Here We Go Again

8: This Was Not According to Plan

(Btw writing that title just now reminded me of that song "According to Plan," or something like that, from The Corpse Bride)

*WARNING: Long-ish chapter with some strong language*

Still August 13th

Peter woke up to a sharp pain in his chest. He tried to roll over when he realized he was changed to a wall. Opening his eyes, he saw he was in a dungeon-like room. The pain was from being kicked by someone- a man, by the looks of it- who was dressed in all black and wore heavy boots.

"You're awake," he said gleefully, leaning down in front of Peter and grabbing his hair, leaning his head back so he could see Peter's face. "Hello" he said. It was obvious he was awaiting a greeting of his own, but Peter refused to talk to the man whom had kidnapped him and kicked him in the chest.

"Fine, little princess. You don't have to talk to me. I'll talk to you." Peter felt offended that this man called him princess; the only person who could call him that and not get at least punched in the arm was Wade. "I guess I should introduce myself, huh?" Peter nearly laughed; the man's voice reminded him of Oswald Cobblepot's from Gotham.

Peter stayed silent and the man sighed. "Well aren't you just a little bitch? You are cute though, I have to admit. I bet our boy Wade is very lucky to have you, isn't he princess?" Peter narrowed his eyes. "Oh, touchy subject?" he teased, letting his grip on Peter's hair loosen enough to ruffle it with his fingers.

"Fuck you," Peter spat, kicking his leg. He hit the guy in the thigh, but it seemed his outfit had some sort of padding, as he didn't seem affected in the slightest.

"He speaks!" the man announced to no one in particular. He pulled his hood down and grinned, and Peter winced at the sight. "My name, well, you don't need to know my real name. My friends call me Jacob, so let's leave it at that." Jacob let go of his hair and Peter's head fell forward from lack of support. He lifted his head and glared at the man.

"I'm not your friend," Peter hissed, trying not to stare. Jacob, as he called himself, had one of the worst faces Peter had ever seen in his life. His skin was tinged ugly shades of yellow and purple and blue, like he had been suffocated, or smothered. His eyes were bloodshot and the color of his irises was an eerie green. Dark brown, nearly black hair sat on his head in uneven patches.

"We're going to be stuck together for quite a while, so you'd better get used to it, little sir. Now, when it comes to you, what do I call you? I already know your full name, but which last name do you prefer?" Peter's impulse told him to answer fast and say Parker, but his logic told him not to say anything to this crazy dude.

"I'm going to assume you don't use your middle name, so that's out. Parker, perhaps? Your real name? Possibly Rogers, and you can give yourself the 'Captain America's son' persona. Or do you like Stark better, hmmm? The more wealthy father.  Maybe you like both. Or all three? I don't think so, though, because either way it's a mouthful." Jacob's ahnds were gesturing wildly as he spoke and he sat on the balls of his feet, reminding Peter of how he liked to sit when he was being Spider-Man.

"I don't care," Peter finally said, just wanting to get this guy to shut up. "Why am I here?" he asked, breaking his own rule not to join in conversation.

"Now we're taking!" the guy said excitedly. Despite creepily knowing everything about Peter and kidnapping him from a street corner and being, as Peter guessed, anyways, absolutely insane, he seemed like he could have, at one point, been a nice person.

"So," the man continued, "Peter, you might be wondering why you're here." Peter fought the urge to reply with "No fucking way."

"I know what you're thinking; what's so special about me, regular eighteen-year-old Peter Benjamin Parker Rogers-Stark from New York City? There's one simple answer to that, princess. Money."