Kid, tell me what happened: The Sequel

Take Me Home Where I can Sing and Drown (pt 3)

This is part three of Take Me Home Where I can Sing and Drown
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Maybe this was all a dream. A really, bad, horrible dream. A dream where he’d wake up and be in the loving, caring arms of his Dad, who’d gently stroke his curls, hold him close, and tell him that he loved him, so, so much. Peter is unsure of how long he’s been here with Beck, but it feels way too long. 

He wants to be safe, in his warm bed, snuggled against his Dad’s side, with the familiar hue of blue dancing across his eyes, reminding him of that he’s safe and sound. He’s home. 

He wants to go home. 

But he’s so far, too far, from home. 

Peter feels the hyperventilating heaving crawl up his throat, before he finds himself heaving for breath. He struggles against the cold, metal restraints that dig into his wrists, weak whimpers and groans spill through his dry, chapped lips. His curls are plastered with sweat and fall loosely over his eyes, clouding his vision. He feels so itchy, and he can’t itch the itch. He’s starving, and he looks so pale, he doesn’t even recognize that the hand that is attached to his body, is his. The trickling blood creates a wet, metallic stench that makes Peter want to throw up. 

Tears form and roll down his grime-ridded cheeks. Peter moves to wipe the tears that clean the specks of dirt on his face, but is harshly remembered with the stinging sensation of spikes protruding against his weak blood vessels. 

Another whine filled the room as Peter hangs his head forward, clenching his eyes shut. He can’t do this. It’s all too much, he can’t do this! 

Burning white pain explodes through him as flesh harshly makes its mark on Peter’s thin face and can’t help the quivering of his lip, as he harshly sucks in a breath, wanting it to be over. Home. The word rolls off in a weird way in his head, the word sounds so distant, but he knows, it’s there. 

He’s not even sure what’s rooting all of this, but he needs it to stop. 

He’s screaming incoherent phrases, and he doesn’t give a crap whether or not Beck can hear him. 

Everything stops and stills when Beck brought out a needle. 

The panic floods through Peter’s body as he shakes and fidgets, trying to do everything in his power to get the hell out. He’s always hated needles, and most likely will for the rest of eternity. Hasn’t he been tortured enough? 

Beck, as usual, pays no heed to his pleas of mercy, and sharply impales the needle into his flesh, earning a guttural scream that echoes against miles. 

The effect was instantaneous, Peter felt dizzy and sick and his head was pounding him worse then a sensory overload. 

Peter felt his body seize up and tremble and the next thing Peter knew, was darkness. 

That was the last memory that Peter could make sense off when his eyelids fluttered open to find the awful needle still innocently stuck in his arm, pumping some transparent liquid in him, that made him feel really weak. He forced his arm to move, and bit down on his lip so hard that he drew blood at the agonizing pain that shot through his body. 

All he wanted was to go home, was it really too much to ask for?

He forced his fingers to stretch, and even that sent Peter screaming into the empty of the night. 

He began to pant heavily as tears trickled down his pale cream colored face. He tried to be brave and strong like his Dad would have been, but he had never felt more alone and scared before, he wanted someone, anyone, to bust down the door and take him anywhere that wasn’t here. 

He’s grown to hate this small, dark room that’s served as a prison where he feels extremely claustrophobic and an overwhelming amount of fear that makes him wish he were dead rather than stay here. 

He cranes his sweaty head to the right, watching the door that separates him from the rest of his prison, praying that anyone other than Beck will walk through the door and take him away from this scary hellhole. 

He begins to whisper quietly, “God, please don’t let me die here. God, please, get me out of here. God, please take me home back to Dad, Uncle Rhodey, Ned, and MJ. Tell Dad I love him so much, and to please find me, or send him a message, he’ll figure it out, he always does. Don’t let Ned blame himself for Beck taking me, it’s not his fault we wanted to be good students and get ahead on our History project. I never got the chance to tell MJ how I felt about her, and tell Uncle Rhodey I miss his puns and his warm hugs. God, please don’t let me die alone, at least not here in this creepy and scary place that I don’t even know geographically on the map.” 

He weakly calls out, “Beck! Let me out of here! Let me out!” His cries pick up again as he softly sobs to himself, slightly banging his head against the table that holds him captive. He has to get out of here, think of something, but with all the stuff Beck’s done to him, he’s so weak. 

Peter has to admit, Beck knows what he’s doing. The penetration of objects piercing his skin only hurts and more and more, and only hurts worse each and every time. 

He calls out to Beck in a slightly louder tone, and sinks his head back down where more salty droplets race each other to the floor quicker. Peter watched sadly as the left one plopped to the floor first, and the right one milliseconds after. It’s not fair that he’s here, strapped to a table and hasn’t eaten in God knows how long, and feels like a shell of himself and everyone else gets to continue with their day to day life. 

He’s just left alone with his mind right now, which seems more dangerous than being with Beck. 

Are people even looking for him?

Surely they must be, his Dad wouldn’t willingly abandon him, he loved him. He had a lot of people who loved him. Like Uncle Rhodey, the rest of the Avengers, and his best friends Ned and MJ. They’re out there searching for him, he knows. He’s sure that they miss him, and are doing everything within their infinite power to do so. 

But he can’t help a small black thought form and tell him that maybe they’re not looking for him. Maybe his family doesn’t care about him, and are happy that he’s gone. Happy that he’s no longer in the picture. 

Peter shakes his head ever so gently, arguing back that someone out there is searching for him. 

He mentally quips, maybe it’s his principal. A dawning realization overcomes Peter, he hasn’t been to school! He missed out his projects, tests, quizzes, and homework! How many days has it been since he was taken? A week? A month?

Multiple thoughts began to spiral into Peter’s head and all Peter can helplessly do is let the panic itch through his arteries throughout his body as he suddenly becomes very sweaty and can’t control himself anymore. 

That’s when he realizes: he’s having a panic attack.

And there’s no one there to help him out of it. 

He feels his breath become sharp and jaggy and he  swears that he’s losing his mind. He’s inhaling too much, and exhaling too little, he yells out, “BECK!”

He’s met with no reply, and a bouncing darkness. 

A/N: Hey guys, how's it going for y'all? Today, I'm uploading s i x  oneshots so y'all can't say I'm not nice....
I've also decided to do QOTC cause I want to get

QOTC: What's your favorite color?
Me: Red