Flesh & Bone (Kidnapping AU Chapter 4)
WARNINGS
Kidnapping
Mental Illness/Psychological Disorders
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FOUR
If Peter was thankful for anything during this night terror was that Mr. Stark hadn’t tied him up. Victims in films were always tied to the bed. Still Peter couldn’t really move. Each time he shifted his body even a little, sick rose in his throat and his head spun round. His eyes remained shut the damp smell from the hotel room had gone now replacing a smell of pine. He knew they must have left the hotel room. But Peter couldn’t remember if he had awoken or if Mr. Stark carried him out like a father would a child.
Peter’s stomach flipped and he snuggled in closer to the pillow his head rested on. He was in different clothing than before. Still baggy and soft against his skin. Peter somewhat remembered Mr. Stark laying him down on the hotel bed. His body exposed to the older man’s gaze and suddenly being handled around like a rag doll. As Mr. Stark pulled on clothes for him to wear.
Sounds came from the man’s mouth but Peter couldn’t understand a word. Fingers pressed into tender spots on his shins and knees and Peter could only guess that Mr. Stark was fussing over his bruised skin. Only Peter couldn’t explain about the bruises. Not that he could understand where they came from. They’d be gone in a few hours from his accelerated healing, but with whatever Mr. Stark was giving him. Peter was terrified that might not be the case. Everything from his senses to his reaction time seemed to slow down. Almost like it had been when he was normal, but Mr. Stark couldn’t do something like that could he?
I think he can. Peter thought grimly, tugging slightly at the blanket that was around him. He was starting to feel like he was in the middle of a fire. Peter cracked a eye open. Everything around him twisted and turned, brown and blurred.
Peter was definitely not in the hotel anymore. The walls and ceiling were wood: long logs planked tightly together. It wasn’t overly light in this room, maybe a lamp was turned on beside him, but it hurt his eyes. Peter squeezed his eyes shut and opened them slowly again, looking around cautiously. He wanted to to find Mr. Stark. He was ready to discuss what the man had promised last night. At least what Peter thought was last night.
Had to be. He thought, bringing his hands to rub at his eyes, there’s no way I wouldn’t remember at least being in a hotel room again.
Peter tasted vomit in his mouth, and he swallowed it back. He’s mouth salivated at nausea circulated around him. He knew if he was going to puke, but he squeezed his eyes shut. There wasn’t anyway he was willing to lose the contents in his stomach. Peter had no idea where the toilet was and if he made a mess he wasn’t sure if Mr. Stark or himself would be the one to clean it up.
He didn’t want to find out. Peter’s throat felt thick, rasping and useless. He tired breathing deeply through his nose. The sounds emulating around the room gave him something to focus on.
While trying to calm his stomach. Peter mentally check down his body. All four limbs were there, Peter wiggled his fingers and toes. All were working just fine. Peter ran a hand down his stomach a new sweater pooled upward leaving his stomach exposed. Peter felt the sheet beside him and let his hands wander down to his thighs. With one shaky hand he lift the waistband of his sweatpants and plunged his hand in. Thankful to find a pair of boxers hugging his waist.
Peter let out a sigh, letting his hand feel through the fabric. He didn’t know what he expected to find, or even what he was expecting. Maybe blood. Torn flesh. Any from of pain. But there was nothing like that. He didn’t want to think of the possibility of Mr. Stark forcing himself inside of him. Peter couldn’t think that would be something the older man would do, but there were missing hours that Peter knew he couldn’t retain, and the man was manipulative already.
What if it was all an act?
“Peter, get your hand out of pants.”
Peter swung his head around, trying to find the older man. His eyes still weren’t seeing clearly. Mr. Stark was beside him, he could hear that. He tried pushing himself to the other side of the bed, away from Mr. Stark, but his arms weren’t strong enough. They shook and then collapsed under his weight as he laid back down on the sheets. The blood pumped through him almost making a promise to wake himself up.
“Do you have to use the bathroom?”
Peter tried using his voice, but only managed a whimper. His mouth was against the pillowcase. Drool escaping and making a puddle against his cheek. He could hear Mr. Stark somewhere taking a step.
“I’ve got some food for you.”
Peter flinched at the older man’s voice. Where was he? How close? Peter opened his eyes a little. It didn’t hurt as much. Next to the bed on a nightstand sat a new pair of jeans that was neatly folded the lamp beside it was the light source in the room.
