Who: Loki & Peter What: Taunting. Sass. Where: The countryside somewhere. When: After Peter got nabbed! Sadfais.
They were in a truck.
To Peter’s left was a shiny wall of black metal, rattling and shaking as the truck bumped along the road. To the right was the same. It was a small truck with a wide open cavity in the back, and impeccably clean. There were no windows to show the outside world, not even in the doors on the back, no sounds from the cabin up front or the world outside. Just the heavy hum of the engine, the clatter of metal, and the clank of chain on the truck bed.
Peter was on the floor, chained at the wrists and ankles. This was not the heavy, svartalfheimr chain of the manacles Loki had worn. No, no such precautions were needed, in his estimation, to keep his captive prisoner. Just run of the mill Midgardian links, tightly clasped with small locks around his forearms and ankles, arranged so circulation would not be cut off.
Behind him, Loki sat on the bench that abutted the wall between the back of the truck and the cabin. He was leaning forward, thinking in that empty space, watching the form on the floor for any signs of wakefulness. And there was no one else. Not a guard, not a collection of henchmen - no one. Just the pair of them, and whoever was driving, out of sight.
Peter came awake with his senses throbbing at him in dull warning. Sometimes those senses felt like having his hand in a preheated stove, not dangerous but hinting at it with dry heat, and other times they “felt” like lights. Peter thought of it like a temperature dial, sometimes twisted comfortably down to blue and sometimes ramped up to you’re gonna die red. Right now the throb was a middle yellow, dangerous but not imminently dangerous. He woke up like a kid in bed, rolling over in a rattle of chain and sitting up with heavy lashes. Blinking once slowly he looked down and lifted a wrist to inspect the restraints. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said with a disbelieving little laugh. “It’s so Lord of the Rings.”
He rolled his knees up so he had them against his chest, a comfortable position for him, the worn knees of his jeans flexing over the sleek material of his suit under his clothes. In the movement with his wrist he looked for his webshooters to see if they’d been removed, and then he twisted his wrist around to grab the chain. Glancing left, he saw Loki, and his look turned disgusted and angry in a second. It came fast to him, faster even than the usual teenage chip on his shoulder, because Peter had a well of anger just bubbling under his skin waiting for him to lose control of it. His face flushed as he remembered the kitchen. “What did you do to her?” He yanked on the chain. Hard.
The webshooters were still there, and though he would likely be hard-pressed to get to them with the metal clasps of his bindings around his wrists, it wasn't impossible. Either Loki hadn't noticed them, or was unconcerned.
The reference to the Lord of the Rings flew neatly over Loki's head, though he'd done some work to familiarize himself with the basics of Midgardian culture. "Are they not up to scratch?" he asked, all sympathy. "My apologies. Next time, I'll be sure to allow my hostages time to consult with me on the style of their manacles. How inhumane."
Loki leaned back, a faint smile playing across pale lips. "So quick to assume the worst," he said. "Calm yourself. If you mean your aunt, she is perfectly healthy. I expect Thor has already seen to her well-being." It would be just like him. "I cast her into a sleep without dreams. She will hardly know a thing has happened.” He raised a brow. “You ought to thank me."
Yes, he and the woman had much to be thankful for. When Loki had entered the house, after tracking his bait there the night before, the woman had been alone and cooking. She never saw him, of course - it was an easy enough thing to cloak his presence from mundane, prying eyes when he so chose.
He hadn't cared in the least what happened to her. In fact, initially, he'd intended simply to knock her out artlessly, and wait for the boy Peter to arrive, without the show of feigning her identity. But there had been something about her, as she stood there at the stove, stirring and humming to the song playing on the radio - all the leaves are brown, and the sky is grey. It had reminded him of another woman, millions of miles away, stirring and cooking and singing a song from her girlhood.
Loki did not admit to sentiment, or nostalgia, or aches of the heart. Such things belonged to lesser men than he - men with weaknesses. But, still, there he had stood, and sent the woman into a dreamless sleep rather than do her harm. If Thor had not already found her, she would awaken to an empty, dark house, on her own bed, in a few hours.
"I am not a savage, after all," Loki said, smiling unpleasantly. "Despite what you might have heard." Those that had borne him were savages, but not he. "No mother, then?" he asked, with easy interest. "You called only for an aunt when you entered." It was impossible to know why he cared, or why he asked, but a little of the answer was betrayed in what followed. “And no father. Well, never fear. You’ve missed very little, I promise you.”
All the anger went out of Peter in a split second. It was like watching a light go off, just a flick of a switch and it was gone entirely. The taunt about his parents didn’t anger him either, and the only effect was a gentle flex of pressure at the corner of either eye. That loss was not fresh, as his uncle’s was, and Peter knew death took people away from whatever taunts and hurts anyone else could come up with, and they only lived on when he hurt and remembered them. He was afraid for himself, but it was nothing like the terror that had hit him when he realized Loki was standing in his kitchen and Aunt May was nowhere in sight.
