Welcome to another update, friends. :D

Just a warning that there's a considerable amount of violence within the first segment of this chapter that is pretty well-described. If you wish to avoid it, you'll be past it at the paragraph beginning with, "Unluckily for Peter," or the 8th paragraph in.

Despite the swift pace of the fleeing form, their movements were silent, not even a huff of breath escaping past chapped lips as the figure flitted through the twisting pathways. They paused in the shadows of overhanging awnings, melting into the encompassing darkness with ease. Senses attentive and alert, body pressed flat to the cold bricks, the being calmed their racing heartbeat down to a quiet drumbeat as they took soft, even breaths in. The whispering of footsteps raced overhead and around, as three small squadrons of three a piece came to a stop nearby. Peter cursed his luck, before directing his senses to scout the area. There were the three approaching him down the alley, and six on the roofs, three on each side. It seemed he hadn't quite lost them, much to his chagrin.

Pursing his lips, he fished out his dwindling supply of weapons in his utility belt, fingers grasping easily around the last of his knives, the two blades blending easily into the nook between his middle and pointer finger, and middle and ring fingers. Could he make do with these? Perusing the leftover supplies in there- three shurikens, a single dagger, and two canisters of web-fluid that produced webs sharp enough to slice objects. He'd have to make the knives work until he could loot supplies. Lifting his gaze, he turned to re-secure his limp prosthetic arm from where it was strapped to his side, making sure it wouldn't get in the way of the fight. Then, he faced the oncoming enemy with a smirk playing on his lips.

Raising his left arm, he cupped the second knife into a secured position flat against his palm, and flicked his wrist to throw the first one. It spun in an arc before embedding in the man's unprotected side, right above a clasp that secured the thick protective vest. The man startled, and that was the only prompt he needed. He rushed forward, hearing the pop of gunshots and turned his dormant prosthetic towards where he felt the darts would hit. He felt one brush across the skin of his right leg, but kept his face neutral. He had a job to do, after all.

Peter knew he was vastly outnumbered, one to nine, but it made no difference to him. He'd rather die fighting HYDRA than ever go back to their knowing clutches. The darts flew and he dodged as best he could, though with an arm out of commission his maneuverability was vastly lessened. Unfortunately, all of the groups he'd taken down in the past week he'd been running hadn't had quite enough tech left to scavenge in order to repair the arm to a minimum functionality, and he'd had to tie it with spare cloth he'd found to his side to keep it out of the way. That also meant he was down an arm and some of his torso's flexibility, and while he was durable, he... definitely wasn't invincible.

He kicked off the ground and leapt at the man he'd targeted, landing on his shoulders and sticking. He tipped the man's helmet off and stabbed the knife into the nape of his neck, snaking his legs around the man's midsection and wrapping his hand around the soldier's on the dart gun. Wincing at the new darts prickling in his leg, he aimed the arm up and shot the few darts left in the gun at the men on the roofs, though ran out after the fourth. Clicking his tongue, he used the other knife he'd kept pressed in his palm to shank it into the nearest man's shoulder, before transferring over to him and once more using the darts available. Huffing that one man on the roof was still standing, he turned his attentions to the other soldier on the ground and pushed off from the second man he'd moved to and flipped through the air before delivering a sharp, definitive kick with his prosthetic foot to the man's head, snapping it to the side. He felt another dart find its home in between his shoulder blades, before hearing the clicking of an empty chamber of the gun.

Standing, he turned to stare at the last man on the roof, before grabbing the last gun from the final man on the ground and shot the rest of the darts his way, until he went down. Once his sense of danger quieted down again, he let out a breath, exhaustion clinging to his limbs. He pulled out the seven darts that embedded themselves in his skin, swaying slightly as he did so. He recognized the tranquilizing agent in the darts as one his handlers found stayed in his system the longest; twelve minutes and seventeen seconds for a single dose. Great, he'd have to deal with this for an hour and twenty-six minutes, give or take. That was rather unfortunate. Shaking his head to clear some of the clinging cobwebs in his head, he sharpened his hearing to see if any of the men were alive, and frowned when he noted that two on the roof hadn't been overdosed from the darts.

