This is part two of chapter nine and fills whumptober day 9! Thank you for reading.

Winter, 2017. Four weeks into escape.

"Does this thing even work?"

Rain splattered on the balcony and windows locking them inside for the day. The weather wasn't just affecting the outside. Tony locked himself in his room. The sound of his music vibrating through the walls so they could hear from the living room. Rhodey was sitting on the couch, book in hand, but Peter noticed he hadn't turned the page in over fifteen minutes. Peter was walking around the living room in circles, tracing his fingers along all the objects and watching as the shadows cast strange lights into the space they were stuck in.

He paused in front of the side table by Rhodey. Behind the light there was an old phone. Peter twirled the plastic covered wire around his finger. The curls bounced back to their original coiled form connecting the receiver to the stand. Sesame seeds covered the top and when Peter picked it up the patty and faux melted cheese held buttons to dial. The burger shaped phone was fit perfectly in this out of time apartment.

Rhodey glanced over and smiled at Peter's pretend dialing. "Sure, it does. Tony and I used it for so many prank calls in the day. Isn't it great?"

"I've always wanted to see one like this!"

"What do you think?"

"I can tell it's been put to use in its day." He said rubbing his finger along the holes where the seeds should have been and worn paint on the top of the bun. "I love those ones that are clear with the neon insides."

Rhodey smirked and closed his book. Peter sent a quirked brow at the man's laugh but received a shrug in response. He set the phone back into its base and continued on in his perusal of the room. When he looked back at Rhodey the kitchen, the book was closed beside him. He was still looking at the plastic hamburger a distant, glazed over finish in his eyes.

Winter, 2017. Five weeks into escape.

Fire raced through his lungs and down his legs but he couldn't stop running. He didn't care if they knew about his powers as long as the people behind him didn't catch him; as long as Rhodey and Tony were safe. He pumped his legs harder but it made no difference, they were still right on his trail.

"We can't let him go back!" They yelled trying to close in on him. It was a close race and Peter felt the sweat behind his knees. What he needed was more time. They came to the path stretching around the lake. Never in all their walks on this crumbling cement path would Peter have thought he would be running for his life. Peter hesitated before veering off the path and onto the snow-covered grass. He was not going to make this easy for them. The bushes and frozen plant life were hard and he to push through them, breaking their stems, in order to race toward the beach.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought how strange it was he was working so hard not to be captured again. Only weeks ago, he had wanted to keep a distance from Rhodey and Tony, and now he was hurt and running. All to stay with them.

He ran to the left of the old drainage pipes and turned the corner to rest on the wall of the structure. Panting hard, his breath visible in steaming puffs wafted up. It was so damned cold out. He winced at an especially strong breeze, brows furrowed tight with pain as a headache bloomed behind his eyes. He rolled his neck back and forth trying to stave off the lethargy fogging his mind. The tears in his shirt moved in the wind to reveal slashes in the skin along his arms and torso. The cold bit into the wounds draining him of energy with each breath he took.

A twig snapped. He had lingered too long. The waves lapped against the shore and Peter took off running again despite his protesting muscles and screaming headache. There was a dock protruding into the lake. His senses pointed towards the wooded planks like a compass. Wood rattled under his feet until he stopped and turned to face his opponents at the other end. They stood at the edge of the shore, guns cocked and aimed at him. With all the time in the world they began to walk toward him.

The hair on his neck rose the closer they came. Why did he run this way? Peter threw his hands up.

"Please." He said. "Don't take me back. I-"

"Shut up." One of the men with cold, grey eyes said and raised his gun higher. The wind whipped around them, stinging the cuts on his face.

He had to do something. There was too much at stake. Rhodey and Tony were fighting for him and they deserved the same attempt from him. He was coming to love the little apartment, blue room, and even the two occupants. His time with them was short and, at times, full of distrust and apathy, but it changed him. The Peter who had given up and hide in that place was not the same person as the Peter who was standing, shaking but firm, at the end of the dock.

Peter stepped forward – he had to stop them - and the gun went off.

The sound echoed off the ice like a thousand gunshots exploded. Peter almost laughed at their poor aim, smirked at how they missed their target at such a short range, before his side erupted in pain. Blood dripped from a newly formed whole in his t-shirt spreading onto his pants and painting the dock. He clutched the material staring wide-eyed at the perpetrators. He shook his head to clear the blurriness of their faces but the focused details never came. Peter coughed which sent another burning wave through him. He collapsed to one knee. One of his arms were still stretched out to stop them from coming closer. A warning they weren't heeding.

"Let's bring him in."

They walked forward. Peter was bleeding onto the snow. He was shot and wounded, and they were going to take him away. He would go back to that place. Shouldn't he want that? Wasn't it what he deserved? For so long it was the mantra he told himself when he woke up and went to sleep. The cold walls and cold eyes were a comfort to him. Made him remember the pain better so he became that and nothing else. But what if it wasn't everything? Maybe the pain wasn't everything he was meant to be. He scrambled back, biting his lip to keep from yelling.

"Stop!" He said with shaking breath.

They didn't listen. Peter struggled to get to his legs. He swayed back and noticed the red covering his three, no four, hands. He blinked and found he lost a couple of limbs when the dizziness receded. Peter frowned and his vision tunneled before he was moving.

He fell backward. Wind whipped across his back before he crashed into something hard. The impact knocked the breath out of him leaving him gasping. Black spots spotted his vision but his hearing was clear. The ice was cracking underneath him. At first it was small fissures in the frozen water, but they joined with other cracks and fractured out to create bigger, more damaging weaknesses.

It was without a sound that the ice gave way and water enveloped his body. The dark liquid bashed the ice against each other. Small pieces floated in the hole where Peter was. His clothes were laden with the cold water. His limbs shocked into immobility at the vast temperature decrease. He sank from the weight. Water pooled over his face and nostrils unheeding of his attempts to climb onto the ice. The water was merciless in its pursuit to claim Peter.

He sank until he was emerged under the ice, his arms and legs floating, clothes baggy around his frame. Peter looked up from below at the ice he had, what felt like seconds ago, fell onto. Bubbles escaped through the hole he created and he wondered if his younger self would have appreciated it or if he would have been disappointed the bubbles disappeared into the air. It didn't matter now. Red tendrils of blood floated around him infusing into the water. At least there would be something left of him here after he was gone.

His back settled against the sand and one last torrent of bubbles left his mouth as his lungs contracted in protest. A slow tide moved him back and forth along the bottom of the lake. For a moment, he was a child again being rocked be a soothing rhythm in a crib. Sand moved underneath him stirring with his movements. His limbs were too heavy to move. Peter closed his eyes instead of watching the ice above.

The particles of sand swirled around him, mingling with the blood in the water before settling on his person. Some rested on his hands palms open in the water and others settled lightly on his closed eyelids. Peter was finally in no pain. He couldn't remember how he ended up here or why he had feared the water so much before. It almost was like being hugged by May. He tried to smile at the thought, but then he thought of Rhodey and Tony. Their concern and selflessness in the face of danger. He tried to open his eyes for them, to fight one more time but he was powerless against the slowing tide of this strange, underwater world.

The last sand fell at a leisured pace through the water coming to land on Peter's forehead. Time slowed in this underwater world filled with silence until, when all was quiet, it stopped.

Sorry for the cliffy!

Let me know what you think's going to happen! Thank you so much for reading.