Chapter Text
Peter wakes gradually. The floor beneath him is freezing cement, his head is absolutely throbbing with pain, and his hands and fingers are stiff and numb from restraints that have recently been removed. He rolls to one side, blinks at the blank cement wall in front of himself, then rolls over some more and flops onto his back with a grunt. The ceiling is just as bleak; smooth cement with bare fluorescent lights bolted to it.
He frowns at it. The last thing he remembers is leaving school. It was a half day, as he’d finished his exams early, texted May about staying over at Ned’s place, sent another text to MJ (gif war using gifs only from 90s rom coms; he’s on the losing side of it so far), and then a twitch of his spider senses--
Then a pinch at his neck, like a bee sting, but deeper. Darkness. Then here.
Huh. Kidnapped. That’s new. If he was less emotionally dead from finals and sleep deprivation, he’d probably have a stronger and much more appropriate reaction to that.
Peter sighs, pushing himself up onto his feet and brushing dust off himself. When he finally looks up, he realizes he’s not alone. He’s in a cell between two others, lined by thick steel bars just wide enough to allow him to peer into the other cells.
On his right is the Winter Soldier, missing his metal arm, sitting on the ground and watching Peter closely. His jaw is clenched, and there’s blatant concern in his eyes when he meets Peter’s gaze. He’s wearing regular clothes; jeans and a plain t-shirt, and they both look relatively fresh. So he’s probably a recent arrival, too.
Peter blinks at him, then turns to his left. The cell on his right has an occupant as well: Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, is chained to the wall of his cell. His hands are trapped inside manacles and suspended above his head. He looks much the same as the Winter Soldier. Clean, healthy, and very, very confused as to why Peter's here. Which makes three of them, to be honest.
Okay, three cells, three prisoners. What about the rest of the place?
Peter looks around the ceiling, tracing out the lines of cords leading to each camera. He squints up at the lights, the speakers mounted in the corners of the ceiling, the bland metal desk with a phone on top tucked in the corner, and the thick steel door leading out of the cell area, committing each to memory.
He does this for two reasons: one, it's a practical use of his time. He might be able to figure out a way to hijack the security system or at least sabotage it. Admittedly, that's a pretty big 'if' at the moment, but hey, he might strike gold. At this point, the universe kind of owes him.
Two, it'll keep him from looking at Captain America and the Winter Soldier, who are both still staring at him. Peter is a socially awkward disaster at the best of times; he's not that eager to embarrass himself in front of his childhood hero and a world class assassin yet. They’ll have plenty of time for that later when he can’t keep his mouth shut around whoever kidnapped him.
Unfortunately, the first reason ends up sabotaging the second: Captain America's restraints are tied directly to the security system itself. He grips the bars separating their cells and peers at the restraints. Wires trace the outline of the massive manacles suspending his arms in the air. Peter has a sneaking suspicion that breaking those connections might release whatever the glass vials he can see peeking out of the air vents are holding. Crude, but admittedly effective.
Peter grips the bars leading into Captain America's cell (still avoiding his eyes) and tests them, using just a bit of his strength. He isn't surprised when they don't move in the least, but he is a tiny bit disappointed. All of the bars surrounding the three cells look to be the same, which means they're meant to keep in people just as strong as Peter.
That's not a good sign.
Well, Captain America being strung up like a turkey is also a bad sign but whatever. This is probably like a regular Tuesday for the guy. Peter’s still on the new side of being a hero, and this is definitely the first time he’s been kidnapped, so he’s allowed to be a little anxious about it.
The door swings open and an average looking man in a dark trenchcoat steps into the room. There’s absolutely nothing special about the guy. He's almost offensively bland. Middle aged, brown hair with a receding hairline and flat brown eyes. If it wasn’t for his current circumstances, Peter wouldn’t even give him a second look.
Right now, however, he has Peter’s full attention.
"Find something interesting about your new accommodations?" the man in the trenchcoat says, his words tinted with an almost stereotypical German accent. And not a recent accent; this German sounds slightly out of date and forced.
Which confirms one of Peter’s suspicions, at least.
