Chapter Text
Peter remembers waking up in the way that he remembers flashes from nightmares. Excruciating pain as he fell in and out of existence. Except this time the darkness didn’t reclaim him, instead pushing him out into consciousness.
He was first aware of a wrongness that was spread throughout his whole body. Like he was pulled out of his body and put back not quite right. His first instinct was to sit up, but he didn’t get more than an inch before he was made aware that his arms were stretched out with his hands secured above his head. He jolted blearily, finding his tail similarly restrained by a metal band that cut into his flesh above the tailfin.
This movement brought attention to the burning pain at his hip, shoulder, chest, and back. Lifting his head as much as possible despite the way his vision swam, he found aggressive red burns marring his skin.
The memory of being violently dragged from his home and shocked to unconsciousness came back to him.
Heart racing and nausea rising, Peter took in his surroundings. He was in a dimly lit room with tile floors and concrete walls, no windows in sight. There was a wheeled metal table in the corner, as well as an array of various machines he didn’t know the purpose of. There was no door to be seen, leading Peter to assume it was somewhere behind him.
Despite how hard he tried, Peter couldn’t maneuver his head in a way to see behind him through the clear walls of his prison. He was in a clear box, enclosed on all sides, that was not much bigger than what Peter believed a coffin to be.
Peter hazily recalled the time Wade has explained his people’s odd habit of putting their dead in boxes that— WADE!
Did Wade know he was gone? It would have been at least another hour before Wade was supposed to meet him, and who knew how long Peter had been unconscious. For all Wade knew, Peter had been sidetracked or injured by a shark.
Wade had never lied to Peter about his job as a mercenary. He was fully aware of his boyfriend’s enhanced abilities and skill in finding people who didn’t want to be found. But he’d have no reason to think Peter would be anywhere but the ocean.
How long would it be before Wade realized something was truly wrong? How long had it been already? Hours? Days?
Peter felt himself begin to hyperventilate, only making his cloudiness worse. What the hell is going on? Peter’s had plenty of head injuries before from unfortunate run-ins with reefs that have snuck up on him, but nothing had ever left him feeling this addled and weak.
He was making a deliberate effort to slow his breathing when it hit him. The breathing was the problem. It wasn’t saltwater rushing into his gills, but freshwater. This was something Peter had never experienced before, but Aunt May had told him tales of adventurous merpeople who had accidentally found their way into freshwater rivers.
It was never a tale with a happy ending. The merperson would slowly lose their sense of direction as they became weaker and weaker, thoughts turning disorganized. By the time they realized they were trapped in freshwater, if they realized at all, it was too late. Their nervous system would shut down, unable to handle the chemical composition of the water. It was a slow and painful death that all merchildren were taught to fear, and rightfully so.
Peter clenched his nails into the palms of his hands in an attempt to calm his breathing and focus. Steeling himself, he pulled against his restraint with all that he had. They didn’t even creak.
Peter and Wade had never truly tested it, but they had discovered that Peter was incredibly strong by human standards. He’d been able to easily bend metal bars found scattered across the ocean floor. These constraints shouldn’t have been a problem for him.
Was he really that weak already? Or were they made of that special metal Wade had told him about— Vibranium? If that was the case, how had they managed to get their hands on it? According to Wade, it was incredibly expensive and near impossible to find. His stalkers had seemed pretty average, incapable of attaining material like this.
Peter squeezed his eyes shut. This was too much for his crippling migraine and body aches to handle. To make it worse, he was starving . Normally, Peter spent most of his time eating. Wade always said it was a mix of having a supernaturally fast metabolism and swimming around all day.
Peter was pulled from his thoughts when the door behind him clicked open. He held his breath, scared to even blink. A heavy set of footsteps slowly made their way to the head of Peter’s tank, just out of his sight, with the door quietly shutting behind them.
He remained frozen for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, anxiously waiting for more shocks or a scalpel to dissect him. Instead, a hand reached over him to knock on the lid of his tank.