That simply wouldn't do. Walking over to the men who he'd left his knives in, he braced himself and clambered up the wall to where the two men lay, thankful they were on the same rooftop. With quick efficiency, he slit their throats, watching for a moment as they bled onto the ground and their breaths hitched in their chests. He thought there was something wrong with their hearts stopping being a comforting sound. When he confirmed the attackers would move no more, he stripped them of their gear, putting them in piles depending on what they were. Armor, weapons, and technology that was usable went in one, and anything he couldn't use went in the other. Unfortunately, the same pattern stood for the other hunts he'd thwarted; more went into an unusable pile than a usable one. Most of the armor tended to be discarded, since it either was too large for his thin frame or it would make moving nearly impossible, and agility was currently his best asset. He grabbed spare cloth if he could in case he needed it to stop bleeding or act as a breathing filter, though otherwise left the clothes untouched. He was already decked in a covering, thicker turtleneck and full-length pants that he'd taken from an empty store, with sneakers being the only thing otherwise clashing against the dark outfit. He would've gone for thicker, but since he needed his feet to be able to stick through whatever material he wore, these were the best he could work with.

Unluckily for Peter, most of their weaponry were used ammo clips that had formerly been loaded with darts they'd used trying to shoot at him earlier, and the guns they had used to fire them in. While he could use a gun well, it did him no good if there was no usable ammo, so he pushed those to the side as well. Beyond that, they were too bulky to keep on him while he was running. He found two spare knives and daggers on three of the men and pocketed them quickly. Then he rifled through their communicators and whatever spare tech they had on their person. With a grin of triumph, he ripped the final parts he would need to get his arm semi-operational again from a phone and a handful of their radios, then tore apart the rest so they were no longer usable. Standing, he jolted on his feet to the side and let out a breath, pocketing the materials before jogging off, hoping that would be enough to keep him from Morpheus's embrace.

The former asset didn't get very far before he heard familiar voices he definitely hadn't expected to hear nearby, and let out a silent curse as he once more ducked back into the safety of the shadows. He should've expected one of the Avengers' newly formed recon teams would arrive; they'd been tracking his movements too, after all. Grumbling under his breath, he crept into the nearest building, hopefully out of sight and out of range from any scanners. The one unfortunate thing about this was, while he had removed the only tracker on his person, vibranium gave off a uniquely trackable signature that made it rather hard to hide. He'd need to work quickly if he wanted to avoid the heroes. So, crouching, he opened the utility belt and pulled out what circuitry he needed to reconnect the neural cords that calibrated to the chip embedded in his brain that allowed fluid movement between his fake limbs. He didn't have a welding gun on hand, so he had to opt to taking a spare cloth and ripping it into tiny pieces before tying it around the wires to secure them in place. He prayed they wouldn't catch fire.

As he worked his other senses roamed, and he felt the prickle of danger every now and then when his hearing discerned one of the searching heroes nearby. The sense of danger was much lesser with them, though, in comparison to the men HYDRA sent his way. He supposed it was because they didn't actually want to hurt him while HYDRA was anything but. A small part of him felt slight guilt for fleeing the hero's protection a week ago; they'd shown their cards pretty well when they hadn't bothered to strap him back in despite him being a flight risk. That... showed a lot of trust on their part, and the mutant wasn't quite sure he deserved it. After all, they'd seen the bodies; they knew he was still killing. Still, they searched for him earnestly, giving him a few scares a number of times after a particularly nasty hunt. It was all he could do to redirect the weapons in hand away from hurting the heroes before he'd fled the scene, losing three good shurikens in the process. He... wasn't sure why he was going out of his way to avoid bringing harm to the heroes at his own hands. He hadn't really been against harming one of them if they'd gotten in the way while he was fleeing, after all. But now...

...He supposed he was getting sentimental, and Peter didn't know how to feel about that. He'd think about the sudden and uninhibited free reign of his emotions and how that was probably not a good thing later. Securing the last wiring into place, he sealed the panel in place once more, feeling a sharp shock from the prosthetic. With a curious glance, he carefully thought of moving the fingers, and they registered, albeit slowly, and not in the order he'd wanted. Besides that, though, it would have to do. He checked its other motor functions; moving the wrist, the elbow, and then the shoulder joints, noting they moved much like the fingers did. It was better than it not moving at all, though, as it would be able to at least hold things now. That was a marked improvement!

