if he couldn’t pinpoint why exactly they wouldn't stop going off.
“Yeah well, gotta keep people on their toes. You sure you’re good?” Peter asks again, glancing back to the guy that’s webbed up to the wall before turning to the churro guy - seeing something flash behind his eyes as he smiles.
“Oh yeah, I’m great now that you’re here,” he replies, grabbing something out of his pocket and immediately swinging towards Peter.
“Whoa what the--” Peter says, dodging it easily only to feel something sharp pierce him in the neck - distracted momentarily from moving away from the guy in front of him as he brings a hand back to whatever had shot him.
He pulls out the dart and glances at it curiously, only to immediately throw himself back when Churro Guy continues to jab at him with something that looks like a syringe.
“Dude what the hell? If this is some kind of new PR thing then--”
Peter senses the next dart, quickly dodging it as he glances around - trying to figure out where it’s coming from only for another to follow, Churro Guy swinging at Peter and distracting him again just in time for him to get hit with a second dart.
“Wow, this is-- this is super rude.” Peter’s legs wobble, Churro Guy finally getting a chance to advance towards him as he grabs Peter’s arm - Peter trying to pull away but suddenly unable to get out of the man’s grip. HIs senses are screaming louder than ever at him to move but it’s as if all Peter’s strength has been zapped out of him - slowly blinking at the man in front of him.
“Peter, your vitals are displaying signs of an unusually rapid onset of fatigue. Would you like me to contact Mr. Stark for assistance?” Karen asks politely.
Before Peter can reply, the man attacking him leans forward until he’s right in his face, Peter flinching when a hot, stinky breath leaks through his mask.
“Sweet dreams, Spider-Man,” Churro Guy says, sinking the syringe straight into Peter’s upper arm, the dose in it being enough for Peter’s knees to buckle just seconds later.
Peter had lifted a building off of himself yet now with two doses of some kind of tranquilizer and God knows what else in the syringe, Peter feels weaker than he had even before the bite - his bones like jelly as he crumbles into the man’s arms, hearing the sound of a van coming up from behind him as it screeches to a halt.
Churro Guy says something in German, Peter too woozy to even try to follow what’s happening but vaguely aware he’s being hoisted into a van. Dark spots start to form in Peter’s vision, whatever sense of consciousness that he’d had only seconds before quickly disappearing before he can even think to try to hold onto it.
“Night night, little spider,” he hears Churro Guy say before he slips off into darkness, knocked out before his head even hits the floor of the van.
The first thing Peter becomes aware of is the cold.
It’s everywhere, freezing - Peter shaking out of darkness purely from a shiver so violent that he convulses, blearily opening his eyes.
He blinks, his face pressed against the cold floor of whatever place he’s in - the rumble of gravel beneath them and some music he can’t understand playing in the background both giving him a sense that he’s in some kind of vehicle, his last memory of being hauled into a van coming back to the forefront of his mind.
That’s right-- Churro Guy had drugged him! That was mean of him...
Peter knows that realization should worry him more but the first thing that goes through his mind instead is panic at the idea of May finding out Peter’s already breaking his promise to follow her Spider-Man rules. He needs to get home soon or she might take away the suit again, and that would be… bad, right?
Yes, Peter decides hazily, that would be bad. Which means he can’t stay wherever he is-- he needs to go home.
With that vague goal in mind Peter goes to stand only to find that he can’t, slowly blinking at the ceiling vent directly blowing out freezing air above him as he recognizes the weight of some kind of cuffs around his wrists - a distant part of his mind telling him that they should be easy to break, and probably would be if he was a little less sleepy and weak-feeling.
It takes nearly all his energy but Peter manages to raise his head and look down at himself-- seeing thick metal wrapped around not only his wrists but also his ankles. More hazy panic rises up from the fog of his mind when he realizes he’s been stripped of his suit, left in only his boxers yet still wearing his watch-- a belated birthday gift from Mr. Stark that the man had sent over via courier just days into Peter’s grounding.
