It was the beeping that woke him up.

It was a steady thing, a constant noise that echoed loudly in his ears, starting off as a slight annoyance and escalating quickly into fingers on a chalkboard.

Flashes of a glass cage and a knife descending on his chest suddenly appeared, and Peter's eyes snapped open.

He immediately sat up, pushing himself back with his feet and fighting whatever was entangled in his arms, trying to rip them off because he had to get out, he had to get out of here before the Goblin saw him and –

"...ir, Sir! Sir, please calm down! You're all right, you're all right sir – you're safe, everything's okay, everything –."

The world came into sudden focus and Peter blinked, stilling as he finally took in his surroundings.

He was in a room. A room that was definitely not a glass cage, but a real room with beige walls and a door and windows and –

The woman's voice continued to utter reassurances, insisting he was okay and that he was safe, that there was no need to panic and he should calm down right now.

The beeping in his ears began to slow, and Peter felt the panic begin to abate. This was definitely not the Goblin's laboratory, and by the way the woman was holding onto his arms, he wasn't tied down. No, if anything, this place actually looked like –

Like a hospital.

Peter swallowed and fell back onto pillows. The sound of the woman's voice slowly came back to his ears. "Good, that's good. Now please, just stay here for a moment while I page Doctor Cho."

Peter frowned, then looked up at the woman whose back was already turned to him, as she made her way towards a phone on the wall. He watched as she lifted the receiver and began punching numbers. His gaze turned to the rest of the room.

Something about this place felt familiar. He wasn't sure what it was; he had never spent much time – if any – in hospitals; he'd never been much of a sick child and everyone he knew who did need one had died before they could get there. So the view from the patient's bed shouldn't have been a familiar one. His eyes swore that he had never seen this place or the woman before, but yet something unnerved him; his senses whispered that there was something about this place. But for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what it was.

The woman hung up the phone and turned round, looking at him with a gentle, practiced smile. "Doctor Cho will be down shortly. She's just attending to another patient at the moment." She walked over to Peter until she was at the foot of his bed. "My name is Nurse Wright," she said. "May I ask your name?"

All right – so Peter had figured out one thing that made this place look so incredibly odd: it was the whole set up of the room itself. He'd seen enough television and movies, and had even been in one a few times himself, to know that this wasn't a regular hospital room. It was too big, it was too open. The walls weren't even completely white, and the large bay-window in front of him made him feel more like a specimen on display, rather than a patient recovering in privacy.

Which begged the question: what was he even doing here? The last he remembered, he was going off to find a bottle of whiskey and a pair of pliers to dig the bullet out of his shoulder, and –

Peter stilled as the memories came rushing back.

And he'd stumbled upon a fight. He'd stumbled upon a bunch of guys fighting one man who was defending a woman, but he was trying to fight off seven other men and he was losing, and what made it even more shocking was that that he wasn't just a man, but it was actually Clint Barton – he was Hawkeye, he was one of the Avengers; he was a master archer, he was an expert tactician, he was –

He was hurt, badly. He'd been beaten up, he'd been stabbed, and Peter….

Peter's eyes widened.

Peter had called the Avengers. He'd used the comm and called for help, he'd made Clint call for help, and after that… after that he couldn't remember. Whether someone had come and got Clint, whether the woman had found help first, he didn't know. He had no idea, and now –

"Sir?"

Peter tore himself from his thoughts and looked up. The woman was still smiling down at him, but the small lines now etched near her eyes told him she was either feeling uneased or frustration. Maybe both.

"Sir, my name is Nurse Wright," she repeated. "May I ask your name?"

Peter stared a moment longer, then finally answered: "Peter." He licked his lips. "Where am I?" he asked, looking around once more. His senses continued to tell him that something about this place was familiar, but what was it?

"You're in the hospital ward. You were found along with another man; you were both injured so we brought you back here. He says there was a fight, and you –."

"Is he okay?" Peter interrupted, sitting up. "Clint, is he – is he all right? There was a stab wound, on his lower back, on the left of his lower back but there might've been more, there could've been more but I wasn't able to check, and –."

"The man you were with is fine. He only suffered the one stab wound and is recovering in another one of the wards."

Relief washed over Peter and he fell back onto the pillows, taking a deep breath.