"A few things, yeah," Peter replies, turning to face him, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Well, they all add up to one thing, really. So I’ve noticed one interesting thing in your prison."
"Do tell."
"You're broke," Peter says simply.
The man quirks an eyebrow at him. "You were able to guess that just from being put into one of my cells?"
"It's pretty obvious if you stop to look," Peter replies with an easygoing shrug, watching the man closely. "This whole security system is a ramshackle DIY kit. I'm guessing most of your budget went to the cells and the chains holding back Cap? Which is probably fair. I’d be pretty scared of him too, if I were you. You know, given your history."
That earns him a narrow eyed look from the man.
"So I can also guess that being in Hydra isn't exactly lucrative these days," Peter adds, half to himself while he looks over the security system again. The wires branching off to the lock on Cap’s cell door look weak. If he gets close enough to them, he might be able to short them out and open the door. "Which, again, I'm probably not going to cry over. Also whoever wired this room should be fired, that’s the sloppiest cable management I’ve ever seen."
A long moment of silence follows Peter’s words, and then the man smirks at him, triumphant, his eyes glittering. "You know, I was unsure about your identity until now, but your little demonstration just made my life much easier. Thank you for confirming it."
Peter feels himself go cold. He frowns, facing the Hydra agent. "My identity?"
"Oh, yes. Your father is fond of being as annoying as humanly possible when put in these situations, too," the man replies. He ignores Peter's dumbstruck expression to focus on the other two prisoners. "Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, say hello to Peter Parker, Tony Stark's son."
What.
Captain America and the Winter Soldier's heads snap towards Peter again. He ignores them, staring at the man in the trenchcoat, who grins at him smugly.
"I think you're a little off target, pal. I'm just an intern for Mr. Stark,” Peter says.
In answer, the man turns on a holoprojector on the table. An image of the Compound appears, Peter and Tony walking side by side. Tony looks completely relaxed, with one arm casually slung across Peter's shoulders. He's making some grand gesture with the other arm and Peter is grinning up at him like a starstruck idiot.
Peter pauses for a beat. "Okay, so that looks a little suspect but--"
The Hydra agent presses a button and several more images cycle through. Tony giving Peter keys to one of his precious cars for his driver's license test. Tony walking down a snowy sidewalk, deeply immersed in a phone call while Peter winds up to throw a snowball the size of a grapefruit at the back of his head. Tony laughing uproariously at Peter as he flinches back from a pigeon pooping on his shoulder.
The Hydra agent shuts off the holographic projector and quirks a brow at Peter.
"First of all, that's very creepy," Peter says. "Also, why did you keep that last one?"
"It amused me," the man replies smugly.
Great. The eugenicists find him amusing. Also they seem to be very dumb. "And you've kidnapped a sixteen year old because why? Come on, man, summer just started."
"I have a use for you," the agent replies. "Well, a potential use for you. It depends on your blood test."
"Wait, you took my blood?" Peter asks. He rolls up the sleeve of his hoodie and finds a thin trickle of dried blood along the inside of his elbow.
"Yes, obviously,” the man says, exasperated. “We also kidnapped you. Why are you more offended by losing a vial of blood than you are for being kidnapped?"
"Dude. You don't just steal people's blood."
“We are Hydra,” the man retorts, partially in disbelief. “We stole you from the steps of your school, and brought you across the country---”
He stops suddenly.
Peter tilts his head, smiling innocently. “So, I’m still in the US, which makes sense. Smuggling people out of the country is pretty expensive and we've already established you're under a budget. And across the country. I’m guessing the desert? Probably New Mexico or Arizona, definitely an underground bunker judging by the sound of the vents. How close am I? Oh, maybe California! I’ve always wanted to visit Disneyland.”
He gets nothing but a scathing look in reply, and Peter’s grin grows cheeky.
Okay, maybe he has been spending too much time with Tony.
Whatever.
The Hydra man turns his back to them, going back to his desk. Captain America is watching Peter closely with an expression caught somewhere between guilt and extreme concern. The Winter Soldier watches him from the corner of his eye, jaw clenched. Peter begins to worry he’s upset some kind of power balance here; his snark might cost both of these guys something. Food, water, maybe something else.
