Spider-Son & Iron Dad two shots

Taking The Gullible Express

Spooktober 04: Bones

"Who did you tell?" Tony asked quickly, a deep concern in his features.

Peter, his heart still racing, looked down at the body of Beck on the floor, a smoking burn mark deep in the back. His mouth open and closed helplessly.

"Peter," Tony pleaded desperately. "Come on, kid! We're running out of time, who else did you tell?"

"Um," Peter spluttered. "Just— Just Ned and MJ from my class, and— and maybe Ned told his girlfriend Betty, but that's it! That's it, I—"

He paused when he saw Tony was... laughing at him.

Peter's heart dropped. Fear was gnawing at his bones like a starving dog. What else had he screwed up? How else was he a failure? "What is it?"

"You are... so dumb," Tony chuckled.

Peter swallowed thickly, his mind running along a track. His chest still rose and fell in a panicked rhythm, the air never quite fully reaching his lungs. His voice broke. "What?"

"I mean, you're smart as a whip," Tony continued. He took a step forward.

"Just a..." Tony's voice changed. His face changed. Beck. "Sucker."

A shiver ran down Peter's spine and he stumbled backwards. His heart jumped back up in speed. He was going to be hurt again. He didn't know what was real, but he knew that much— Beck was going to kill him, and he was going to kill everyone else too.

"And now?" Beck sighed with faux sympathy. It made him want to throw up. "All of your friends have to die."

The shiver increased tenfold, and he jerked his head to the right, where every hair had stood on end like an electric current was injected directly into his bones. His eyes widened, and then the breath in his lungs was forced out as the train hit him full-on.

The impact was excruciating. He's pretty sure all of his bones were bent out of place, and there was definitely something weird happening with his ribs that he couldn't place but hurt an awful lot.

His consciousness slipped in and out as he left smearing bloody fingerprints on the side of the train, his muscles burning as he creaked the door open and collapsed into the nearest seat.

He swallowed the blood filling his mouth and clenched his jaw, his eyes fluttering closed as the light flashed in and out through the window. The ringing in his ears dulled. He slipped away.

The next moment, however long later, and his head snapped up. He looked around in a daze, his vision bleary. His eyes widened with alarm when he found two eager faces, adorned with colourful paint, grinning at him.

"Hi!" One of the men said.

"Where 'm I?" Peter murmured, still trying to figure out if this was a situation he would need to fight his way out of.

He realized with a sinking feeling that he didn't have his mask anywhere in sight. Or his suit. He seemed to just be wearing under clothes, a thin black shirt and tactical pants, and a neon orange sports shirt draped over him like a makeshift blanket.

"Municipal holding facility," the other man informed him cheerfully.

"They said they found you unconscious at the train yard?" The first man said, an accent twirling at his tone. He gave him an impressed look. "Very dangerous."

A voice boomed from his other side, and Peter jolted and turned over to the man that he'd apparently been using as a pillow the entire time.

"We gave you the shirt because you seemed a bit cold," he informed him quietly. He gave a slight nod.