Months Later- Spiderman- Avengers

Peter

He heard a door open, but at this point he had heard that rusty old door open millions of times, and never once was it a good thing. That door only let pain come in.

He didn't even know why at this point, as far as he need, the guy doing this was doing it at random. Maybe because he was Spiderman, but never once had he said why Peter was being tortured.

He knew from the way the knots around his wrists were tied that he's been taken by professionals. He had an IV bag attached to his arm, barely keeping him alive. Though, Peter supposed it wouldn't be that hard to google how much nutrients a human of his height and weight would need to survive and fix the dosage accordingly. especially given his Spiderman metabolism.

He knew that he'd been tied up here for more than a month and that no amateur would've been able to keep him that long. He knew that the man who entered the room every morning wasn't just some random guy.

One thing that both brought his spirits up and down was the team. Because he knew in the beginning that there was a chance they'd find him, and each day that went by was a slimmer chance. Now the team only reminded him that he'd never be rescued and if they ever did, it would be too late. Only person he didn't want to think about was Aunt May, and how she was.

He prayed she was well, but he didn't want to think about the possibility- which was very high- of never seeing her again.

Peter wasn't blindfolded, no he knew his captures face. He knew how it looked when Peter screamed, he it looked when Peter didn't give a reaction. 

"You should probably oil up that door." Peter barely whispered having no energy for the sarcastic comments. The man paid no attention to him though, just set down some equipment on the old metal table that was rusting from the blood it collected. "No seriously, it's getting annoying." Again the man- if he was even that- ignored him, Peter just looked away.

He tried his damnest not to look at the marks (experiencing the pain was bad enough) but occasionally his eyes would fall and he'd see the evidence off his time here. The man in front of him, if he could even be called that, paid no mind to the previous wounds. You'd think that be great but it truly wasn't. Peter knew that if it wasn't for his healing power he'd be covered in scars head to toe, but unfortunately the healing process was slow leaving mark there for days, before they disappeared, well not as of late considering his body needed more to heal faster.

He looked back up and saw the man had set up a machine he grew too close with the past few months. He didn't struggle as much as he used to back in the beginning, but struggle did he. Like hell he was going to let himself get electrocuted.

"What did I do to you?" Peter asked, for the first time in a long time, he just wanted to know why.

The man grabbed a tool, a clip of sorts that was placed on Peter's tongue like it had been serval times before, only this time, the clip didn't gradually increase in heat. This time, it was burning hot from the first touch, until he was screaming. and Peter didn't have a second to adjust.

He shouldn't be able to scream, but he did and it sounded like an animal behind skinned alive.

--

Peter didn't pray anymore, he stopped believing in God around the same time he first stopped asking questions.

It had been three days since he had asked his torturer. Since then, he's been too afraid to speak. That and the jolts of electricity that had been sent to his tongue impaired his ability to do so. He  barely healed his tongue to the point where he could breath without it hurting, let alone make sarcastic banter. 

As if on cue, the metal door slid open and, once again, Peter's ears were filled with that horrible scraping sound. He wanted to say something and opened his mouth to do so, but only served to gag on his own tongue, the sound amplified by the emptiness of the room.

"You have no idea why you're here, do you?" At the sound, Peter jumped, inadvertently putting pressure on his broken shoulder blade. He grit his teeth to stop from screaming out, knowing that the sound would be monstrous even to his own ears.

The voice sounded like it was close, but Peter couldn't see. It was too dark.

 "Not that you need to worry about that. You'll be too dead to care."

At his words Peter's eyes widened. He wished he could say that it was in fear, but the feeling that flooded him was far too sweet. The wicked touch off relief washed over Peter's broken bones, and he felt as though he could finally breathe. But on the outside, he remained stoic.

Then out of nowhere Peter felt an object- no doubt a hammer like many times before- Hit his ribs knocking out his breath, and break serval ribs. He let out a scream. It didn't stop there, no that would've been to easy. No, the man continued to hit him in various other places.

Twenty minutes later, when He had finished, Peter began to cry. He didn't care how he looked with tears leaving clear paths down his bloodied face. He didn't care that he was becoming more and more dehydrated or that when his stomach heaved he could see his ribs as clear as day.

He was weak, but he didn't care.