Although, from everything he’s heard, Hydra also has no issue with beating the snot out of a mouthy teenager, too. He decides to dial back the quips. A bit. He should be focusing on how to get out of this mess anyway.
He sneaks a look over at Captain America and is partially relieved to see he's now staring daggers at the back of the Hydra agent's head. If looks could kill, the agent would be a smoldering pile of ash right now.
A bakelite phone on the small desk rings suddenly, and the man in the trenchcoat grabs it and presses it to his ear, his back facing the three prisoners. Peter can’t make out what’s being said; too muffled. That doesn’t seem to ring true for Captain America, who strains to hear the phone conversation. He looks disturbed by what he’s hearing.
The man in the trenchcoat sighs, sets the phone down and turns to face Peter. He scowls at him. "You are dying."
Peter stares at the man, blank faced. Usually they threaten death. Things like 'I will kill you.' or 'you will die for that!' and other melodramatic nonsense. Hearing it in the present tense is weird. And inaccurate, as far as Peter knows.
“Uh, no, I’m not?” Peter replies. He’s so confused that his tone becomes utterly unconvincing.
"We tested your blood. There are traces of radiation in it. Cancer treatment." The Hydra agent sneers. "And judging by what my people have found, the treatment is failing."
Peter stares at the man blankly until realization hits. They found his spider mutation and assumed it was cancer. This changes things. First, it paints Hydra pathologists in a very poor light. Second, it gives Peter a chance to set their expectations on his ability to escape low enough that they'll definitely slip up.
Fuck yeah, cancer.
He can feel Captain America and the Winter Soldier staring at him, horrorstruck. He ignores them both. They might see the lie painted right across his face.
"What is your prognosis?”
"What?" Peter asks,
"How long do you have to live?" the man asks, annoyed.
"Um, it’s terminal. There's nothing they can do for it," Peter says warily. Technically true; his spider powers aren't going to just disappear. He is terminally half spider. "We're at the 'play it by ear' stage, according to T--dad."
That feels weird to say out loud. God, hopefully he doesn’t have to repeat it or make a habit of it. He doesn’t know who would flee the room first if he ever said it to Tony. Peter would lob himself out of the nearest window if he accidentally said it during their weekly dinner and he’s pretty sure Tony would do the same from an opposite window, if only to avoid the awkwardness.
Pepper’s face would probably be priceless, though.
The Hydra man scoffs. "Four weeks or less, then. This will complicate things."
He gives Peter one last scathing look before leaving the cell area, and Peter finds himself feeling more than a little offended over it. The man found out a kid has cancer and acts like it's inconveniencing him? What a dick.
Well, okay, he doesn't have cancer but the point still stands.
An awkward silence follows. Captain America and the Winter Soldier continue to stare at him, and he fidgets uncomfortably.
"Uh. Hi, Captain America. Sergeant Barnes," Peter says.
"Hey," the Winter Soldier replies, clearly just as socially awkward as Peter. "You might as well call us by our real names, kid. Bucky and Steve."
“Oh. In any other context, I would absolutely lose my mind over this and ask for, like, autographs or something,” Peter says absently.
The room falls into awkward silence.
"Why didn't Tony tell us about you?" Steve asks quietly.
How the hell does he answer that? Peter is quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "We only met the day he went to Germany," Peter finally says, feeling very strange lying to Captain America like this. He can't risk telling the truth; this room is definitely bugged for sound. Like it or not, he’s all in on this lie. "He pretty much jumped on a plane after we first met. And then I didn't see him after that because of Rhodey's surgeries. Happy looked after me when he could, but he was pretty busy, so I just kind of....didn't see him for awhile?"
Of all possible reactions Peter expects from that, he was not prepared for the look of crushing guilt on Bucky's face, nor the heartbroken one on Steve's. For the life of him, he can't figure out why they look so upset.
