Chapter Text
It was a relatively simple mission, bust some weird underground lab, throw some guys who smell like sweat and a ridiculous amount of sanitizer at the police, go back to the tower and listen to Mr. Stark complain about how there aren't any decent pho places around. It was a schedule really, and Peter looked forward to it. It was nice.
It was Far from that today.
The first hint that he should've stopped was when Peter's spidey senses buzzed. Not the usual outside-of-body feeling he got. It buzzed under his skin like fly wings, it buzzed in a way that made him very aware of how his fingertips felt and how long it took his body to remember how to blink.
Tony noticed the hesitation immediately, but didn't comment, discreetly nudging his armored hand against Peter's shoulder before continuing towards the hidden door to the illegal lab, Thor walking nearby, listening to Bruce chatter quietly about equations and how thunder worked with a mildly perplexed expression, but listened nonetheless. Wanda trailing nearby with a raised brow.
Peter jolted slightly before glancing at Tony and following close, glancing around as Tony used his repulsors to cut a large opening in the door to get them all inside. Peter using his webs to obscure camera lenses, the red and blue of his suit a startling contrast to the white interior.
They all split up to cover more space (aka to get this over with quicker) Peter didn't necessarily want to split up, but he had also relatively no say, and no interest to make this take longer than necessary. He wanted to leave. This place just felt.. wrong.. made his senses tingle and eyes itch, like if he rubbed them they'd only get itchier. So he took the west wing of the unfortunately large lab.
When he entered a big room he shuddered and reeled back, trying not to gag behind his mask at the smell. Rot, animal feces, corpses long decomposed. The sounds of scuffling was also hard to miss, claws and talons against metal cage floors or bars.
Peter swallowed hard and glanced around, grabbing the small foldable camera Tony had given to him. How it worked? No clue. He stopped asking that. The soft shutter of the camera catching horrific scenes of dead animals being eaten by either their kennel mate or maggots, jars filled with thrashing leeches, arachnids or maggots that pulsed the wrong colour, he had to swallow down bile a few times, silently wishing he had a smell-blocking mechanism in his mask.
When he got to the shelves full of vials of odd coloured or too-thick liquids he jumped as a soft shuffle sounded from behind him, definitely too heavy to be an animal.
Before he had a time to react his spidey-senses suddenly screamed behind his eyes and he let out a cry, dropping the camera. He pressed the heels of his palms against his forehead and the eye-lenses of the mask, trying to will away the piercing pain stabbing through his head. Barely registering the sharp prick on his shoulder before it shifted to an insatiable burning and he dropped to the ground, writhing and clawing at his neck, trying to get an invisible fire to go out.
His vision bleary as he looked up at the grinning middle-aged man looming over him. Tears blurring his vision as the burning only spread, crawling under his skin and thoughts, he could barely make up from down lest of all make out what the man was saying as he crouched down beside Peter, his cold hands moving to tap Peter's nose through his mask in a mocking excuse of affection. It made Peter's senses flare. Hyper-aware of every contact. How his back met with the cool linoleum below, how his suit rubbed and touched his skin, or how the scientist man's mouth moved with muffled words, he couldn't understand. But he could feel how the man's cold hands started moving over his arms and shoulders. It made him angry. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know why he wanted to rip off his mask and bite the mans' fingers off like some rabid animal. He wasn't an animal. He didn't know why he was getting so angry. His skin was crawling. Because of him. This was his fault.
Peter didn't remember attacking... he didn't. He didn't do that. But then why was he sitting in the corner, mask off, staring at the twisted body infront on him? Why did the coppery scent or taste of blood fill his mouth and nose? The sound of the caged animal's screeching and clawing at their kennel bars filling his head. Limbs contorted too far one way, head turned the other. The red was dark against his suit. Obstructing the black lines of the webs design he was known for. The still warm, sticky fluid of blood dripping from his trembling hands onto the floor, his vision was still bleary, blurry but clear, like fogged glass, thick and hazy. Primary colors exaggerated and pulsing with his own heartbeat.
Peter let out a shuddering breath, hugging his knees close as wetness started to run down his cheeks, what was going on? He could see too well through the blindness, his peripheral vision made it hard not to see what he did.
His mind was still buzzing uncomfortably in his skull and he was conscious of every scuttle or screech around him.
He didn't want to be here.
He wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear.
He wanted Tony.