Thank you so much to anyone reading this! Also, this is my first ever fanfic about Spider-man or the Avengers, so I apologize for any mistakes I make. You can always let me know (nicely) in the comments.

Peter came to gradually. He was lying down on something cold and wet. He wasn't sure where he was, though, because he couldn't quite get his eyes to pry open. Distantly, he was aware that his head was pounding. He let out a groan of pain as he tried to shift his body into a more comfortable position.

After a few more minutes, he was finally able to open his eyes to figure out where exactly he was. His vision still blurry, he saw blots of brown and green. He blinked a few times to let his eyes adjust, and when they did, he realized that he was lying down on the cold, dewy ground of… a forest. How on earth did I end up here? Peter thought. He felt a wave of nausea shoot through his stomach, though he couldn't tell if that was because he was stressed out, alone and disoriented or if he was physically injured.

Once the nausea subsided, Peter sat the rest of the way up, using a nearby tree for support. Only then did he reach up to feel his pounding head and realize that his hair was matted with dried blood. I must be hurt pretty bad to feel this lousy. Peter steeled himself before pulling himself up into a standing position, swaying a little unsteadily on his feet.

Then, something happened right at that moment that Peter could not explain. Time seemed to slow down. All the hair on his arms suddenly stood up as he felt a powerful urge to MOVE. Peter managed to duck his head just before something sharp whizzed over him, thudding into a nearby tree.

Peter attempted to turn around to see who almost impaled him with an arrow, but he suddenly felt dizzy and nauseous again. He was barely managing to stand in his injured state, and his rapid ducking movement, as well as the strange tingling sensation that had invaded his nerves, turned out to be more than his body could handle. The last thing he saw before passing out was the shadow of a sinister figure, stalking towards him.

"CRAP!" Clint Barton yelled as he realized his mistake a second too late. His arrow, which he had just let fly, shot away from him, soaring dangerously close to the stupid kid's head.

Clint had been hunting since dawn, so he was considerably tired, and he had been in the middle of tracking down an elusive deer. So when his sharp eyes caught the movement of something furry(ish) and brown, he was expecting to shoot at a deer's hide, not a kid's matted hair.

As Clint reluctantly strode over to where the kid/body was lying in the dirt and grass, all he could think was, please be alive, please be alive, Laura's going to kill me if she finds out I just killed a kid, I'll be sleeping in the barn for the rest of my life, PLEASE BE ALIVE.

Clint peered over at the kid he may or may not have murdered, watching anxiously for any signs of life. He sighed loudly in relief when he finally saw that the kid (not body, yay) was, in fact, breathing. He took the kid's pulse anyway (because you never know) and assessed him for any injury his arrow had caused.

"Well, look what we have here," Clint mused as he noted the thick, dried blood in the boy's hair. "I suppose I can't leave a poor, helpless child alone in the woods." Clint bent down to pick up the unconscious kid; if he was being honest, he was extremely tempted to hold him up, Rafiki style, and start belting out "The Circle of Life," which he of course knew by heart. Imagining what Laura would do to him if she ever found out, though, kept him from going through with it. Instead, he began the short trek back to his house and the farm, carrying an unconscious kid that was not his own.