Good. Good, that was good. They'd managed to get to him in time and save him and that was good. That was very very good.

"I'm not sure if you were aware," the nurse continued, "but you also suffered a few wounds yourself. There was a stab wound in your lower abdomen, near your waist. However, it didn't hit any vital organs and we expect you will recover quite nicely. We also found a bullet wound in your upper right shoulder; it looked as though it had been there for quite some time."

Peter instinctively grabbed hold of his shoulder and sure enough, there was no pain.

"Were able to remove it, and we expect the wound will heal nicely as well. It may take a bit longer than the wound on your abdomen, and you will experience continued bruising for a while, but aside from that, you will be fine."

Oh. Well that sounded good. It was a far better alternative to having to pull out the bullet himself. Obviously.

Another worry rose in Peter's mind. "Um, I don't – that is, I don't have any way of p...paying," he said. "I – that is, I don't… I'm just living by myself, right now." Perhaps he shouldn't have said that. If they found out he was underage, even if it wasn't for much longer, and they knew he was living by himself, then –

"Oh don't worry about any of that," the nurse quickly reassured him. "This facility is run by the Stark Corporation. You will receive no cost whatsoever." She smiled. "Especially after helping one of his friends."

Everything that Peter was doing, everything he was thinking, came to a sudden halt.

Wait, what?

"Wh-what did you say?" Peter asked, looking up at the nurse.

The nurse's smile widened, as though she were sharing a conspiratorial secret. "I said you needn't worry about any cost – Mister Stark will cover it. He runs this facility, and I don't know if you realised it or not, but that man you helped is a good friend of his. They work together quite a lot."

Peter could hear the noise of the machine next to him begin to beep faster, and the muscles in his neck started to ache.

"Where – where did you say I was again?"

"You're in a facility run by Mister Stark. In fact, if I heard right, he might be in the building at this very moment!" She winked. "He may even come over and say thank you later, if you're lucky."

As though someone had pressed the 'resume' button on Peter's body, he was suddenly jumping out of the bed, pulling all the cords and wires with him, the machines screeching and beeping loudly in protest.

Nurse Wright started, aghast. "Mister Peter! Mister Peter please, please you must get back into the bed! I promise I will ask Mister Stark to pay a visit, but if you go and try to find him now, you will –."

"No. No no no no, this can't be happening. This can't be happening. I have – I have to get out of here, I need to get out of here, I –." Peter ripped the needle from his wrist and pulled off the cannula cord from beneath his nose, freeing him. "I need – I need –."

"Peter, please! Please, you can't – oh my goodness."

He needed – he needed his clothes. At least a pair of pants, a pair of sweatpants at least, or – there. Peter quickly grabbed a pair of hospital pants that were laying on a chair and he turned back round, looking for the door. He spotted Nurse Wright, who had just finished hanging up the phone. She turned back to him, her face etched with worry and fear. She raised her hands.

"Now Peter, I'll ask you one more time, please get back in your bed. You still need to get rest, and –."

"No," Peter interrupted. "No, you can't – I have to get out of here. You don't understand, I have to get out of here! I need to get out of here or else people will get hurt, they'll get hurt so you have to let me go!"

He stepped forward but so did Nurse Wright, her eyes and mouth set in sudden determination. "Mister Peter, I will not ask you again. Lay back down on the bed right now, or I'll have security do it for you."

Everything within Peter was screaming, was shouting at him to run, to get the hell out of here and get out right now. If Mister Stark was in here, if Clint was still in here, then wherever here was, it was where he was not supposed to be.

This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't supposed to ever happen, he wasn't supposed to be here he wasn't supposed to be anywhere close to Tony Stark and the Avengers ever again. He had to leave, he had to get out of here right now. He had to get out of here, he had to get out get out get out.

Peter looked round, searching for any way out other than the door. But aside from the windows, there wasn't any. He turned back to Nurse Wright and swallowed. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but as long as I'm here you're all in danger, so I'm going to leave and I'm going to leave now."

He stepped forward again reaching towards her, but the woman didn't back down. In a move that Peter didn't see coming, she was suddenly in front of him, grabbing his arm, and twisting it behind his back.