He jolted as he heard shuffling nearby, and berated himself silently from getting absorbed in the semantics of having a semi-functioning right arm again. Jumping to his feet, he quickly clambered onto the wall, using the innate sticking ability to press his body flat against the ceiling, quickly controlling his breathing as he slowly began crawling, back to the floor, towards the nearest exit; a window with no glass that been smashed through by a stray dart. His heartbeat began thumping more erratically in his chest as the movements drew near, and he had to pause to collect himself and keep his quiet breathing even. Then the footsteps stopped, and all he could hear was his heartbeat, his lungs contracting in his chest... and the matching organs in four other people. Knowing he was caught, he let out a knowing groan, before slumping off of the ceiling, letting his setules release from their prior grip. Landing on his feet delicately, he straightened, before turning to face his company.

Chocolate eyes fixed on (in his opinion) the rather intimidating forms of Captain America, Iron Man, Ant-Man, and Black Widow, and he felt a nervous chuckle worm its way out of his chest. Oh boy, not a good situation in the slightest. While he was technically physically superior to all of them, he still had tranquilizers in his system for another 28 minutes, a semi-functional prosthetic arm, and some lingering pain from the last scrape. His healing was slower due to lack of food, and he hadn't been getting much water, either, which was rather unfortunate since you think both would be easier to procure from goddamn New York City of all places. He had a dwindling weapons cache and no desire to really hurt the only people in the last ten and a half years that had not only been half-decent but also had given him their trust, which he'd spat back in their faces. So chances were they were pissed that he'd basically back-stabbed them, and that was... definitely not something the former asset was looking forward to. Captain America would be able to beat him much easier in a physical confrontation, especially with that shield of his, Iron Man had a much more handy array of ranged weapons at his disposal, Black Widow was going to be far more agile while he was under the influence, and he couldn't do much against an opponent that could change size at will. Perhaps that was their end-game, then. Sending out four of their best in case they needed to neutralize him. To make matters worse, Iron Man in particular had been nice and understanding, and Captain America had gratefully (and unknowingly) lended his shield to break him out of HYDRA's control. Despite the general disassociation from most opponents he'd had to face, he couldn't bring himself to think harm on the Avengers before him. He really was getting soft. HYDRA would have a ball with this attachment if he fell into their clutches.

...Which was precisely why he couldn't stay. At least if he were caught alone, it would be of his own volition, and he'd be the only one in danger. While the temptation of the safety the Avengers and their personal assets was quite tantalizing, it also meant that he would be a sitting duck in their base, as well known as it was and as well known as their members were. Peter was very well aware of how many innocent civilians the Compound contained, along with the Stark Industries tower. It would be selfish of him to rope anyone unnecessary into his problems, even if it meant his own safety. He'd had a lot of time the past week to think about his morality and who he wanted to be, and dammit, now that he had the choice, he needed to reconsider everything he'd learned of the world from HYDRA's skewed point of view. Which, of course, entailed figuring himself out, which was hard to do when getting hunted like a dog.

"Hey, kid," Tony Stark remarked coolly, voice altered by the suit. "Gotta say, you'd be an international champion at Hide and Seek."

Peter blinked at that, rolling his eyes and tapping a message against his arm. I-F-O-N-L-Y. I-T-S-N-O-T-F-U-N-T-O-P-L-A-Y-T-H-E-G-A-M-E-W-H-E-N-Y-O-U-H-A-V-E-A-C-H-E-A-T-S-H-E-E-T.

A small smirk played onto the corner of Natasha's lips. "Vibranium's easy to track. Why waste valuable information?"

Eyes narrowing, he added, W-E-L-C-O-M-E-T-O-T-H-E-P-A-R-T-Y-T-H-E-N, Y-O-U-R-E-A-L-I-T-T-L-E-L-A-T-E-T-O-M-E-E-T-T-H-E-O-T-H-E-R-G-U-E-S-T-S.

Steve pursed his lips at that. "You don't have to kill, you know. Aren't you free from their commands?"

Peter quirked a brow at that. O-H-Y-E-S, S-U-R-E, L-E-A-V-E-T-H-E-G-U-Y-S-H-U-N-T-I-N-G-M-E-A-L-O-N-E-S-O-T-H-E-Y-C-A-N-H-U-N-T-M-E-A-G-A-I-N.

Scott frowned. "You don't have to do it by yourself, though."

Steve nodded. "We're willing to grant you protection, Peter."

"It's not like any of us are much better in terms of past records, after all," Natasha remarked wryly.