Peter could hear Mr. Stark take steps coming closer towards him. Peter tried curling up, tried to get away. Everything felt heavy. Slow. But his brain was working and his heart was racing.
Please no more injections! He screamed inside his head.
When Peter blinked once more he came face to face with a pair of blue jeans. His eyes were level with the material between the older man’s knees and crotch. Mr. Stark didn’t say anything only reached down with a slight groan and put his palm against Peter’s forehead. Peter didn’t dare move. His breathing stop short as he tilted his chin upward and stared at the man’s face.
Peter didn’t know why, but he’d almost didn’t expect Mr. Stark to be there. Almost wished to see a stranger’s face and not of his idol. He didn’t want the person standing there, beside the bed, to have the same face Peter had always found so attractive for so long. But there stood Tony Stark. Those striking dark eyes, that brown hair. Maybe it was Peter’s fucked up brain, but he couldn’t fathom the man being evil only that he was just simply beautiful.
Mr. Stark’s face was etched slightly with concern. Eyebrows knitted together as he pushed the hair off of Peter’s forehead. Something Peter was finding out was Mr. Stark’s favorite thing to do. Peter wondered if Mr. Stark was waiting on him to speak, but he kept quiet only reaching up and moving the blanket upward so just his eyes were uncovered. His eyes never leaving the older man’s. Peter knew the older man was waiting for Peter to ask the burning questions, but staring into those almost black eyes. It left Peter speechless.
“We’re home now.” Mr. Stark said. “You’re going to feel sick for a bit, from the drugs. It’ll be awhile before you start feeling normal.” Mr. Stark took a shallow breath and sat down. The bed shifted downward and Peter moved his legs away.
“Where are we?” Peter asked, his voice cracking.
Mr. Stark paused before answering. Peter watched as the man took a deep breath. His clothing rustled as he changed his position. It was then Peter realized he couldn’t hear any other sounds just Mr. Stark from his body movements to the sounds coming from his mouth.
“Right now? You’re in your room. Tonight, you can spend it in my room. I just want to know that you’re safe here. With me.”
OOO
After questioning about the food presented in front of Peter. Mr. Stark promised that it wasn’t laced with drugs. Peter doubted it but his stomach had given off several growls and he had given up on holding the bowl to let the older man help him with the soup. Falling in a trance with Mr. Stark’s slow movements of blowing on the steaming meal and letting his mouth fall open every time the man presented spoonfuls to him.
After a helping of chicken noodle soup and enough water to coat his dry throat Peter had fallen asleep again. He didn’t know how much longer he slept for maybe a couple of hours. Everything had been hazy, and he hadn’t had enough sense to ask Mr. Stark all those burning questions.
While coming back to reality. Peter noticed he had sweated during his rest. He felt sweaty and damp his loose clothing sticking against him. Peter could smell his stench and he brought a hand to wipe away the sweat on his brow. His bladder full and wanting to have release.
Peter laid there, listening. His ears straining to hear something. But it was silent. Weirdly so. There’s wasn’t even the creak or shuffle of Mr. Stark. There was no sound of the city. No traffic noises or sounds of people. No distant hum of a highway. No trains rumbling. Nothing. It brought a thrill of anxiety throughout Peter. There was just the room that Mr. Stark had said was Peter’s, and a warm heat emulating around him.
Peter began to test his body, cautiously lifting on leg and then the other, wiggling his toes within his socks. His limbs didn’t feel so heavy this time. Peter knew he was finally more awake. As quietly as he could, he began to push himself upward. Peter let himself look around. Mr. Stark wasn’t in here. It was only Peter. Peter, plus the queen sized bed that he was lying on. A small bedside table, a chest of drawers and a desk with a small bookcase on top. Peter’s eyes flickered across the neatly aligned books but didn’t process the titles. It slightly reminded Peter of his room back in queens except there were no pictures on the walls. Nothing that personalized Peter everything was plain, but it was comfortable.
There was a window to his left. A sheer curtain covering the outside. It was bright out there. Maybe mid-afternoon. It brought a coldness that Peter wondered if they were somewhere upstate New York? Maybe Maine? And the door to the room was right in front of Peter.
Peter waited for a few more moments, straining to hear Mr. Stark come back. Then he struggled to get to the edge of the bed. His head was spinning enough to tip him over, but he got there. He gripped the mattress and made himself breathe.
