Peter & Bucky Are Pals

Chapter 11

Peter’s eyes shot open. He was lying down, but he knew he wasn’t in his bed. There were heavy metal chains around his wrists and ankles, and a strap was fitted tightly around his forehead. But then again, a voice in the back of his head said, cutting through his panic, he could be in his bed. This could be another sick nightmare. It felt odd, wishing he was inside one. Usually, he’d rather be anywhere else.

Something touched his hand, and he screamed. Not a nightmare, then. He could never scream inside in his nightmares. Fear shot through him like a round of bullets, and he strained against the strap around his head.

“Peter,” someone hissed. “Peter.”

He writhed, trying to find the source. He saw nothing. He saw nothing. He couldn’t see. He screamed again, just because he could. Catharsis, his brain provided between rushes of adrenaline. Something scraped the bottom of his foot, and he jerked hard against the chains binding him to the table. (It was too hard to be a bed, he thought.)

“Peter,” the voice said again.

“Who are you?” Peter managed between rapid, shallow breaths. “What do you want?”

“Kill,” the voice said. “I want to kill.”

Peter was going to die. He was fourteen, and he was going to die. He hoped May would take care of herself without him. He forced himself to inhale, then exhale.

“Alright,” he said, voice shaking as he resigned, and the… thing laughed.

“Not you, Peter. Too simple.”

Peter felt something being ripped off his eyes, and light flooded his vision. He cringed against it, slamming his eyes shut. When he could finally bear to squint, he realized he was looking at a screen. And on that screen… was May. May, strapped to a table like his own, chains around her wrists and ankles, a strap around her head. She was crying, tears glistening on her cheeks, and Peter could see her mouth moving. Begging.

“No,” he said, horrified. “Please, no. I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt her.”

There was no response. On the screen, something moved in the shadows behind May, suspiciously metallic and sharp.

“No!” he shouted. “May!”

“People are coming for you, Peter,” the voice said. “We don’t have much time.”

The shadows on the screen shifted again, and Peter could see the silhouette of a gun. He thrashed against his restraints with all his might, trying to get to May. The chains didn’t even shift.

“No!”

“Yes,” the voice hissed. “Kill.”

The gun was leveled at May’s head, and she closed her eyes. Peter could see her shaking. He screamed, writhing furiously. The chains bit at his wrists, and he felt something in his arm snap. He screamed again, just as the trigger was pulled. Air left his lungs in a rush as he stared at the brain matter and blood spattered on the screen.

“NO! No no no no no-”

“Peter!”