Chapter Text
"I'm not hungry."
Peter stared at his hands, shackled to the table with what he assumed to be vibranium, as he sat at the long dining table. The plate that sat between his arms had a hearty serving of Mac and cheese, he even saw the steam coming from it so he knew it was still piping hot. Atleast that's what it looked like.
He knew now that he couldn't trust what he couldn't smell.
He looked up and across the table to where Beck was seated, at the very end of the table like one of those creepy vampire movies, anticipating the disappointed look he received. Beck put down the fork he was using for his own plate of Mac and cheese, and instead crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his throne.
Yes a throne, Peter wished he was lying but the damn thing always stuck out like a sore thumb and was pretty difficult not to stare at.
"C'mon Peter, don't be rude in front of our guests."
Peter's eyes flicked around to the rest of the table where honest to God dolls sat, and yes it was exactly like that one scene from Wednesday. Except where it was cold and dark there, here it was well decorated and bright. Though Peter knew to never trust it. The place always changed shape and form, constantly changing to the point where Peter never knew what the inside of wherever he was actually looked like.
He thinks that the worst part about this particular setting was that the dolls actually moved. They were all turned around in their seats and sat staring at him right now, their faces of porcelain were white and shining, their unseeing glass eyes pierced his own and caused him to involuntarily shiver. But could you blame him? He thinks that anyone who was surrounded by their loved ones in the shape of fucking dolls would have already fainted like some old Victorian woman.
And yes, the dolls are in the forms of his friends of his family.
On the right side of the table sat Mr. Stark, Ms. Romanoff, Mr. Barton and a few of the other Avengers. Whereas on the left side of the table sat May, Ned, Mj and the rest of the Avengers. Beck had said that this was a family Thanksgiving dinner, and that they were all going to eat and have fun like the big happy family they where. Peter's sure he's still going to have nightmares of the dolls fucking talking when they were all holding hands and taking turns in saying what they were all greatful for, because of course they had to do that.
"I'm grateful that Peter's gone now so that I don't have to keep spending money on him!" said the May-doll in May's actual voice, sounding way to cheery for what she just said.
"I'm grateful that Peter's not around anymore so that we don't have keep training the asshole," proclaimed the Sam-doll while nodding his porcelain head as though he'd said something wise. Peter just stayed silent as he held Doll-May and Doll-Tony's hand, which when he thought about it didn't feel like porcelain at all but he had already learned that if he didn't play along he had a lovely hour of water-boarding awaiting him.
"Like father like son!" Beck had excitedly exclaimed the first time Peter had been subjected to the bathtub.
"I'm grateful for the fact that Peter's gone so that I don't have to deal him being a burden to the whole team. I mean honestly, we're not your fucking parents, cant you deal with some things on your own?" Doll-Tony basically spat at Peter, venom lasing every word spoken. There were murmurs of agreement throughout the table, and even Beck was nodding his head as if in understanding.
"Yeah!"
"He's so clingy-"
"Honestly quite annoying-"
"Needs a fucking babysitter-"
"Burden-"
"Weak-"
"Worhless-"
"This is ridiculous. I know it's not real Beck," Peter said as the dolls kept shouting over each other, locking eyes with Beck across the table with exasperation.
"Well of course this isn't real!," Beck exclaimed loudly, throwing his hands up in the air as though he was exasperated with Peter himself. He stood up and started to walk towards where Peter was seated.
"But what they're saying sure is! C'mon Pete, you can't really deny it!"
The moment he started to approach him Peter had gone rigid, still with fear and paranoia, unsure of how this was going to go. In the few weeks Peter had been spending here cooped up with Beck since getting kidnapped he had learned that Beck was the textbook definition of an unstable person. He was unpredictable, something that made him laugh one day caused him to yell in anger in another.
He'd sometimes shake his head and ignore Peter's quips and snark, and other times he'd wrap his hands around Peter's neck and squeeze to the point where he passes out. The latter happened more often than he'd like.
Beck came up to the left of Peter and knelt down beside him, looking up at Peter with a sorrowful expression on his face. The fake display of worry and concern had Peter feeling sick.