"I mean, he made up for it later? It was kind of a rocky start, I guess. It happens. And that was awhile ago anyway, so whatever,” Peter rambles, mostly to himself. After a few moments of intensely awkward silence, he clears his throat and looks at the two men. “So, uh, how did you two end up here?”
“That’s not important at the moment,” Bucky says. “You should focus on yourself.”
“Bucky’s right,” Steve says with a sigh. “Just settle in. Wait for the others to find us.”
That’s as sound a plan as any, given that they’re all trapped in cages specifically meant to nullify their strength. Peter sits down on the cement floor, half hugging a knee to his chest. “Why do you think they grabbed me? I’m not that important.”
“If you weren’t important, they would have killed you,” Bucky says dryly.
"Oh. Comforting."
Bucky presses on. "They want something from you. Whatever it is, don’t give it to them. Hold out as long as you can.”
That’s terrifying. “Wow. Thanks for the tips.”
“Just wait. Settle in. And don’t antagonize them,” Bucky says. “All right?”
“Yeah. Alright.”
* * *
Days pass. Food comes in once a day. Well, ‘food’ of some description. It’s not good, whatever it is, but Peter’s hungry enough to devour the tasteless glop. The guards feed Steve by hand. They shove Bucky’s tray through the bars, staying as far out of his reach as they possibly can.
Peter can handle bad food. He can even handle the strangely silent guards and cold cells. That’s not the worst part of this whole ordeal.
It’s the boredom. There’s nothing to do. Nothing to talk about, not without risking blowing his cover, such as it is. Hydra doesn’t actually know Peter is Spiderman, and the longer Peter can keep that quiet, the better. Peter has to stop himself from crawling the walls out of boredom for very similar reasons. Literally. He got frighteningly close to doing it once before he caught himself.
God, he doesn’t do well when told to still and be quiet. He never has. Cap and Bucky seem capable of it (as well as having conversations entirely through Significant Looks between each other; weird), and neither have said anything since the day Peter arrived. Nothing at all. It’s eerie.
One day, he just can’t help it. The silence is dragging on him, making him restless, and if he has to endure another second of it, he might just scream. “Hey, Cap?”
Steve looks up at him, tilting his head slightly. There’s a certain strain to his eyes whenever he looks at Peter that hasn't left expression since they met.
“Can I ask you a question?” Peter asks.
“I think you’ve just asked me two of them,” Steve says, smiling wryly. It’s weak and more of a grimace than anything else, but it’s there. “But sure, go ahead.”
“How did you survive doing that PSA on puberty?” Peter asks bluntly. “I mean, that had to be absolutely mortifying. Do you know how many people who had very confusing sex dreams about you throwing condoms at them after that?”
“Nevermind, I’m not answering any more questions,” Steve answers immediately and with more than a touch of panic.
“Aw.”
“Please tell me you didn’t tell your old man about that,” Steve says after a few moments. At Peter’s answering shit eating grin, he sighs. “Of course you did.”
Bucky chuckles quietly in the background. “Kid, please tell me those are online somewhere.”
“Youtube,” Peter answers. “This auto-tune channel I watch made a contest for the best remix. I think all of the submissions are on Spotify.”
“Got any favorites?” Bucky asks.
“Remind me and I’ll send you the Best Of playlist.”
“Do not send that to Sam,” Steve cuts in.
“No promises,” Bucky responds, smirking.
Steve sighs in defeat and shoots Peter an exasperated, but friendly look. "Alright, kid, I've got a question for you."
"Uh, sure. Hit me," Peter says, curious as to what
Steve nods to his shirt--one of his few sports shirts--with a slight grin. "Think the Mets will make the World Series this year?"
Peter grins.
What follows is a shockingly vibrant conversation about baseball. A conversation wherein Peter learns Captain America, Steve Rogers, is wrong about baseball.
“No, you’re wrong,” Peter says. “You’re--listen, that rule is there for a reason--”
“The game is better without it,” Steve retorts. “The rule should be thrown out.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Captain America doesn’t believe in rules.”
“The designated hitter rule shouldn't exist,” Steve insists.