When the chain did not immediately give, Peter obviously decided to bide his time. A tired teenager once more, he let his spine and head fall back against the side of the truck, his knees coming out of the defensive tuck against his chest. “Where are you taking me?” he asked, taking a sniff of his surroundings and listening hard through the steel for hints of traffic and bay air that might tell him if he was still in Queens. He watched Loki with avid interest, not knowing what to expect and finding him strange enough to bear further inspection. It seemed more likely that Loki’s revenge didn’t require movement. Peter couldn’t imagine what further use a god might have for him.
Loki watched his captive with vague interest. He was so young, young even by human standards, and yet endeavored to shoulder such responsibility. What foolishness could drive a child to such a thing? He didn't miss that flicker at the corner of his eyes. A good liar knew how to read the minute tremors in the faces of others for emotion, and the suppression of it. "Gone, then," Loki said, taking that tiny indication of pain, too small for it to be new, and pairing it with Peter's lack of reply. "Gone for quite some time, I think. Abandoned?"
"To a meeting place," Loki said, turning to look at the blank wall, beyond which the countryside was rumbling past, unseen. If Thor had been able to call in enough favors to find a binding strong enough to hold him, he had no reason not to believe that he could do the same to acquire something with which to track the traces his magic left behind. He had, therefore, taken precautions, travelling by this intrepidly speedy mechanical vehicle and thus leaving no trace of where he had gone. "Where your next keeper will come to take you away." He looked down at Peter again, and smiled thinly. "You have an admirer of your own, you may be surprised to learn."
“By my parents? No, they’re dead. So if you were planning on turning into them you can save it,” Peter replied bitterly, annoyed that he hadn’t seen the attack coming and equally annoyed at himself for getting into this mess. What was the point of having a mask if it did absolutely no good? What was it about Loki that made him want to punch things? Maybe it was that skeezy look in his eye, like he was better than everything. Flash had that look sometimes. Yeah, that was it. Loki reminded him a lot of Flash. Lot of bluster. Lot of stuff going on under.
Peter looked completely blank at the idea of another enemy--this is what he assumed Loki meant by “keeper.” He blinked twice and then gave Loki a smile meant to nettle. “I was wondering where all those cute Valentine cards were coming from. I was kind of hoping for a Spidey fan club, you know?” Peter had absolutely no idea who would be interested in having a Spider-man. Probably some mob guys. He didn’t know any names, but he knew their stuff had taken a hit when Spider-man had hit the streets. It was a weird time to strike, though, in the aftermath of the hurricane. Everybody was still taking the boards off their windows.
Loki smirked. "I never do the same trick twice," he said. "Sadly, I believe your hopes of a 'fan' are misplaced. Though the individual in question is most assuredly interested in your well-being." He rolled his shoulders against the stiffness of the long ride on the hard bench. "They insisted that I not kill you. You have much to thank them for."
Realistically, killing the boy would have gotten him nowhere, but letting him live didn't either, not until his new ally offered him his resources. Such a partnership would not be equal, however, and Loki neither accepted charity nor allowed himself to be predictable when there was fun to be had by tweaking things at the edges. So Mr. Osborn would find it.
Loki gestured to the door. "When we arrive in a few minutes, some men will open that door and drag you out. I will then leave you. Your admirer will come to take you away soon after." His expression shifted, slightly, considering some new thought. "Unless, of course, you were to get away before he arrived."
Peter looked at Loki for a few seconds more. He kind of wanted to get in a good punch (or maybe a kick?) before he left, but he was aware he was a little bit out of his league when it came to the woo-woo magic stuff. “I’ll put them on my Christmas card list. I’m almost sure I’ll get to it this year.” His fingers twisted around the chain, wrapping it around his right wrist. He didn’t look as strong as he was, but he’d torn chains and steel out of their settings before. He didn’t pull just yet, though. Even if he could pull free, chances were he’d end up back where he started pretty quick if there wasn’t an adequate distraction.
Peter dropped his chin and grinned under the heavy fringe of his hair. If someone was going to drag him out, they were going to have to unchain him from the wall at some point. “You going to offer me a deal? After I let out the secret that Thor was the pretty one?” He let out a little huff of amusement through his nose. It was the kind of thing assistant principals like to give out detentions for.
Loki leaned down toward his captive. "No deal," Loki said. "It is only a deal if both parties are in a position to bargain, and you are not. Bear in mind that I could have cut your throat while you were unconscious, or bound you with restraints that had more properties than the restriction of steel." That grin on the boy's face rankled him. He never did like to be laughed at, and there was always the suspicion that someone was smiling behind their hands at his failure, somewhere. Blame it on a courtly childhood, but he did look for it in every face.
