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A week after Peter's 'death' (Thursday)

(Please ask in the comments if you need explaining, I hope I made it straight forward)

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One week had passed since Peter's fake death and his kidnapping. Tony and the avengers had spent that week in silence, taking time to heal.

Everyday, Tony would go from his room to the lab and stay in there trying to clean up peters tinkerings, but could never make it more than 5 Minutes of cleaning, so he would either cry alone or try and distract himself by tinkering.

Steve would run, all day everyday and only come in for dinner and lunch. He tried showing up for others and comforting them, but he needed comforting himself. He loved the kid.

Clint spent every day taking care of Wanda and Nat. They would all play boardgames, somtimes vursing each other and somtimes vursing themselves. Clint had to be strong for them. Wanda spent all Thursday crying, but decided to open up and try to talk. After all, clint had helped after Peitro. Nat had taken the news hard, just like everyone else, yet what made it harder was the fact that Peter had made Nat open up, and more...herself. which is a hard thing for people to do, and an easy thing for Peter to do.

Strange spent the week meditating and trying to calm others. Sam had occasionally ran with Steve, but saw that he needed space.

Bruce had done extra meditating, somtimes with Stephen. He really missed the kid. They had a special connection.

Loki spent all day, everyday by himself in his room. Peter was the one person that made Loki feel like a normal human, and he missed Peter dearly.

Thor tried to visit Loki, but didn't know how to. He's not entirely used to how humans act, and couldn't decide weather to talk, send things of leave him alone.

Bucky would walk. Not like Steve, and around the tower, but into the city. He'd walk around blocks, walk up and down streets, walk to markets and buy plums, come back before dinner and then leave again.

During that week, everyday, Peter would be woken up and thrown into a room, locked from the outside.

This room was all black. So black that you couldn't see how big it was. Cant see the walls. Only things in there was a blade. Sharp. Peter wasn't told what to do with the blade, it only stood there.

After spending hours, which felt like days, in the room, men would enter and throw him into another room.

A white room. All white. They'd inject him with the orange serum, stab him, punch him, slap him, kick him, and then leave all the weapons in the locked room with Peter.

Without saying why.

Then, at night, they would grab Peter and throw him into a bath of ice water, then into a container big enough to fit him, but not big enough to be comfortable. There he would sleep, freezing and uncomfortable.

And then repeat.

It had only been a week, but Peter couldn't tell. They had closed all the windows and doors, so he couldn't see the time or the sun to see an estimate of the time.

He didn't know what was day or night.

He didn't hear any voices, nor was he allowed to speak.

If he spoke without being told to, he'd get punished. If he moved without being told to, he'd be punished. If he looked without being looked at first, he'd be punished.

He didn't eat all day, besides an apple at random times to mess up his eating schedule.

He was getting skinnier by the day, and weaker by the minute.