The Spider and the Web he Weaves of Tragedy and Sin

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Peter and Bucky were put into mobile cells. He could see Bucky's had the number twenty-three on it when they were being transported into a holding room. Pete wondered what his special number was, it would be ironic if it were seven. The cuffs around Peter's wrists were too big, he could easily escape if he wanted to, but he didn't want to make things worse for his dad. Though, the bright lights in his face was making him feel worse by the second.

Peter guessed they didn't have enough rooms in the building that could contain these cells, so he and Bucky were back to back. Peter never would've expected that he would end up in jail, so he was trying not to freak out. Though, this wasn't really jail, this was just a holding cell, a holding cell that really didn't care that his senses were at like, twenty, right now and the bright lights were honestly giving him a killer migraine. He could hear everything. He could hear Bucky's heartbeat, it was surprisingly calm, he didn't know if he should be worried about that.

It wasn't too long until Peter could hear footsteps. It was a lot longer than what it took for the person to arrive through the door. He could hear it opening and closing while the footsteps drew nearer.

"Hello Mr. Barnes, and company, I've been sent by the UN to evaluate you. Do you mind if I sit?" A man, with a light accent asked to no response. The scrape of a metal chair on concrete as it was pulled out and scooted in. A suitcase being lied on the table with extra caution. "Your first name is James? I'm not here to judge you. Just to ask you a few questions. Do you know where you are, James? I can't help you if you don't talk to me, James."

"My name is Bucky."

"Tell me Bucky, you've seen a great deal, haven't you?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You feel that if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop? Don't worry, we only have to talk about one."

The hairs on Peter's arms had long since been raised. He could not help the tinge in the back of his head that screams this guy is bad news. His voice painted Peter a picture of this slimy, creepy man with big teeth, wide thumbs, and weird eyes that didn't look right as they stared down his dad. The wanted to tare off his skin just having to listening to the guy speak, the need to escape scratching at his cuffed wrists.

The lights went out.

"What the hell is this?" Bucky asked, emergency red lights blinked silently.

"Why don't we discuss your home? Not Brooklyn, no. I mean your real home." Peter could hear the suitcase open and something being pulled out, something being set aside. Of course, just his Parker luck, his adoptive father was a sleeper cell, but Peter couldn't move, he was paralyzed at the thought. He never killed because he wanted to. Because he had to. He probably had to watch himself as he did it, unable to stop.

"Желание."

"No."

'Ржавый."

"Stop."

'Семнадцать."

"Stop!" Peter could hear a quiet storm brewing, Bucky's metal arm fighting a little against his cuffs.

"Рассвет." Now, Bucky only screamed in response. Peter slipped out the restraints that were meant to keep him down. The noises Bucky made causing his ears ring, he crawled up to the top of his cell and dug through his pockets trying to find anything that could help him they might've left on him.

"Печь." The restraints on Bucky snapped off like rubber bands. His first started to smash against the bullet proof glass. Of course they had left Peter nothing, not even his watch where he kept Ned half of the time. He would have to get creative with his hands. Getting creative meant biting wires and using fingernails as screwdrivers. But Peter felt a sinking sensation he didn't have that kind of time. He webbed his arms to the top of his cell and braced himself.