The World Is Wide (But I Feel So Small)

Peter

A/N (EDIT 8/12/2020): Hi guys! I just want to take a quick second to clarify something that's been really bothering me. 

I wrote this story in 2017 when I was only 16/17-years-old (over 3-years-ago) and yes, I know that there are some weird parts, parts that could absolutely be written better and parts where Tony or Peter act in a way that is OOC (Out Of Character). This fanfiction was (when I wrote it) only my second work in the IronDad fandom and my first multi-chapter story that I actually planned on completing. 

Just, please take this into consideration when you read and comment. It's embarrassing and kind of hurtful for me to have to read multiple comments of people mocking and making fun of a story that I was once extremely proud of. 

Also, please consider reading some of my newer works ("The Chilling Realities Of Hunting and Being Hunted" "Dream In Colors Borrowed From The Sea") because I can assure you, they are a lot better than this. 

Thank you! ❤️

NEW 2020 EDIT: THIS IS NOT STARKER.

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When Peter opens his eyes, the world is tilted sideways.

Blinking rapidly, the teenager breathes in, his chest rattling with a wheeze, eyesight slowly becoming clearer as he tries to lift his heavy head. He gets it halfway up, feeling the kink in his neck pop as he looks up through his eye-lashes around the dimly lit room.

A slightly swinging light comes into view above him, the dim yellow bulb casting warping shadows on the dark walls as it is moved by a faint breeze. Water is everywhere, dripping from the tall ceiling, puddles lining the cracked floor and flowing toward the far wall on a slight angle. A metal table, the dull edges glistening in the muted light, sits against a far back wall, the top of it too tall for the young Stark to see what it holds. Shifting his weight, the teen grimaces as the metal cuffs holding him to the wall clink together, his hands clenching and unclenching tightly against the sharp iron as he fights down his panic.

Where the hell is he?

He remembers leaving his father's Tower that morning, throwing his backpack over his shoulder and hugging the man goodbye. His Dad, watching him with warm eyes as he shoved a piece of slightly burnt toast into his mouth, had kissed the top of his head, telling him to remember to stay after for extra tutoring for Spanish. Peter had smiled, calling out a hasty "Love you!" before making a mad dash toward his bus stop, Tony's response getting lost as the wind blew in his ears.

He had barely made it past the first corner before he was taken, his body going limp as a prick in his neck stunned him, his spider senses screaming in alarm. Darkness folded over his eyes, a car engine roaring somewhere behind him. The last thing he remembers thinking is the fact that his Daddy was only a few blocks away, and that he had no idea what was going on.

Peter, blinking back the sudden tears that fill his burning eyes, really wishing he would have heard what his Dad said now, knowing that the words would have offered a small dose of comfort as he lifts his head once more, the room whirling around him as he explodes with dizziness.

Giving a groan, Peter's brain finally begins to restricter the pain he must have been feeling the whole time, his panic having muted the effects.

It starts in his arms, a dull burning sensation that has him gasping, the rusty taste of blood coating his tongue and making him gag. The agony slowly becomes more apparent, his whole body shivering as his wet and freezing clothes and skin makes contact with the air. Teeth chattering, the teenager swallows the bile that threatens to escape as his blurry eyes catch the sight of red littering the concrete floor beneath him, splatters and droplets creating a nightmarish painting.

Panting heavily, the spiderling starts to pulls weakly on the metal holding him to the wall, his sore muscles burning as the drugs he was injected with flows through his veins. The metal squeaks in protest at the force of his tugs, but holds tight, and Peter gasps out a sob, gritting his teeth as a shudder ranks through his small body.

C'mon Peter! He thinks, his sweat matted hair falling into his eyes, the dried blood coating the brown locks sticking to his wet and burning face. C'mon Spider-Man! C'mon!

But his encouraging thoughts are no match for the metal surrounding his wrists, and with a whimper, the teen slumps against the cold wall, his fingers torn raw and blazing red. More blood drips from his head to the mildew infested floor below, the soft splat sounding far more gruesome then the chorus of water droplets that echo through the cell. Gasping, Peter rests his head against the wall, feeling the pounding vibrating through his skull suddenly flare up, pinching his eyes shut tightly as a few stray tears leak out.

I want my Dad.

He tries to ignore the thought, knowing that he has to be strong for whatever is going to happen next, but he is in pain, confused and terrified and he isn't Spider-Man right now; right now he is just ordinary Peter Stark and he doesn't know what- what is happening or what they want with him and- and he just wants his Daddy to find him and make it better.

So Peter cries. He knows that when his captor comes back he has to be strong, but for now he is alone, so he lets it all out. Pushing his throbbing head hard against the dirty wall, the teen stuffs his hand in his mouth to smother the sound of his low wails, the sleeve of his Star Wars sweater getting smushed up against his bleeding nose. As he sobs, he subconsciously breathes in the scent still clinging to the now red fabric, feeling his chest ache at the familiar smell of motor oil and aftershave that fills his senses.

His body shivers from the cool air blowing around the room, his feet squishing in a puddle as he brings his aching legs up against his chest. Hugging himself tight, Peter closes his eyes and tries to pretend that it is his father holding him close and running a soothing hand against his hair, muttering soft words of comfort and kissing the top of his head.

That he is safe.

Still crying, Peter starts to drift off, the panic and pain becoming too much for his body and mind. Clinging tightly to the mental image of his dad still flowing through his thoughts, the young Stark feels his body relax, the tears flowing from his eyes becoming a light stream instead of a raging river. Breathe still coming in soft gasps, Peter listens to the sound of the water hitting the floor as his vision begins to fade, his daddy's face still filling his mind.

A few seconds later, the sound of a footsteps and the loud banging of a steel door opening has him jerking awake.