“Kid, you have no idea how many laws Steve breaks on a weekly basis,” Bucky adds. His head is tilted back and his eyes are closed. Peter had thought he was asleep. "Rules are a suggestion at best."
"Part of me respects that, but I will fight you over your very wrong opinions about baseball when we get out of here," Peter says.
Steve chuckles. "Tell you what, when this is all over, I'll take you to a ball game. You can explain it there."
"Deal."
* * *
More time passes. Long enough that the lack of food is starting to catch up with Peter. Steve and Bucky look as healthy and strong as the day they came in. Peter, meanwhile, can feel his ribs under his skin, and has watched his wrists and arms gradually shrink by the day.
Tony theorized Peter’s metabolism would level out when he hits his twenties, but until then, he’ll need half as much food as anyone else just to make it through the day. That’s food he frankly isn’t going to get in this place.
This doesn’t go unnoticed by either of the supersoldiers. That stressed, guilty expression on Steve’s face grows deeper by the day, and Bucky isn’t much better about hiding his concern. There’s still the occasional talk about baseball or where the best bagel in New York can be found (Steve maintains the place near his apartment in Brooklyn is the best, and Peter vehemently disagrees with that; Bucky’s opinion is that they both need to calm down about bagels), but there’s a strain to their banter now. Every day that passes without a visit from their captor is one where the tension builds.
One day, it breaks. The average looking Hydra agent returns, slipping through the steel door leading out into the complex one day with the bored impatience of a bureaucrat falling behind schedule. He sets a small box down on the desk, beside the phone, and looks over the prisoners. His gaze pauses on Peter, and his expression darkens.
"You are losing weight," the Hydra agent says irritably.
"You could try feeding me more?" Peter suggests. “Just a thought.”
"I'm not wasting food on a dying child. Not until you prove your worth to me.”
“Honestly, do you even listen to yourself sometimes? I feel like some therapy to explore that lack of empathy might do you some good--”
“Be quiet or I will tear out your tongue," the man says irritably.
Okay, fair enough.
The man opens the box and starts to rummage around inside of it, pulling out the odd piece here and there. After a few minutes, it becomes clear that he’s setting up a small hologram projector on the desk, right beside that bright red phone.
"It occurs to me, Peter, that we have not been properly introduced. I am Victor," the man says while finishing up with the projector. "And by the end of this, you and I are going to be as old friends."
"I wouldn't bet on it," Peter replies. "You're offensively bland."
Victor pauses in his task to aim a flat, unamused stare his way. Peter matches his stare easily. Finally Victor chuckles, shaking his head.
"I hope you keep that stubborn streak for awhile. It will make our time together that much more interesting." He clicks on the holoprojector and an image of Tony appears. Beaten, bloody, and blatantly terrified.
It takes Peter a moment to realize that this Tony is younger. The Tony he knows has threads of silver just now appearing at his temples and among his goatee; this Tony, despite the dirt, cuts, and bruises, is visibly younger. There’s a date in the corner; 2008. A decade ago, but Tony looks younger by twice that amount.
“This is a video taken of Tony Stark while he was held prisoner, shortly before he built his first suit. I want you to study this closely. We’ll discuss it at length tomorrow.”
He’s handcuffed to a chair, thick cables lead from a car battery and connect to the arc reactor in his chest. The battery sparks whenever Tony’s head is forced into a tub of water. Judging by the way he jerks painfully, plenty of that shock hits Tony and his fragile arc reactor when he’s under water.
Peter feels himself growing nauseous and turns away from it. He can’t escape the sound, however. Eventually, the sound ends, the projector’s image collapses, and the room falls silent.
“Your father sustained two weeks of torture before he broke. I am interested to see if you will last half as long," Victor says idly, tucking away the holoprojector before heading for the door. “Sleep well, Mr. Parker.”
Torture is mostly mental--Peter can’t remember who told him that, whether it was Rhodey, Tony, or Happy--but he does remember that much. Physical pain can only go so far; it’s the threat of the knife, not the actual cuts, that hurts the most.
Peter’s feeling pretty fucking threatened right now.
He doesn't feel like eating much that night.