Disclaimer: I own none of the characters within.

Author's Notes:

GUESS WHO'S GOING TO NEW YORK?!!?!

Me.

Ha ha. I am excited. Never fear, I'll be back in a little over a week. Far too short a time, if you ask me…

But before I go, behold! Where, exactly, is Pietro? Does he even know? Let's find out!

~

The scream echoed in his own ears even as the sound itself ended.

He was trembling like a leaf.

His heart felt like it was going to explode out of his chest.

But most terrifying at all, he felt completely and utterly alone.

Never before had he experienced such absolute loneliness. It was as though he were the last surviving person on the planet, with no hope of human company ever, ever again.

It was a despair that struck him harder than the slap across the face the night before.

Pietro sighed.

He looked at his shaking hands and tried to stop them with sheer willpower; they continued to quiver against his wishes. Passing one in front of his eyes, he took a tremulous breath and decided that he would have to calm himself before his hands.

"Sorry, guys," he apologized absently. "I don't know what happened that time, either…"

It hurt all over. His whole body felt like it had been thrown through a garbage disposal, then dropped off a cliff. Then he had swum across the Pacific Ocean, and then been run over by a truck.

But at the same time, with the same feeling, that same instant of sensation, he was utterly alive. He felt as though he had been turbo-charged, struck by lightning, zapped with the force of a thousand racecars. It was overwhelming.

"Geez, what happened…?" he asked, half to himself, half to his companions.

They did not respond. Having regained himself a little better, he chanced an annoyed look at them.

"What, no sympa…"

The word 'sympathy' died in his throat when he saw them.

They weren't moving. Weren't breathing, weren't blinking. Just standing there, stiff as statues, frozen in the very last positions he had seen them in before the scream. Wanda had her arms extended towards him, Lance also. Freddy was back a little ways; mouth still dropped open in shock. And Todd was rushing from the kitchen with a glass of water.

"…guys…?"

The feeble whisper was snatched away by the all-powerful silence that enshrouded the world in his mind. He moved closer to them tentatively, confused.

Joking! They must be joking! They were mad at him for going so fast all the time, so they were pretending to be frozen to try and scare him.

"Not funny." He snarled.

No response. Panic rose in him.

"I said that's not funny!" he screamed.

Nothing.

Marching up to Lance, he waved an angry hand in front of his face. But the eyes remained glassy and fixed on where he'd been standing moments ago. Irritated, Pietro tried shoving the older boy. The body lurched a little, but fell back into place like a wax dummy that had been momentarily thrown off balance.

Raw fear coursed through his veins.

"Guys?" A frantic plea. "Guys? Cut it out! It's not funny!"

A hand waved before Wanda's eyes elicited the same reaction; none. Throwing himself at Freddy in desperation, he only ricocheted off the sturdy, rock solid figure. They were on freeze frame, paused as perfectly as if he had paused a movie.

Racing over to Todd, Pietro was about to grab him when he saw something that made his blood run cold. The water in the glass had splashed up from the jostling it was getting.

But the droplets were suspended in mid-air.

Horrified, the silver-haired boy could only stare at the image, wondering briefly if he was dreaming. Finally, curiosity overcame fear, and he reached out to touch one of the drops. It burst on his fingertip like dew, but then the smaller drops hung in the air.

What the hell was going on?

Then it hit him like a sledgehammer.

He was trapped in superspeed!

It all rushed down on him, an ocean of information trying to gush into the tiny sink of his bewildered mind. This was exactly what it was like when he running at top speed! Only at top speed. He had to push himself and push himself, but then there would be a delightful shift as he found himself in the highest gear of all. It only lasted a short while, but for those instants he felt faster than time itself.

But how had he gotten here? He hadn't been exerting himself in the least, let alone pushing himself past all normal limits.

This was a question he could not answer.

All he could deduce was that somehow, someway, he had shifted into Top Gear, as he quickly dubbed it, and become stuck there. It was like the clutch of a car snapping off at its greatest velocity.

The early stages of panic were being rapidly replaced by his usual icy, logical self.

Time to reason his way out of this.

