SpiderMan Avengers One shots Dad!Tony

Are You Sleeping? Are You Sleeping? (1)

Peter is 18, and part of the CIA (just go with it). I'll get to requests after this story. 

...

Peter walked into the room, his curly hair falling over his face. His hands are cuffed behind him and the bright orange jumpsuit contrasts with his pale skin. There is stubble around his chin and jaw, his eyes red and big black and purple bags under them. 

Bruises scattered his body, ugly and terrifying. A scar runs from the corner of his left eye all the way down his face ending in the right corner. He is skinny, but somehow his body holds a tremendous amount muscle. Enough to break from the handcuffs. But not enough to get out of the twenty-two guns trained on him from nearly every angle. 

In the middle of the room is a large metal bed with cuffs where his ankles and wrists would go. He gets shoved onto the 'bed' and then someone unbuttons the top of his orange suit revealing his chest. A menacing woman walks over twirling a knife in her hands. 

Blood. 

He can feel it running down his soft skin and hitting the shiny table, flowing onto the ground. He can feel blood running down his arm and pooling in his palm. Unfortunately, the CIA thinks he is dead. And so does the government. So basically, no one can save him from this. 

So much for spending years of his life working to become the best agent in the whole CIA. He trained for countless hours, physically and mentally. He knows what to do in every situation. Besides this one, it seems. There is one exit. Twenty-two guns trained at him from every angle and mentally insane woman with a knife and a whole other shelf of pointy objects. 

The odds of him getting out? None. He grits his teeth as the blade sinks into his skin once again. After the cut is over, the wound is left burning. But then another one is made. After a few hours, he can feel bandages being placed over his cuts, stopping the bleeding. 

The blood still runs down his body though or is dried to him. He feels the top of his jumpsuit being tugged back together and the restraints lifting from his ankles and wrists. A guard pulls him up, but he can barely stand. 

His vision blurs together and the twenty-two guns look like fifty. The guard grips his arm right where the deepest cut is. But Peter can't wince. He must just keep walking forward. He hears a door being pushed open and the twenty-two guns vanish from sight. 

A cell door slides open and Peter is harshly thrown in. He is too weak to stand up so he just stays their, staining the floor with some of the fresh blood still soaking his bandages. Shivers rack his body but he doesn't have any blankets or clothes. 

A little while later, a woman with bright red hair walked in. A man walks behind her holding a chair. He sets it a few feet in front of Peter. He then roughly picks Peter up and sets him in the chair. He grabs cuffs from the belt on his pants and secures them around Peter's wrists and ankles. 

The woman with Red Hair nods at the man. He exits the room and she steps forward, her heels clicking against the cement floor. She grabs a knife from the waistband of her shirt and twirls it a few times. Peter's breath quickens and his eyes widen. 

Peter can see his reflection in the knife as she spins it around. His skin is pale and his hair is wild. He has bags under his eyes and his skin hangs from his bones. Peter's whole body is tense, pulling at the restraints. That is sure to leave marks later. Not that he really cares. 

"Frere Jacques, Frere Jacques. Dormez Vous? Dormez Vous? Sonnez les matins. Sonnez les machines. Din din don. Din din don." Her terrifying voice rings out throughout the room, Peter clenches his fists tighter and sweat drips from his face. She circles around Peter still holding the knife in her hand, "Are you sleeping? Are you sleeping? Brother John, Brother John? Morning bells are ringing, morning bells are ringing. Ding, dong, ding. Ding, dong, ding ." 

... 

"Peter!" Aunt May yells, sticking her head in the open doorway. 

"Yeah?" Peter says looking up from the homework sprawled on his bed. His curly hair is jelled back and a sweater hangs loosely around his scrawny frame. He adjusts the glasses laying on his nose. 

"I'm leaving for work, the hospital needs me over time tonight so I won't be back until lunch tomorrow. Food is in the fridge, and you know the rules. Love you, Peter," She says while pulling her hair into a ponytail. 

"Ok. Love you too, May." Peter responds in his squeaky voice. After about ten more math problems Peter's stomach rumbles and he sighs pushing himself up from the bed and walking out into the kitchen. 

Pulling open the fridge he grabs a slice of pizza and puts it in the microwave. After it beeps he pulls it out and walks back into his room sitting on the bottom bunk next to all of his homework. The whole apartment is silent making Peter feel uneasy. 

He switches on his Radio and quickly finishes eating his pizza. Before returning to his homework he takes a moment to admire the posters of his favorite heroes. Iron-Man is front and centers the others surrounding him. Peter wishes he could be strong and brave like them. But he isn't. He is very smart though and he likes that. 

With that he writes down a few more answers, turning the music up a little in the process. 

"Dirty deeds and there done dirt cheap!" The radio blares. 

He doesn't really like rock music, but he doesn't feel like trying to find a station he does like. Besides, in an interview Peter watched at least 3,000 times Tony said that Dirty Deeds was one of his favorite songs next to Back in Black. 

"Dirty deeds and th-" 

The radio goes silent. Then out of no where, 

"Frere Jacques, Frere Jacques. Dormez vous? Dormez vous? Sonnez les matines. Sonnez les matines. Din din don. Din din don."