"I'm so sorry Mister Peter," she said, and it actually sounded like she was. Peter supposed that Tony wouldn't have just anyone working for him, nurse or otherwise. Apparently learning one of the martial arts came with the job.

Peter felt her increase her grip on one of his pressure points behind his arm, but aside from a tingling discomfort, it did nothing. He twisted easily out of her grasp and spun round, grabbing hold of her wrists.

"I'm sorry," he said, and really he was. They were both sorry. They were both sorry for the situation the other was in, but the reality was that Peter had the advantage here, and he wasn't going to give it up.

Nurse Wright stared at him in alarm, her eyes growing wide as he pushed her down.

Just as he was about to shove her away, his spidey-senses tingled along the back of his neck at the sound of footsteps running down the hall. A second later the door swung open and Peter felt arms wrap around his neck.

At that point instinct kicked in, and Peter fought. He grabbed onto the guy's arms and pulled him over his back, sending him crashing to the floor in front of him. Another man wrapped his arms around his middle, squeezing tight. Peter grabbed hold of the man's forearms and wrenched them back; he twisted round and kicked the guard, sending him flying back through the now-open door.

Seeing his opening, Peter ran.

He sprinted through the hallways, dodging round more security guards as they tried to stop him. He latched onto an exit sign and turned where it pointed, following the rest down twists and turns until he finally spied two glass doors, where light from the outside shone through. Ignoring the shouts behind him, he ran faster and faster, until he was at the end of the hallway and bursting through the doors, and –

Peter skidded to a stop, nearly falling over as his feet slipped along the grass, his eyes growing wide as the world came into a sudden and sharp focus.

Trees. There were trees, everywhere. A forest of them. Many still had their leaves on, but some were already bare and covered with a thin layer of frost. Spruce and pine shone out between them, dark and forewarning against the pale grey of the clouded sky. They surrounded him, wrapping around the building like barrier.

Peter suddenly knew exactly where he was, and why this place felt so horribly familiar.

He was at the Compound. He was at the Avenger's Compound, all the way up in upstate New York. He was at the Compound where all of the Avengers – Tony, Clint, Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner – liked to hang out. This was where they were all the most likely to be when not out saving the world or doing undercover business. This was their headquarters, this was their safe haven.

And this was exactly where Peter was not supposed to be.

He had to get out of here. Now he really had to get out of here. If he stayed too long, if he was near them for too long, then everything he'd been trying to avoid would come to pass and Seftis would come back and they would die, they would all die because of him, because he wasn't able to keep to his bargain, because he wasn't able to hold up his end of the deal and just stay the hell away from everyone, just stay the hell away and keep to himself and keep them safe and –

He sensed the person coming up behind him only seconds before they'd tackled him and put him in a vice-like hold. Peter struggled, trying to free himself, but the moment he did he felt something prick the side of his neck, and seconds later everything went dark.

This time when he woke, he had to good sense to keep his eyes closed.

He was back in the hospital room, that much he could tell by the incessant beeping of the heart monitor and the sheets that were practically binding him to the bed. They'd caught him, obviously. Caught him when he'd let his guard down, when he'd let himself be overwhelmed by the realisation that he wasn't in New York, that he was at the Avenger's Compound and about as far from the city as he could ever want to be.

Peter took a few moments to just breathe.

He'd have to be better. This wasn't a child's game anymore, this was no longer a long-held game of hide-and-seek without a seeker. This was life and death. If he didn't get out of here, and if he didn't get out of here soon, everyone would be in danger. The longer he was with them, the greater chance Seftis would see them and then he'd return, he'd return and carry out his threat and kill every one of them. He'd bury another axe in Clint's back, he'd pierce Tony's back and stab him straight through his heart, he would go after Bruce and then Steve and then Bucky and then –

The door suddenly opened and Peter could hear the footsteps of two people as they walked inside, his ears picking up every beat of their hearts and the breaths in their lungs. He forced himself to remain calm, hoping that they hadn't noticed the slight increase of his heart.

"Wait." Tony. That was Tony's voice. Shit. Of all the people that had to walk in here, it had to be Tony – "This is him? This is the guy that saved your ass?"

"Yeah." That was Clint. He was obviously well enough to be walking, which was a good sign. Peter just wished he hadn't walked in here. "Why, what's the problem?"

There was a pause, then, "I know this guy."

