AN: So, I normally don't do text before the chapter, but this one warrants it. First of all, I need to give credit to Melancholy Sunshine! I adopted this prompt from her, one of many amazing plotbunnies up for adoption in her fic, A Father. If you've read that fic, this is the prompt for Namur, where Peter is adopted by the King of Atlantis. I thought it was really sad, but cute so I decided to write it with Melancholy Sunshine's permission.
Second, you may notice this is a little shorter than my normal chapters. That's because it's supposed to be! I'm going to try my hand at the nanowrimo challenge, where you write so many words a day and post it as a chapter. My goal is to write a chapter of 1,000 words a day and post the chapter the same day, for a whole month!.
So, the chapters will be shorter, but in return I will update more. I'm going to be completely honest, I don't know if I can do this, I'm currently a pre-med student in college and I'm also crap with time management and commitment to non-essential activities- ie fanfiction-. But, I am going to try my very best! Please let me know how I am doing.
SO, there is one downside to this marvelous arrangement. While I'm doing this for a month, I'm probably not going to update any of my other stories. Sorry, I know I've left the dragon booster one too long, and I am working on it! It just won't probably get posted this month. Sorry for this super long author's note, just had to let ya'll know this stuff. I hope you like the fic!
They came in the flames. When the house was too hot and the dark smoke made Peter's eyes water and sting. They held his Aunt and Uncle down, grabbing him with harsh hands and throwing him over someone's shoulder. His last sight of his Aunt and Uncle was when the men in uniforms locked them in the burning Parker home.
After that, someone put a rag over his mouth and he had just enough time to register the strange smell before his eyes closed and Peter Parker knew no more of that wretched night.
When Peter was next aware, he was leaning against something cold. It was hard too, and Peter realized he much preferred his bed at home. When he opened his eyes, Peter realized he wasn't alone. Peter was in a room with around a dozen other children. It looked as though there was an equal number of girls and boys. Some of the children were still sleeping, while others were crying softly, clinging to each other for comfort. Others were curled up at the side of the room on their own, trembling but dry-eyed. Every once in a while the children would glance at a steel door warily, in fear.
Peter wondered what they expected to come through it.
His question was answered sooner than he would like. The door opened with a slight screech and a clang as it smacked into the steel wall beside it. A tall male figure was silhouetted with cold, white light.
A voice from the room beyond called out, "Get a male this time, they tend to be a bit more hardy. A young one, more malleable for the splice."
Immediately, the children began to skitter away from the man in the door, whimpers and sobbing starting anew. Peter stayed where he was, confused as he watched the other kids, especially the boys, cling to the cold walls in terror. Eventually, Peter was the only one left in the middle of the floor.
Steel plated shoes rang out against the chilled cement floor and a shadow suddenly eclipsed Peter. He turned to see the man silently looming over him. Peter's eyes widened and he tried to scramble away, but the man's arm shot forward and grabbed Peter's upper arm like a vice, hauling him up to his feet.
"W-waait!" Peter tried to protest, but the man paid him no mind, turning and swiftly dragging Peter towards the rectangle of light. Peter may have been an afterthought for all the attention the man paid to him.
The light burned as Peter was dragged into the next room, he pulled his free hand up to cover his eyes, blinking away tears. He wanted to go home. This place was too cold and bright, with people who didn't talk to him. People who didn't look at him, but rather to through him, seeing a silhouette, but not a human being.
When Peter's eyes adjusted, he was greeted with the sight of a sterile, white room with metal cabinets lining the walls. In the center of the room, a slim white gurney sat with a man dressed in a white lab coat standing beside it. The man wasn't even looking at Peter, but Peter felt the icy touch of fear spiral down his spine. It may have something to do with the rather impressive needle in the man's hands.
Without looking at Peter, the lab-coated man directed Peter's keeper, "Get him weighed and measured, then put him on the gurney, please."
Peter was promptly dragged, again, over to a scale with a yardstick attachment. The man brusquely weighed and measured Peter. Then, Peter was dragged once more to the center of the room, where he was hoisted, easily, as though he was put a bag potatoes, onto the cold surface of the gurney.
The chill had Peter arching up and shivering, despite the man's hands pushing him back down.
The scientist glanced his way in annoyance. "For ****** sake, strap him down, you imbecile!"
Strong, uncaring hands snapped equally chilled leather bands across Peter's chest, arms and legs. The sound of the buckle snapping closed sounded like a coffin closing in Peter's ears. As a result of being restrained, Peter's heart rate picked up, his breath coming faster and faster. Where was Uncle Ben? He said he'd always protect Peter!
Finally, the doctor turned around and actually looked at Peter. Peter found he would have rather he been ignored for a little longer. The needle was poised in one hand, light flashing off its shiny surface, while a black recorder was clutched by the other.
The doctor spoke into the recorder, but Peter found he was too preoccupied watching the needle hand to care much. The doctor finished speaking into the recorder and brought the syringe to bear on Peter's left arm, lining it up with the crook of his elbow, where the skin was soft.
Peter sobbed softly a the needle broke the skin and the contents, a bright blue, were injected into his arm. It burned as it went, the veins visible under his pale skin lighting up softly with blue luminescence, spreading slowly from the injection site. Suddenly, Peter's heart was pounding in his ears and his lungs were burning to keep up. The room spun and nausea threatened to take control of his stomach.
Above Peter, the doctor was keeping track of his heartbeat, cold uncaring fingers dug sharply into Peter's wrist. The world kept spinning, faster and faster. Peter closed his eyes to avoid it, but he didn't have the strength to open them again. Even the noises faded into the darkness as Peter passed out from fear, pain, and illness, desperately heart sick for his family.