Kid, tell me what happened: The Sequel

Take Me Home Where I can Sing and Drown (pt 2)

Title: Take me home where I can sing and drown part 2

A/N: This gets real dark real fast so if torture is a no no for you you might want to skip this one shot series. But it's not like extreme or graphic torture like semi torture torture if that makes sense. I hope that makes sense. Let's hope that makes sense.

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When Peter’s eyes painfully fluttered open, he found himself in the exact same position as yesterday, cold, limo body against the cold metal table and unbearably tight restraints over his wrists from ankles that stung even if he didn’t move. He darted looking right and left and only then he felt a cold, hard thing around his neck. Peter’s blood went cold and his body stilled as he slowly looked down and doing his very best not to panic when he saw a collar on his neck. 

He struggled against the restraints trying to get out of them, grunting, whimpering, groaning in frustration when all of his efforts were futile and he was just stuck in this place far from home and he didn’t have his Dad, who probably didn’t even realize that he was missing! He leaned his head back trying to remember a tactic his Dad had taught him when he’s on the verge of having a panic attack. He inhaled for four seconds, held it for seven, and painfully slowly exhaled for eight counts. He repeated this ten times and that was when the cold words of Quentin Beck spoke, “Comfy there Peter?”

Peter had so many smart-ass things he could have said right there, but he noticed the evil glint in his kidnappper’s eye and didn’t want to land himself in something he’d only regret later. He craned his head upwards to see Beck sitting on a chair with a small tray of things, that Peter couldn’t exactly make out. He focused back on Beck, the pleasant, innocent look was long ogne, features heavily contorted in anger as fury overcame his expression. Peter felt the fear along with the dreaded anxiety spiral back to life as he nervously called out, “Beck? Everything okay?” He didn’t do anything so he had no clue what on Earth was happening, but he felt so damn scared. Beck only remained silent as he gingerly lifted a blade with white knuckles screaming from abuse and forced it into Peter’s flesh and didn’t react at all when Peter screamed and gasped with jagged breath, pleading for him to stop. 

Instead, Beck did the complete opposite. 

The blade was once again lifted, this time high enough for Peter to nervously watch, and just as he was about to open his mouth and plead otherwise, the blade was sunk deep against his bone, shredding tissue along with tendons as Beck dragged the blade against Peter’s tender skin, not even flinching at the trickling blood, face only betraying an evil smirk stretched upon thin, pink lips. 

After five more torturous minutes of immense pain Beck sharply pulled the blade out letting a strangeled yelp escape Peter’s lips as the blade was cascaded to the side. He walked away for a couple seconds hand clasping an even sharper blade that easily pierced his cream-colored flesh and he bit down hard on his lip, drawing blood out and the metallic taste flooding his mouth. 

The blade was quickly retracted out of his flesh leaving a scream echoing in the dark room as Peter’s eyes clencing shut only wanting his Dad to come and rescue him, hold him, and tell him that it was okay. Or that this was all a horrible nightmare and all he had to do was wake up. He just wanted to be in his Dad’s arms, warm, cozy, and most importantly, safe. He couldn’t think of a place more safer. 

But that safe place was far away, how far Peter didn’t know but here he was at his most vulenable and he couldn’t do a damn thing. He kept his mouth shut, not wanting to land himself in more trouble eyes fickering in worry, dark spots threatening to consume him. 

The man, Beck, he remembered opened his mouth, “Oh? Has Daddy’s little boy never been kidmapped before?” Peter didn’t answer or dare move a muscle. Beck snarled smacking him straight across the face, “Answer me boy when I talk to you!” Peter whimpered as his face stung from the smack replying, “No, no, just stop! Please!” Beck made a tsking sound mocking him, “No, just stop! Please!” He scoffed, “What a baby!” Another smack. Peter felt like sobbing. He advanced towards Peter, getting all up in his face, “You will die here Peter Stark, whether it be today, tomorrow, next week, or six months from now, you will die here. Understand?”

Peter, too terrified to even speak nodded back.

He shrank back when Beck picked up a strange tool that looked a lot like a wrench or a screwdriver and positioned it  an inch over his wrists. Peter was breathing hard and wouldn’t be surprised if he had an anxiety attack right then and there. Peter could practically feel the bubble of anxiety get bigger and bigger as Beck twisted the blade deeper against Peter’s bone, and all he could was helplessly watch the blood seep against the blade and bit back a scream. 

He twisted under Beck’s hold, trying to get away from Beck, away from this creepy room, and just run away, somewhere, anywhere. He needed his Dad, he needed help, not here. 

His vision began to sway, and he heaved for breath, only to be met with the burning feeling of bile crawling up his throat. His body trembled, and his hands felt cold and clammy, and he leaned over and threw up. 

The sweat that was plastered to his head only trickled down his face, and in no way, shape, or form did Beck try to console the teenager, not that it would have done anything. He lurched forward, body slamming against the restraints that prevented him from falling into the puddle of his vomit. 

Beck merely cringed at the sight rolling his eyes mumbling, “How pathetic are you?” Peter bit back a few words he really wanted to say, but where it not for the agonizing pain that shot through him and how sick he felt, he merely passed out. 

A/N: Well that was dark.