"What?" Clint's voice was incredulous. "How the hell do you know him? He's some random kid that happened to walk by in the alley. Where on earth could you have possibly met him?"

"You remember me telling you about that kid that that green, goblin thing was trying to go after? The one on the rooftop?"

"This is him?"

"This is him."

Another pause, then, "Well what are the odds of that? This guy must like to find trouble. Lucky for me it worked out this time, I guess."

"Well I don't think he was actually looking for trouble, Barton. At least not on the rooftop. Yeah, who the hell knows why he was up there – probably smoking pot or something. But I doubt he was trying to pick a fight with some green weirdo on a hover-board. But he did piss him off somehow; guy just wouldn't leave him alone. You'd think he'd kicked his puppy, or something."

"That green guy was actually going after a civilian? What'd you do?"

"I saved him, of course! Thankfully the guy, whoever he was, sucks at engineering. One of the hover-board's reactors shot and it sent him flying off into Never-Never-Land."

"Kid was okay?"

"Yup. I picked him up, gave him a ride back down to earth – free of charge, I might add – and sent him on his merry little way. Didn't say much, but I think he was just too in awe at seeing the Invincible Iron Man."

Peter could practically hear Clint roll his eyes. "That has to be the worse name someone's ever given you."

"People have called me many things, my friend, and I can assure you that that is far from the worst."

Another pause, and Peter wondered if Clint was shaking his head. "Well enough ego-boosting. Were you ever able to find any info on this kid?"

"His name is Peter Parker. The only thing FRIDAY could find was his school records. He attended Midtown High until he was fourteen, which was almost four years ago. After that there's nothing. Zip. Not even doctor's note. He just fell off the map."

"Does he have any family?"

"FRIDAY said he had an aunt, at one point. From the looks of things she's still alive, which means he's probably a runaway. Not a very good one, might I add. Kid looks skinnier than a starving cat."

"That's because he probably is starving, Tony. It's not exactly easy being homeless."

"I didn't say it was! But it's not like he's too eager to stay indoors. Wright says he ran almost as soon as he woke up. Didn't get far though. They had to sedate him to bring him back." Silence, and then a sigh. "Look. Once he's back on his feet we'll give him some money, we'll get him set up with housing for a few months, and we'll sign a bunch of autographs that he can sell on e-Bay. How's that sound?."

There were footsteps, followed by a turning of the door handle, but before the door opened Clint spoke. "He knew my name."

There was silence, then a turning of heels.

"What, he recognised you as Hawkeye and said as such? I mean, I know the press doesn't pay as much attention to you as they do some of your betters, but I don't think it's that big a deal. I doubt the guys that were beating you up would stop if they knew you were with the Avengers."

"He called me Clint, Tony. He called me by my first name. He called me Clint."

"Pssh. Kid could've googled it."

"He knew about the comm! He asked me for my comm, then made me call you. It was like… it was like he knew exactly what to do to get it to work. I thought you'd made them so that random people couldn't find them and accidentally call the Avengers to help them carry their groceries."

"Okay, one: he guessed. Everyone probably thinks we all carry some sort of SOS beacon in our pockets. And guess what? We do! And two: it was luck! You're making a big deal out of nothing, Barton. Honestly. This is just a homeless kid that happened to help you out. That's great, and I honestly do appreciate it. We all do. But that's all he is – a random kid. That's it. So stop with all your conspiracy-ing, and move on. All right?"

"I'm not saying anything's a conspiracy, Tony, I'm just saying –."

"Just saying what, exactly? Hmm?" Silence. "Exactly. Now if you'll allow, I've got to get going. I have a meeting with Ross that I need to avoid."

The door closed, leaving Peter alone with Clint. Clint stayed for a few more minutes, watching, before turning and leaving, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Peter waited a few more minutes before opening his eyes.

They'd stayed in the room for exactly ten minutes. Peter had counted. And nothing had happened. But what would have happened if they'd stayed for fifteen minutes? Or twenty? What if they'd been there an hour? What then? How long would it have to take before something happened, and Seftis came back, or would they all just drop dead and… and….