Cautiously, he put one foot on the floor. Then the other. Peter let his feet take his weight, breathing deeply in through his nose. He moved his hands over to steady himself by holding the bedside table. His vision blacked out a little, but he was able to stand. With eyes closed, listening. There was still nothing to hear.
He reached for the jeans, sitting back down on the bed and wiggling the baggy sweats off his jello legs. The jeans fit him perfectly not too loose not too tight. The button dug into his bladder and he sighed out trying to fight against his bladder losing control.
Peter noticed a pair of brown leather boots. Lace-up and sensible. Definitely not something a city boy like him would need, but if Peter could guess he wasn’t in the city anymore. Peter knew with his sock covered feet it would be much quieter to escape. So, he grabbed for the boots and tucked them under his arms. If anything it would be a good weapon to smack Mr. Stark with if he had to.
Peter got up and stumbled slightly for the door, trying his best to be as quiet as he possibly could. The flooring was a cream color fuzzy carpet that reminded Peter faintly of a cloud. He shook his head and wondered when his body and mind would stop the nonsense of being on the drugs and stepped forward again.
His legs felt stiff, but he got to the door, and he pressed down on the handle. Thankful that the door wasn’t locked. It was darker on the other side. When his eyes adjusted, he saw there was a long corridor everything encased with wood, and sharp corner leading down to somewhere Peter had no idea where. There were four doors along the walls. Two to his left two to his right, and one at the end. All of them were shut and Peter wondered if there had to be a bathroom at least in one of the rooms around him.
The floor creaked slightly when he took his first step. He froze at the sound, but there were no noises from behind any of the doors, nothing to suggest that anyone had heard, so he took another step. His mind working on which door could possibly lead to his escape or at least a bathroom so he could go. Christ, he needed to.
But how many chances would Peter have to escape? Perhaps only one? He crept along the corridor towards the wall that would hid him until he could peer over to see if Mr. Stark was there. He knew when he would get away he could just pee outside. He didn’t care at the moment. He just needed to safely get away. He could run and find someone to help him. He’ll find somewhere to go and get back to Queens.
Peter still couldn’t hear Mr. Stark anywhere the silence bringing his heart to thump against his chest. Peter pressed his hand against the wall to steady himself. The wood was glossed over to prevent splinters and Peter wondered if they had gone to Finger Lakes? He wasn’t sure if they were inside a cabin or maybe lodge. It seemed like he was on a second level and his breathing began to become fast.
He was panting like a dog. Sweat was running from his scalp and down his neck. Along his back and into his jeans. How many days had passed? Peter’s eyes scanned everything as he got closer to the wall with the blindspot. He tried taking small, quiet steps. Even though he wanted to scream and panic. He knew he had to keep control. He had to keep calm and focus on getting out of here.
His back went against the wall, slowly creeping his head out to the side only not to be face to face with Mr. Stark but a balcony that shed more gray light into the lodge. Peter stepped out and made his way across the corridor taking in the luxurious house. Anger pooling inside him at the thought of Mr. Stark taking him to a resort or some fancy getaway like he wasn’t trying to keep Peter against his will.
Peter found the stair and slipped down them carefully, going past the homey living room and slipping into the kitchen.
The kitchen was just as spacious as the other rooms and to his right there was a island in the middle. Cupboards all around and the curtains were drawn. There was a door at the end showing a long expansion of a patio.
Outside. Peter thought, Freedom.
Peter edged along the wall toward it. The pain in his bladder got worse, the jeans becoming too tight against his swollen belly. But he got to the door. Peter put his hand against the cold handle then pressed down. He expected it to be locked. But it wasn’t. He gulped down. How was not locked?
Suddenly Peter then snapped to attention and started pulling the door toward himself. He opened it wide enough for his body to slip through, and stepped straight out. Thankful that a alarm system didn’t sound through the lodge.
The clouded sunlight hit him immediately. Everything was enclosed with a gray lighting. It was chilly and seemed fresh. Peter’s mouth began to water instantly. He leaned back into the doorway, breathing in the fresh air. There was a small distinct odor of smoke but Peter couldn’t pinpoint where it was.
Peter looked around. There was no movement anywhere, no sign of Mr. Stark at all. Besides the lodge, there were two other cabins over to his right. There was a wood shack with a stove that emulated the smoke. Peter walked on wobbly legs stepping down the patio and onto the leaf covered ground. It was wet and it soaked into his socks. He didn’t bother slipping his shoes on. It only would slow him down.