"You claim to be some sort of hero. I trust you can dispatch a few guards without an immense amount of trouble. I did not allow them lethal arms, since you do me no good dead." He spread a hand. "So. Prove your mettle. Free yourself, and then we can discuss entering into negotiations.”
“You could still cut my throat,” Peter said, pretending to be braver than he felt and shrugging. Intellectually, he knew it was highly unlikely Loki would change his mind and kill him where he stood, but it was still a possibility and Peter was well aware he was pushing it. Yet that was Spidey; he had to push it so he could stay sane and not start screaming in total panic. “I don’t need to negotiate with you. You don’t have anything I want. Definitely not those clothes. Maybe the hair.” He squinted at Loki’s head and then shook his head. “No, nevermind, not the hair.”
Peter glanced down at the chain again, and then gently lifted his arm up and dropped it again. The chains were heavy, but he could still probably get free from them. He didn’t want to show Loki that he was capable of that, however, as that would just inform the next guy that he needed to up the restrictions, and he wasn’t going to show how much he could do with Loki sitting right there without a good reason. He lowered his arm again. “What good do I do you alive?” he asked, curiously.
"I could," Loki agreed, without compunction or hesitation. "But I won't. And what good you do to me is irrelevant for you right now. At this particular juncture in your exceedingly young life, simply be grateful that I am awarding that life back to you, with all its weak humor to cover personal discomforts and a drive toward idiotic heroism." Loki stood placing a hand on the side of the truck, and rapped on the wall that separated them from the cabin. The truck, in response, sped up. They were close to their destination, it seemed. "Little wonder that you admire Thor so."
At that point, even if he could escape, Peter felt like it would be stupid. Loki already knew who he was and where he lived, so escaping wouldn’t save his identity. It would save his life, but Loki had just about told him he wasn’t going to die, and besides, Peter felt he had as much chance getting away if he waited to see this other Big Bad. It was hard to convince his body, even when his brain was on board. Peter automatically stiffened defensively when the truck started to move more quickly, and his senses told him the road was getting a little rougher, implying they weren’t getting any nearer a city. Spider-man belonged in the city, and that made Peter even more nervous than before, but he darted a look back at Loki and concentrated on him. “It’s the hammer. Girls dig it.” He could tell Loki hated hearing about Thor, and though Peter was a fan, it wasn’t the kind of fan he was pretending to be. It was kind of the way you could be a fan of Michael Jordan without ever actually seeing him. The guy was just cool. “Where are you guys from? Sweden?”
The edge of hostility at the mention of his brother dropped away when Peter drifted back into humor, and Loki straightened again. "A good guess," he said. "I know the region you mean. We visited it often, when we were young, and were known as gods. Humans, at that time, knew how to respect power, and when to fear it." He had gone amongst them at that time, long ago, visited their shrines, heard the stories of his family retold as myths, the prophecies as legends. Such things had faded, along with so many things in this world. He had always been feared more than revered, his brother respected for the good he might bring. Such was the way of things for them in every world, even for those who didn't really know them.
The truck turned, sharply, and Loki planted his foot harder against the floor to keep from sliding. "We have almost arrived at the end of our short journey," Loki said. "Should you never return from your new captor's clutches, ought I pass some word on to your aunt? Your friends?" It was often difficult to tell whether Loki was being sincere. He seemed cordial, at least, inexplicably.
With his background explanation and connection to human history, Loki reclassified himself as a kind of souped up mutant in Peter’s mind. The magic had to have a scientific explanation, as all things did, and that was very reassuring to Peter. Peter knew he wasn’t an incredible scientist, because he knew better, but that science existed was, for him, a reassuring thing, much as it was for Gwen. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but humans never respect power. And nobody has it forever, not when they misuse it. Your time is going to come, buddy,” Peter said, almost sympathetically.
When the truck slid abruptly sideways, Peter’s whole body shifted a couple inches to one direction, but his feet didn’t move, both firmly attached to the floor. It caused him no trouble nor effort. He didn’t even notice. Instead, he focused on Loki’s face. His grip on the chain was abruptly white-knuckled. The metal creaked ominously. “You can just stay away from them.”
Loki's mouth curled into a half-smile, and he stood, one hand on the side of the truck. "Do not deign to think that sparing you means you may speak to me as if we were equals." The truck was beginning to slow. "But I will take your lack of answer as a disinterest in their well being. How unfortunate."