Peter suddenly felt exhausted, even though nothing had happened and he'd been sleeping in this bed for who-knew how long. Panic still hovered beneath his skin, adrenaline still hummed in his veins, ready to be used at a moment's notice. He needed to get out of here. Except now he was probably marked a flight risk and they'd be watching him like a hawk, treating him like a prisoner that was trying to escape. Maybe he was.

Peter glanced up at the clock, then back out the window.

It didn't matter how tired he was, or how much they were watching him. Every moment he was here was another moment that everyone was in danger. He'd spent two years keeping everyone else safe; he wasn't going to screw it all up now.

It'd be cold out, and he wasn't sure where the nearest town or city was; all he knew was that he had to go south. He wasn't like a normal human, he could endure the cold weather and the nights outside. He could endure the wind and the snow.

He hoped.

He'd escape and get back to New York City, he'd get what little he had from his attic and he'd leave the state. He'd ride the bus or hitchhike until he made his way west, all the way to Minnesota or Montana or Oregon. Somewhere far away, somewhere where the heroes and problems of the Avengers rarely ever came.

But first, he had to get out of here. And now was as good a time as any.

Peter slowly pulled back the covers and made his way out of the bed, removing the cannula and rubbing his stomach as he looked around, hoping that whoever was watching would think he was looking for a bathroom. He knew his acting was shit and the whole thing was ridiculous, but he didn't need it to be very convincing, he just needed it to buy time.

Reaching the door Peter turned the knob, and quietly made his way outside.

So far, no one was running for him. If anything, whoever was watching would alert the nurse, first, or Doctor Cho.

He stayed along the walls, avoiding the cameras that were tucked away in the corners as best he could. He would listen for people's heartbeats, for their footsteps, and whenever he heard someone coming he would duck into another hallway or around a corner and wait until they were gone. The strategy worked well enough, until there came a point that two people from both hallways were coming together at once.

Peter began to panic. He could hear their footsteps coming closer and closer, and at the rate they were both walking they would arrive together at the exact same time. He would have to go back.

Peter turned and started nearly running down the hall, dipping into another hallway just as the other people met. He could hear them talking, could hear them saying hello and how they other was. He could hear the third person making their way toward him, only feet away from the corner, and –

Peter's eyes widened as he realised that someone else was coming straight towards him.

Looking round, Peter began to panic. If he ran back into the other hallway, he would meet the two people that were now making their way down. If he went forward, he would meet the next one and get caught. It was one or the other, he had nowhere else to go, he –

Peter quickly looked up, scanning for cameras. He spotted only one in a recess of the wall, pointing down the hall where the third person was coming down. Without even thinking Peter ducked into the alcove and all but ran up the wall and onto the ceiling. Thankfully the ceiling was high, and not many people made a habit of always looking up. Hopefully.

He stayed back in the shadows, all but squeezing himself against the corner behind the camera. He watched as the person – a man in a suit – walked down the hallway towards him. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest, the blood rushing loudly in his ears as the man drew closer and closer and –

The man came to the corner where the two hallways met and turned, never once looking up. Peter listened as he walked a few more paces before turning again, before disappearing round the corner and into the building.

Peter let go of the breath he'd been holding, and slowly lowered himself to the ground.

Right. That was close enough. It was time to get out of here.

He navigated his way through the rest of the building's wing, continuing to dodge members of staff and patrolling security guards. Everyone was calm, which meant they hadn't yet figured out he was missing. But he knew that the calm wouldn't last long, and soon someone would sound the alarm, or –

"Hey, you!"

And there it was.

Peter glanced back to see a security guard running towards him from the end of the hallway, another one following close behind. Well, at least he had more distance on them than last time.

Peter took off, making the same twists and turns as last time until he was once again pushing through the doors and into the outside. This time he wasn't caught off guard by his surroundings, and he started running as fast as he could.

All he had to do was make it to the forest. There were still enough leaves left on the trees that he would be able to hide long enough for them to give up, and then he could start making his way south. All he had to do was run, he had to run as fast as he could, as fast as his legs could carry him, faster and faster and faster and –

Something suddenly caught the corner of his eye, but before he had a chance to even register what it was, he had collided with it and was sent crashing and tumbling to the ground.

There were still people shouting when Peter pushed himself up on his arms. His eyes grew as wide as saucers when they landed on the object – on the person – that lay beneath him.