Peter made a sort of choking noise. As far as Peter could tell, there was nothing but trees. A thicket of forest and a lake leading out to the horizon. He was in lumberjack territory and the city that embedded in himself screamed that he wouldn’t survive.
Peter turned circling around himself. There were no other buildings. No roads. No people. No telephone wires or sidewalks. No anything. Just emptiness. Just trees and water. He dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand, and waited for the pain that told him he wasn’t in a nightmare.
Peter knew as soon as he set off that it was hopeless. Where would he run to? Everywhere looked the same. The only thing that made Peter wonder why Mr. Stark didn’t lock the door, why he didn’t tie him up. Peter could run off into the woods or go swimming in the lake. There might not be civilization for miles but at least Peter could get away.
Peter legs were stiff and slow to get going, the muscles in his thighs hurting immediately. His feet stung from the cold ground. Twigs and leaves littered around the damp ground and Peter gritted his teeth when he stepped on something spikey. Peter kept going, his bladder aching with every step. He wanted to get to the woods pull down his pants after running for awhile and relieve himself. He started to pick up the pace. He fixed his eyes on some distant point on the edge of the forest and ran.
Peter’s breath rasped, and his feet stung. He heard something buzzing but he kept going. He got about a few feet from the edge of the woods when a shock halted him to stop. His body seized in a fit of shakes. He was too shocked to shout out, he fell backward his head smacking against the ground. Peter’s breath escaping him as he laid on the ground, eyes wide and staring off into the clouded sky.
“Peter? What the hell are you thinking?”
Mr. Stark was above him, arms crossed and staring down at the boy. Who had started to whimper pitifully.
“What the hell?” Peter asked, voice quivering.
“Come on.” Mr. Stark sighed, reaching down to help the boy up, “around the perimeter there’s a invisible fence. No one can get in-” He paused, brushing Peter’s back and behind to get the leaves and dirt off, “or out unless I want them too.”
Peter stared at Mr. Stark with tearful eyes, backing away from him slowly and began screaming out into the wood. He cried loudly as Mr. Stark stood beside him and shook his head slightly.
“No one is going to hear you.”
Peter began to step further away as Mr. Stark began to advance on him. Peter tried zigzagging, thinking it might slow Mr. Stark down. Peter was half-crazy, gulping and sobbing and wheezing for air. But Mr. Stark remained calm, stepping over to block Peter in from the shockable invisible fence. Peter stopped and changed direction, but Mr. Stark only smiled and began to cage the boy in closer, stopping him everywhere Peter wanted to go. Mr. Stark was drawing Peter in, running him down. Mr. Stark knew it was only a matter of time before Peter couldn’t run any further. Like the predator and prey, except Peter was too frightened and kept going anyway. Until he eventually failed as he got closer to the place where had shocked him.
“Are you done?” Mr. Stark asked, “You won’t find anything out there. There isn’t anyone for miles.”
Peter started crying again, great sobs coming out of him like they’d never stop. Mr. Stark grabbed Peter’s sweater at the back of the neck, pulling him toward the older man. Peter fell to the ground like a toddler about to kick and scream in a midst of a tantrum. Mr. Stark let Peter go and moved his arm close to Peter’s face. Without thinking too much fear and instincts working on overdrive Peter lifted his head, opening his mouth. He sunk his teeth down hard into the older man’s flesh. Peter heard the curses, and he knew he drew blood. He could taste it.
Peter got up and ran towards the opposite side of the yard. Only to stop not knowing where he would be shocked again. Mr. Stark used this to his advantage and tackled into Peter from behind. This time the older man used his whole body to push Peter down. Dirt grazed his lips. And Mr. Stark was on top of him, his chest against Peter’s back. His legs against the top of Peter’s thighs.
“Get off of me!” Peter screamed, wiggling around.
“Just give in, Peter. There’s nowhere to go except for inside.” Mr Stark growled into Peter’s ear.
Peter struggled again but Mr. Stark pressed down harder, holding his arms tightly against the boys sides, squeezing him enough to pinch. Peter was tasting dirt and leaves against his mouth, mixing in with the coppery metallic taste of blood. The older man’s body was heavy against his own.
Fear had won over and it was then that Peter let go of his pee, soaking himself and the man above him. His muffled scream echoing throughout the wood around him.
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