"Kid-"
But Beck didn't get further than that as Peter spat directly at his face, getting the corner of his eye.
"You don't get to fucking call me that you asshole," Peter hissed, hands straining against the chains as he let go of the dolls' hands and tried to move in an attempt to do, something. But per usual the chains held.
Beck's face became completely blank as he wiped away the spit from his face with his hand. He stood up slowly, still staring at Peter with not a crack in his facade, before promptly grabbing the nearest plate and smashing it across his face.
Pain blossomed on the left side of his face and he let out a pained shout, wincing as he felt the warm blood run down in rivets. He could feel the individual large chunks of what was once a plate imbedded into his skin, one of them was dangerously close to his eye aswell. He couldn't use his hands to do anything so he was stuck sitting there, wincing if he moved his face in a way that hurt.
"So that was it? Did having your little tantrum help calm you down princess?" Dammit, he knew Mr. Stark had said that him not knowing when to shut up was going to be his undoing, but he didn't think it would've been in front of the rejected cast of Annabelle. However in all fairness this was also his mentor's fault since the guy had flipped of a bunch of reporters not even a week before Peter was kidnapped.
He hates thinking about the kidnapping.
He had been at the airport standing next to Ned, just lettong his eyes roam around, when he had seen Happy standing outside with Morgan through the windows. Happy impatiently waved him over and kept pointing at Morgan for some reason so he knew it must've been important. He rushed outside and noticed that they'd moved from where they were standing, further from the airport and near some desolate playground.
He quickly walked over to Happy, mouth open to ask about a hundred questions, when he felt his spidey-senses scream.
He didn't have time to try and defend himself by the time he felt something hard connect with the back of his head. After that all he saw was black.
Which is how he ended up here, in a house full of illusion, with a man that makes Loki look like a saint. He must've really pissed someone of in his past life to end up here.
"Aw Pete, your poor little face. Now why would you make me do that?" Beck reached out and cupped the left side of his face, being gentle around the pieces of ceramic imbedded there. Peter tried pulling his face away, but that led to Beck gripping his face harshly.
Peter knew better than to anger Beck further, not wanting to get any more injured than he already was. So he sat still and let Beck wipe away some of the blood with his shirt sleeve, but he didn't remove any of the plate pieces stuck to his face.
"There we go kiddo! Sadly I won't remove those little pieces, consider it a... punishment of sorts. But don't worry! You'll still have your pretty little face, just slightly deformed."
Beck finished that statement with a clap of his hands, smiling like he had just told Peter that he'd one the lottery.
Peter just stared at him, baffled and, even if he refuses to admit it, slightly terrified. The guy was a lunatic, and had been showing him illusions of his friends and family for as long as he remembers being stuck here. Illusions that were more twisted than the last. Yesterday was by far the worst. Watching his uncle bleed out on the wooden floors of the living room over and over again was for sure something he couldn't forget.
And the day before that he was in a ballet studio, watching as Nat spun around in pirouettes till her feet started to bleed. He had no idea why Beck had shown him that, and when he asked the guy had just shrugged his shoulders and said that Peter must've missed practicing with her so he was generous enough to let him experience some of it again.
Peter was more worried of the fact of how Beck knew about the ballet with Nat. It always creeps him out thinking about how long Beck had been spying on him for.
"Dude, you need serious help. And that's coming from the kid that needs therapy himself. Take it from me, this is no way to handle a grudge. " Peter said, indicating to the rest of the table where all the dolls sat.
Beck merely gave Peter an irratated look, before spinning on his heel and walking out the door, leaving Peter alone with the dolls.
"Kid's a menace," said Sam's doll.
"Atleast you're similair enough." Peter sighed, letting his head rest on the table as the dolls kept talking. He swears that he's never going to step foot in antique shop ever again.
Later that evening when Peter was chained to his bed he thought about them. His family and friends, wondering if they're okay, and hopefully aren't worrying to much about him. He assumes that since he was kidnapped at an airport during a field trip that it must've gotten on the news somehow.
He sighed, lying down on the old mattress and tried to get as comfortable as possible with a ratty blanket and no pillow. He closed his eyes, thinking of ways of escaping, before falling to an uneasy slumber.