"Please, kid, we just want to help." Tony finished, lifting the face mask to give the kid an earnest stare. "You don't have to go this alone."

Peter would've laughed at how funny they were being. He slowly began backing towards the window, and internally sighed when he saw Natasha noticed and began matching him step for step. I-G-E-T-Y-O-U-R-E-T-R-Y-I-N-G, R-E-A-L-L-Y. He felt his back press against the wall, a few feet from the window. If he made a good dash for it with what speed he had, he could make it out and start going again. B-U-T-I-D-O-N-T-T-R-U-S-T-Y-O-U-G-U-Y-S-E-N-O-U-G-H-Y-E-T. With that final tap, he used the moment to take a running leap out of the window. He flew into the air, before mentally activating the web-shooters on his left arm, the only one he'd had stocked since his right arm had been down. The web hit the building, and he used that to slow his momentum, hitting the ground at a roll and starting his rapid escape.

It wasn't so easy, of course. His speed was still fighting against the lingering effects of the darts for another 24 minutes, and he hadn't been getting proper nutrition. His body was running on fumes whether or not he wanted to admit it, but if Peter Parker were one thing, it was stubborn. He heard the whirring of the Iron Man suit's repulsors, the sound of shrinking, and two pairs of footsteps as he dashed away from the confines of the building he was confronted in, and his mind whirred as the mutant thought a million and one thoughts on how to get rid of his unwelcome entourage.

He could throw weapons at them, since that tended to work quite well with HYDRA. Unfortunately, he didn't think it would do him any favors with the heroes. Iron Man and Captain America would be unaffected, Ant-Man could dodge by shrinking, and Black Widow wouldn't have any troubles dodging since her level of training was on par with his own. Scratch that idea. What if he strung them up with webs? That normally would've been an enticing thought, but he was low on cartridges. The one in his left web-shooter only had 16% of it left, and he'd taken the one in his right arm's web-shooter out the first day he'd been running. The two cartridges in his utility belt needed to be used sparingly, since webs were basically a must-have for anything a blade couldn't slice, and made getting away much easier. If he couldn't think of anything else, that would have to be his option. Peter tabled it for later. Would he be able to cause a distraction to get them off of his tail? The only way he could really see them getting distracted by anything else was if he put civilians in danger or HYDRA miraculously showed up out of the blue. The former was one that wasn't the most appealing, only for the fact it would be too much work and, quite frankly, would take too long to set up. Not to mention it would probably make whatever small part of Peter's moral goodness feel guilt at endangering innocents, and since he was trying to be more companionative to that side of him, he didn't want to risk it. The latter was a double-edged blade; the heroes would get distracted enough to beat HYDRA for him, but he'd also get caught in the turmoil if he weren't careful and could get even more drugged up than he already was.

He slung a web at the nearest rooftop and began leaping between them, making it more difficult for all but Iron Man to keep a steady follow on him while also giving him a slight bit more maneuverability. It made him feel slightly better to be up here rather than on the busy streets below. He glanced over his shoulder once to check how close they were, and was surprised to see that, while Tony Stark had drawn incredibly close, he was neither speaking to him nor using anything to make him stop. That had Peter contemplating hard on the current situation. He'd told them (well, tapped to them since he didn't trust anyone or anything enough with HYDRA on his back to actually speak) that he didn't trust them enough to consider going with them. Were they actually heeding his words? Were they trying to win his trust by letting him be the one to take the initiative? He knew what they had in their arsenals from the file (had he really been tasked with assassinating them just over two weeks ago?), he knew what they could do to detain their targets first-hand. The fact they were letting him set the boundaries was... new. Something formed in his chest at the thought, something Peter didn't recognize though could've sworn he once knew long ago. They were giving him the choice... and respecting the one he'd made when he'd fled their open arms a week ago.

Peter was so distracted he didn't hear the sound of warning from both the pursuing hero and his senses before he slammed face-first into a brick wall, crumbling the framework and falling down the concealed stairs it had hidden from the outside world. Internally wincing, though otherwise showing no personal harm beyond a slight bit of hesitance, he stood up and brushed the dust off of his body. His senses jolted and he looked up to see Iron Man hovering over the new hole in the wall, staring down at him. "You okay, kid?"