The truck skidded a few feet to a stop, but Loki seemed unworried. The driver was clearly in a rush, for whatever reason. At the back of the truck, the doors swung open, and a cluster of men appeared. No supernatural beings here, just run of the mill mercenaries, armed with blackjacks, stun guns, and brass knuckles. Instruments of pain, not of death. Of course, Loki could have coerced along a few more frost giants, though they despised him on the whole, but he wasn't interested in tipping his hand to his new ally just yet. There were about six of them, peering into the truck to get a look at the cargo. These were men with skill. Peter might have the opportunity to escape, but Loki couldn't afford to make it easy for him. After all, appearances were everything.
The scenery beyond was a country road, and high pines. Somewhere upstate New York, apparently.Two of the men jumped up onto the truck, walking toward Peter to pick him up by his arms. "If he tries to run, you may subdue him," Loki informed them crisply. "But not kill him." He folded his hands behind his back. "You know what will happen to you if I am disobeyed."
There was a faint noise from the cabin of the truck. It wasn't quite human, a bleak, lowing sound. Whoever was in the driver's seat hadn't stepped out, but the men, hardened killers to the last, reacted with unease.
Peter had never in his life heard a sound like that. It confused more than scared him, because he was focusing on the men staring at him in the frame of the truck, and then he was watching to see what they would do when they got close. He found it interesting that Loki thought he was planning on running. He still wanted to see whoever Loki was making deals with, but as he watched the two men come closer to where he stood, deceptively still in his chains. Peter looked each in the face, and he read that there was no sympathy here. “I can see why you went into this business. If I saw your face I wouldn’t hire you for anything else either.”
Peter was waiting until the chains came free. Even if they were still attached to his arms, if he wasn’t attached to the truck he could do a good bit of damage without betraying too much in the way of strength. He also got a good look at all those trees; he could hide in those trees. Trees couldn’t be that much more difficult than skyscrapers, right? They were pretty tall. Almost experimentally, because he wanted these guys distracted. Peter put one foot on the side of the truck, stuck there in defiance of gravity, and neatly swept a foot up into the nearest guy’s crotch like a kicker for the Giants. It was just meant to piss them all off, really, and make sure they were in a hurry to get him out of that truck.
Loki waved a hand, and the restraints came unbound from the surface of the truck and snapped neatly together again in a flash. Peter was still bound at the wrists, but no longer to the vehicle itself.
When Peter kicked one of the mercenaries, the man buckled inward while the other guard grabbed for Peter’s neck. Loki made a sound of distaste, and a warning glow of heat began to crawl along the truck bed, a searing red circle moving through the metal itself. It slid up the wall, toward Peter's foot, threatening to dislodge him by force if he didn’t drop. "Down," Loki said, to the unrepentant mutt. "And no kicking the guards. That woman didn't teach you a thing about civility, did she?"
Peter just grinned under his flop of brown hair. There was a decided glint in Loki’s direction that couldn’t have made it more clear what he thought about Loki and his warnings. Peter spread both hands out and wrapped the length of chain about the second man stupid enough to get close enough. He got him around the neck, and just as the heat started to close about his foot, he flipped over and landed on the sprawled form of the first man, out of the reach of the metal entirely. He bent over, and entirely forgetting his thought to hide his capabilities as much as possible, used the chain to haul the second man bodily over his head and throw him right at Loki’s face.
Loki was no longer amused by the situation. Peter had gone so far as to make him angry, now, which was a distinct mistake. The man nearly made it to Loki before he repelled him, slamming him back toward Peter with the same force he had come at him. A twitch, and the metal links binding Peter's wrists began to grow hotter and hotter, began to burn. "No," he said. "I can scarcely believe it. You would actually attempt to bowl me over, like a sleeping warden in a prison?" He moved faster than fast, green eyes glittering. "I offered you an opportunity. What a waste."
Something grabbed Peter around the neck, an invisible noose, and yanked him, backwards, off the truck. The metal links started to cool again just at the point they scalded the skin. Oh, it would hurt. It might even scar, prettily enough.
Peter was almost enjoying himself, spreading everything from fingers and toes out flat so he avoided the man that came flying back his way. The unfortunate guy kept going, but Peter didn’t notice. He flipped heels over head and landed in a crouch on the other side of his first attacker, fully ready to go head first into the crowd on the ground. It took him a minute to notice that the heat was coming from the shackles, and a second later the pain was screaming. Peter barely noticed a he was pulled back, already twisting in the invisible grasp. The metal went white hot and Peter yelled, pulling his fists apart compulsively in an attempt to rip the metal off. It bent, warping before it again began to cool, and Peter blinked tears out of his eyes. “Shove it, greasy,” he managed, gasping against the pain.
Loki leaned partway out the open truck doors. "That should take a bit of the spark out of him," he told the guards, who had remained silent through most of the brief fight, bristling with weapons, but smart enough not to get involved without being signalled to. "See to it that he meets his new owner without further mishap." Then Loki ducked back inside, and, a moment later, the truck squealed away.