Shadowbreath: The New Avenger

Chapter 20

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When consciousness finally returned to Alex, the first thing she noticed was that the back of her head throbbed painfully against her skull, giving her a monster of a headache, and dammit, it hurt like a son of a bitch.

The second thing she noticed was that she was unable to move her hands to rub at the offending damage like she wanted to. Alex blinked groggily, and then sucked in a harsh breath when her vision swam with red before clearing up, revealing a familiar dark setting.

The Fold.

She wrenched against her chains that twisted her wrists out to the side. They hadn't made any move to string her up higher, thank God, so her feet were still planted squarely on the metal floor. A noise to her left caused Alex to flinch away, disturbed at how she hadn't noticed someone else in the room.

It was eerily dark around her, but she was able to make out a faint blue triangle illuminating her cellmates' face.

Stark.

Alex struggled against the chains again, whispering harshly, "Stark! Hey!" Relief flooded through her at the knowledge that he was alive, but then a string of curses fell from her lips. "Shit, shit, shit." Joey hated Stark, and he was hell bent on shedding blood. Her father had wanted the billionaire to himself for ten whole years, and she could only imagine what he had planned now that he had him. Joey was going to kill him, she realized with sinking dread, and her insides contorted painfully at the thought.

Stark was a good man who didn't deserve to die. After all that he had given her, all that he had trusted her with in the short time she had known him, Alex wouldn't allow him to die. Just the thought of Peter's reaction made her want to wretch. Peter loved Stark, and he would be devastated if anything happened to him.

Alex watched the outline of Stark's unconscious form with increasing intensity, promising herself that she would do whatever it took to keep him alive.

XX

Peter didn't sleep well.

Of course, that didn't come as a surprise whatsoever, seeing as though his second home had been attacked and that his friend and father figure had been kidnapped by a madman. He was still sweating from his nightmare, so he crept into the bathroom to wash his face.

Looking at his gaunt cheeks, Peter recognized the look behind his cloudy eyes. He had moved past the shock and desperation he felt after the attack, leaving only unrelenting anger in its wake. A deep, seething rage that only festered as soon as he was able to put a name to the emotion.

Tony was gone. Alex was gone. And Peter was left with Captain freaking America. There was a time that his hero worship of the super soldier rivaled his appreciation of Iron Man, but ever since he witnessed Tony's panic attack at just talking about Siberia, Peter resented the man.

And now he had to rely on the guy who betrayed Tony to save him. He didn't regret calling Mr. Rogers, but he wished that he didn't have to. Peter hated, hated the fact that he wasn't able to help stop Alex's father. They had promised Alex they would protect her, and look at what happened. He felt useless. The only productive thing he had done to help was calling Captain America to save the day.

"Peter?" Natasha called from the other side of the door. He quickly dried off his face and went to meet her. She had changed from her skinny jeans into the Widow catsuit, which meant she was all business from here on out. Peter kind of appreciated it, considering the situation. "They're here."

He felt a chill run up his spine in anticipation and pulled out a hoodie from his closet before following her out the door. Peter vaguely wondered when half of his clothes had ended up at the Compound.