He tries to lift his hands to his face to check the time but his vision swims, Peter instinctively shutting his eyes tight in an effort to stave off the nausea roiling in his gut-- only for his head to slowly drop back down to the freezing floor of the van as a wave of exhaustion overtakes him.
He has no idea how long he lies there, the panicked hum in the back of his mind intermingling with the sound of wheels racing down a country road-- the two converging to form a distant but not unpleasant white noise, the sound sapping all rational thought as it nudges him toward the cliff of unconsciousness.
Yet with every step he takes toward the precipice the hum in his head spikes, causing Peter’s eyes to slit open in a weary effort to scan the small space for any source of possible danger.
But everything is becoming increasingly bleary, until all he can see when he opens his eyes are tiny puffs of air right in front of his nose.
It must be cold where he is, Peter thinks as his eyelids droop again. That’s funny-- he doesn’t feel very cold.
At some point in his drifting there’s a big bump in the road, the jarring movement rousing Peter just enough that he is able to register voices coming from the front cab as someone yells what sound like curses at the other - Peter trying to pick up on the conversation only for his mind to go fuzzy again, vaguely recognizing that one of the voices is familiar to him even if he can’t seem to figure out why.
The answer is right there - just on the tip of his tongue. But whatever shred of momentary coherency he had achieved is already slipping away, Peter shivering once more as he lazily blinks.
He isn’t supposed to be here, he knows that much - the cold hard floor and rhythmic bouncing back and forth from whatever cumbersome vehicle he’s in telling him that he’s going… somewhere.
The thought occurs to him that he’s not supposed to be going anywhere that May doesn’t know about, that he is supposed to check in with her as soon as he gets home-- Peter’s head lolling back as the van goes over another bump.
The voices continue to argue back and forth in what Peter thinks is German but can’t quite pinpoint, his whole body feeling like lead as he the van rumbles on - his head even more so, the act of trying to hold on to consciousness feeling more and more like trudging through wet cement.
May will be worried if he isn’t home soon, Peter is sure of that. But he can no longer muster up any concern over panicking her, his eyelids closing and opening over and over until even the panicked hum can’t get them to blink open again-- Peter distantly aware that in the short time he’s been awake, he’s already stopped shivering.
That’s bad, though why it is Peter can’t recall - his mind losing all sense of logical awareness as his breathing slows, the tiny puffs getting fewer and farther between.
He should probably be worried about that too, but no matter how hard Peter tries-- his brain just can’t seem to figure out why.
Eventually the only sense Peter has of time passing comes when the hum in his head screeches at the highest pitch it can reach. Yet Peter can no longer discern any reason to pay attention to it, feeling suddenly warm-- lazily wondering if someone had put a blanket over him but too exhausted to open his eyes and check.
Maybe they’d seen him shivering and gotten worried.
He had been shivering before…
Right?
Peter doesn’t know anymore. All he knows is that he has to get back to May, or she would be upset because…
Because…
Peter can’t remember.
God, he’s so tired now-- maybe he’ll take a nap.
Yeah, that’s a good idea-- he’ll take a nap, just a short one.
And then maybe when he wakes up, this will all make sense.
Decision made, Peter quits trying to focus-- random thoughts sparking in his brain only to sputter out before he can fully process them, time losing all sense of meaning for him.
Wasn’t I cold before?
But I feel so warm…
Where am I?
Oh, that’s right, going somewhere…
Where am I going?
I’m so hungry, I wish I had a churro…
Churros… I like churros…
This blanket must be super thick, I’m so warm now…
Could just take a nap…
Wait, I have to tell May I’m gonna be late coming home… cause I’m-- I’m---
Where am I?
And just before he falls over the edge--
My suit… where did my suit go?
I need to get that back
Mr. Stark will get angry, if I lose it
He’ll take it away again
I don’t want Mr. Stark to be mad...
It’s the last thought Peter has for a while.