Was he okay? Peter didn't know the meaning of the word. Quite literally, since it wasn't a priority word in the dictionary his handlers had given him since it wasn't a term they ever wanted him using when he reported missions. What did it mean to be okay, and did what he just did look okay? He'd heard his handlers and other HYDRA lackeys using the term, of course, but he could never ask them to elaborate. So, with a tilt of his head, the fall distracting him from his former objective of running away, he tapped, W-H-A-T-D-O-E-S-T-H-A-T-M-E-A-N?

The silence that followed that was almost palpable, and if Tony had had his faceplate up, Peter would've seen the deadpanned expression on the older man's face at the question. "You don't know what being okay is?"

The former asset blinked at that, then shook his head firmly. I-D-O-N-O-T-K-N-O-W-W-H-A-T-T-H-A-T-W-O-R-D-M-E-A-N-S. I-V-E-O-N-L-Y-H-E-A-R-D-I-T-I-N-P-A-S-S-I-N-G.

Tony went quiet at that, thinking of the implications such a simple message provided. How much did the kid not know about the world? Not enough, his mind helpfully supplied, when thinking of the actions the kid had taken in the past week. It was all they had done to keep the cops out of the picture (with Nick's help, of course) in lieu of the storm the kid was brewing across New York City, and he didn't even seem aware of the trouble it caused others to find dead bodies left in various odd places (he didn't want to think about how the kid had managed to get one of the bodies wedged in a sewer grate) with varying degrees of supplies and clothes. It was all self-defense, he knew; HYDRA was moving with the same information they had, and more often than not got to Peter before they could because they had a much larger quantity of men on their side. Thinking on the situation, Tony found himself thinking about the beach, and one of the things he'd learned about the ocean, and couldn't help but compare the situation to a riptide. Unpredictable, dangerous, hard to get out of, and able to pull whoever was caught in the middle of it right back in and strand them.

The billionaire went to answer the assassin's question, but found himself staring at empty space. The kid was gone, had likely slipped out when he'd been lost in thought. Dammit. With a sigh, he said into the comms, "Lost visual on him... again."

The exasperated sigh of Steve sounded over their general broadcast. "Slippery little guy. If Shuri hadn't given us a way to track vibranium, we'd be in deep water."

"What are you guys gonna do now?" The almost nonchalant voice of Clint asked over the radio, and Tony could hear the hidden undertone in the archer's voice through the hesitancy of the question.

Natasha clicked her tongue. "Switch rotations; we don't want to exhaust ourselves. Give him room, too. We need to show him he can trust us."

"Easier said than done," Sam remarked, letting out a huff. "It better be worth the effort."

"With the skills the kid has? Definitely," Bucky chimed in, though added, "Besides, it would look good on your resume," he assumed the Winter Soldier had given the Falcon a nudge, as the latter grunted.

"I'm glad you all can joke around in light of recent events," the calm voice of T'Challa remarked, "But we are running out of time. The more time he is out there, the likelier he will fall into bad hands."

"No kidding," Scott remarked. "The kid looked dead on his feet. He can't go much longer at this rate."

"Then we show him we mean no harm," Wanda resolved.

Vision added, "Perhaps demonstrate our aim by taking initiative on the HYDRA locations that the repaired tracker provided?"

"That would be a good way to show him we're not enemies," mused Bruce thoughtfully. "Would it work, though?"

Tony shrugged as he left the building, in search of his teammates to regroup. "Only one way to find out."

Another shorter one, but I'm quite happy with this chapter. An even blend of action and even a minor tone of fluff from a rather socially ignorant Peter who just doesn't know what some words mean.

Wisdom and Sea- Here you go, here's more!

Krakengirl- When I came up with the plotline of both sides knowing and them him getting caught in the middle of that conflict, I figured it felt right for him to carve his own path. He's had it all set in stone for so many years, and he's had such a long time without making a choice of his own... it felt best for him to choose the most immediate form of freedom as his first choice in ten and a half years. Here starts the race; and as we're building up to the climax of this first arc, it'll only get more intense. :)

I.D.'S Fantasy- Welcome to all of my stories, my favorite doof. :P You are quite lucky you came now so you got to avoid a lot of the cliffhangers, haha. But now you're stuck with them again. :D

Next time on OWOW: Three sides are caught in a war; two working to stop the third, two working to get the third, one working to avoid both sides, one with good intentions, one undecided, and one with bad intentions. The Hunt continues.

Discord: /7jYYC36