Steve Rogers stared back, his own eyes just as wide and equally confused. An earbud dangled from his ear, the cord disappearing into the jogging shirt that was zipped up against his neck. They both stared at each other for a brief moment, their brains still catching up to the collision.

"Hey you, stop! Get back here!"

Peter looked back, staring at the now-five security guards that were running towards him. He glanced back down at Steve one more time, before scrambling to his feet and taking off once more. He was less than a hundred yards from the forest, as soon as he made it he'd be able to lose them all in the trees. Just a little more.

Steve Rogers stared in complete bewilderment and not the least bit of confusion, as he watched the young man get up and start booking it for the trees. Looking back, he watched as the security guards continued to run across the grass, but they were going too slow – there was no way they'd catch the kid before he made it to the forest.

Well, he was never one to turn a blind eye to guards running after what looked like an escaped prisoner – or in this case, an escaped patient. At least not when they were on his side.

Quickly getting to his feet, Steve began running after the boy. He'd catch him, he'd calm him down, and he'd get him back to Doctor Cho. This was probably the young man that had helped save Clint Barton's life, the homeless one from the alley. It didn't surprise Steve that he ran. Waking up in a foreign place, hours away from the city and everything he knew, he was bound to be a little frightened, and –

Steve frowned.

He should be catching up to him by now. He was probably the fastest guy he knew, save for Bucky and maybe Thor. Super-soldier serum would do that to you.

But this guy, this guy was… outrunning him?

That didn't make sense.

Steve increased his speed. Soon he was running as fast as his legs could go, but to his utter astonishment, the kid was still getting away. A few seconds later he was at the forest and disappeared through the trees.

Steve slowed until he came to a halt. A few moments later a couple of the security guards met him, both breathing heavily.

"Who is that?" Steve asked, frowning into the trees.

"That's the kid that came in with Mister Barton, Sir," one of the men responded. "He ran away from the medical ward. He was supposed to be under surveillance," he looked pointedly at another guard, "since after the first time he got out and –."

"He got out before?" Steve asked incredulously.

The guard had the decency to look at least a little embarrassed. "We caught him the first time, we figured he'd been scared or gone looking for Mister Stark. He was supposed to be under heavier watch, but –."

"But he still managed to escape," Steve finished. "Seems like the story of our lives." He sighed, turning to the other security guards who had just arrived. "Do we know if this guy is a threat? Has he been violent at all?"

"No Sir. But he is still supposed to be recovering, and –."

"And you'd rather we not have some random kid running around the compound. All right, I get it." Steve motioned to two of the guards. "Seymore, Davis, you guys go let Tony know what's happened. The rest of you: let's go find us a kid. Now he's most likely scared and afraid, so don't be too harsh on him. Remember, he's just a kid." Steve turned back to the trees and began walking. "A kid that runs like a cheetah," he muttered under his breath.

Peter knew they were after him, he could hear Steve's – Captain America's – voice directing them, telling them which route to take and where to spread out. But he was putting greater distance between them every second, so all he needed to do was keep going and not stop. He could never stop.

Don't ever stop.

Eventually the seconds turned into minutes, and then the minutes turned into hours.

Peter breathed heavily, swerving in and around the trees. The guards were off somewhere to his left and right, but Steve was still running off in the distance behind him. It was clear he knew the forest better than Peter, as every so often he'd start to gain on him. But Peter would then quickly increase his speed, ducking under branches and running through brush and brambles, determined to get away. Because he had to. He'd run from them for this long, he couldn't stop now.

But Peter, no matter his abilities, was still partly human. And even he couldn't keep going forever.

His heart was pounding in his chest and sweat was pouring down his neck and back, soaking into his hospital gown. It was getting dark out, and white dots were slowly starting to appear in Peter's vision.

"He's at your three," Peter suddenly heard one of the guards say. He was so much closer than he had realised, and Peter started at the noise. He swung his head left and right, searching for flashlights, searching for motion that would tell him where the guards were, and –

Peter jumped over a fallen log as he looked; he jumped just as he had done countless times during this whole escape. Unlike all the other times, however, there was a fox hole on the other side.

Peter's leg caught inside it and it twisted viciously to the right, a crack resounding through the trees. Peter crashed to the ground, tumbling over and over until he came to a stop.