First. Had to tell the others. As before, he must have disappeared, as they had described to him. He must be going to fast he was invisible to the human eye! His long-dead ego flared briefly at the thought, but the new Pietro was too careworn and exhausted to be intrigued by such things.

He walked up to Lance.

"I'm stuck." He said solemnly. "I'm stuck in Top Gear, and I can't get out."

No reaction. The eyelids were halfway shut. He must be blinking. Frustration welled inside of him.

"I'm stuck!" he said, louder. "I don't want to be! I want to come back!"

The face remained locked in the surprise of his initial disappearance. The loneliness came back, and the panic, and the sudden crushing realization there might be no coming back.

"Can you hear me?" he screamed. "I need help! I want to come back to you! Dammit, listen to me!"

Tears burned in his eyes, tears of rage and terror, and he dashed them away with a furious hand. It was trembling. Biting his lip, he focused all of his panicky energy into stopping the shaking. He had to close his eyes so he wouldn't be looking at his petrified companions.

The quivering stopped, and Pietro felt stronger.

He also felt like a lost little kid. He vaguely remembered being in an open market, when he was very small. There were maybe hundreds of people there, and somehow, he had gotten separated from his father. This was, of course, when he still trusted the bastard, and so of course he had panicked.

He was surrounded by people and yet he was utterly alone.

This was how it was now.

Raking a no-longer-trembling hand through his hair, he tried to think. His brain felt like liquid, melted, and he was strangely dizzy. Maybe going at Top Gear for too long did this to him. Absently, he checked his own pulse, curious.

It was like the purr of an engine. There were no separate beats. Just a hum, a throb, and he could feel it vibrating inside his chest.

It was disturbing.

Had to tell the guys.

How?

Wandering around the house, he shivered against the silence that seemed to assault him like an actual cold wind, tearing at his skin and soul.

At last his eyes settled on a notepad, and he eventually found a pen.

It was difficult to focus; like his brain was going too fast for his body to catch up with, but then it was suddenly vice versa. He found himself back in the living room before he realized he had even gone there.

Bringing pen to paper, he decided to ignore the fact that he was shaking again. There was no stopping it. His own body was beyond his control, now. Just had to get back as soon as possible.

He wrote a message as calmly and clearly as he could. Tried to keep it simple, tried not to sound as scared shitless as he was.

And idea occurred to him.

Quickly and with new confidence, he scrawled down his orders to Lance. Ripping off the piece of paper, he offered it to the other boy.

"Here," he said automatically.

When Lance didn't take it, it was another slap in the face. Still trapped. Get used to it, and fast, or you're going to go crazy.

With some difficulty, he managed to unfold the older teenager's fingers, stuff the note into his palm, and fold the fingers again. He decided to loiter around for a while and see what would happen. Maybe he would click back, like he did before.

No such luck.

The only thing he saw was the blink Lance had started minutes ago finish its course.

Unable to bear it any longer, he headed for the front door. Might as well go see what the world would be like with him as the only person alive. Moving, anyway. It would be like that old Star Trek episode.

He was trying to convince himself everything was going to be okay.

But suddenly he felt heartsick.

Not sick like nauseated, which was how he felt often enough. Not sick like a headache, which was what he had often enough. This sensation was completely new. It was a pang deep in his chest, not of physical pain, but emotional. He suddenly felt crippled inside, because he was realizing that it might be the end. He might be trapped here forever.

He might never talk to these people again.

So he studied their faces carefully, reverently, trying not to feel too much like a prisoner marching to death row. All the panic of earlier was gone, all of the fury and the terror and frustration. He felt calm.

There was one more thing to do. Hurrying to the notepad, he was about to write something, but froze. He thought for a long time on what to put on the paper, long enough for the figures in the living room to have changed subtly in their stance, most notably Lance's gaze was now moving towards the note in his hand.

At last, Pietro knew. And he wrote three careful words on the paper. This he tore off and folded up neatly, and placed in Wanda's hand. Kissing her on the cheek, he whispered, "Don't leave me here."

Sucking in a deep breath, he went to the front door, and stepped into a world that was like nothing he had ever seen.

~