He tried but failed to bite back the scream that wrench itself from his lips, immediately curling into the fetal position over his injured foot. He stayed there for a moment, trying to catch his breath and fight against the pain.

He could hear them behind him, coming closer and closer. They'd be here in less than seven minutes. He had to get up, he had to keep going. Steve was fast and by the sounds of it, he was barely out of breath. He could go for another three hours if he had to until he found him. And Peter couldn't let him do that.

Peter got up to his feet, hissing through clenched teeth as he fought to stand straight. Once he was at least somewhat standing, he started to walk.

As soon as he'd placed pressure on his injured foot he collapsed back to the ground, barely holding back the cry in his throat as excruciating pain shot through his ankle, as though a million knives were stabbing through his skin and into his bone.

It was just a badly twisted ankle, that was all. Just a very bad sprain. He had survived on similar before, so he could survive on this. No problem. He stumbled forward, forced to practically hop on one foot as he dragged the other behind him.

It was foolish, he knew that. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it was completely ridiculous, that there was no way whatsoever he could escape like this. He had gone from 160 to less than ten in a matter of seconds. Steve and the guards would catch him in no time. They would take him back to the compound and keep him there, interrogating him and staying close to him, and in turn sealing their own fates and everyone else's. Peter would have failed to keep his end of the deal, and as a result everyone else would die, they would all die and –

Peter's eyes caught a nearby tree with no branches near the bottom. It was almost completely night, now, and the branches high above were shrouded in darkness. Peter swallowed. It was the only option he had left.

Dragging himself over to the tree, Peter placed his hands against its bark, took a breath, and began to climb. He used his good-foot to steady himself as he pulled himself up by his fingers, his toes pressing against the trunk as he climbed higher and higher. He eventually made it to the branches, which were thankfully still nearly full of leaves. He continued to climb until he was completely surrounded by branches and leaves. Finally, spotting a large branch that reached out from the tree's trunk, Peter sat down.

He leaned his back against the tree and closed his eyes, and took a deep, heavy breath. For what felt like the first time in a very long time, everything was silent.

They would follow him here, he knew, or at least near enough, but they wouldn't find him. He'd stay in this tree until morning; hopefully by then his ankle would be healed and he could carry on. Maybe by then they would have even given up. They'd already forgotten about him once, they could certainly do it again.

It was the cracking of twigs underfoot that woke him, and his eyes snapped open. He jerked forward, his eyes and ears immediately on high alert. He swore to himself; he hadn't even realised he'd fallen asleep.

His eyes searched through the branches and leaves; it was completely dark now, night having arrived long ago. He couldn't believe they were still searching for him; surely they must have all turned back by now. They'd have gone back and told Tony or Happy what had happened, and they would call off the chase until morning because why would they waste their efforts and technology on him, a random street kid they'd happened to pick up in Manhattan, a homeless kid who'd been off the map since he was fourteen, and –

The footsteps broke through the trees and blonde hair reflected in the moonlight. Peter frowned.

Steve. Of course. Of course it'd be Steve, of course Steve would be the one to carry on looking for a guy he didn't know, for some kid who'd barreled him over in the middle of his evening jog, whose info all he had to go on was that he'd happened to have helped one of his friends.

For a moment, Peter cursed Steve's heart, and his incessant need to help others. That need had gotten him into trouble more times than he could count, and it was about to get him into trouble now.

Steve stopped a few feet away from the tree that Peter was in, his hands resting on his hips as he appeared to be catching his breath. Huh. So maybe even super-soldiers got tired after more than three hours of running through a forest.

Peter sunk back into the tree, closing his eyes and evening his breathing as best he could. Just wait it out. Wait it out, and he would leave. Just wait it out. Just wait it out. Peter took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

Somewhere along the line he'd forgotten that Steve's super-soldier serum not only gave him super-strength, but also gave him other handy perks, as well. Such as enhanced hearing.

As Peter let out his breath, Steve's body suddenly stilled, and a moment later he turned, looking directly up into the tree where Peter sat.

Peter froze, his body growing cold.

A few moments later Steve's eyes stopped moving, and his mouth set in a thin line of determination as he turned to fully face the tree. Peter could only stare back, every muscle in his body growing taut.

Fuck.