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The breaths leave Peter’s throat in desperate pants, lungs burning and muscles aching as he pushes harder and faster. The trees blurring on either side of him.
No spandex, no webs, no backup.
The gunshots are far and echo through the dense forestry, but that doesn’t mean he’s safe. It doesn’t matter how far or fast he runs; he won’t be safe until he escapes the forest.
He sees a flash of white somewhere to his right, standing out against the earthy tones. At least he knows Tony’s nearby. It doesn’t matter. They had a plan, and he’s going to stick to it.
Their plan was mostly just run. Not much time to think through many more details, but it’s still their plan. The only plan they’ve got right now.
His speed is slowing down a little bit as he fumbles over some uneven ground. He doesn’t stop. He can’t afford those kinds of indulgences right now.
A gunshot explodes too close to him and he forces his heavy feet to pick up the pace as much as he can with his burning lungs and blurring vision, knees shaking dangerously as he sprints through the forest.
He feels a little bit better knowing that at least Tony has the luxury of shoes. And that at least Tony’s not far from him. He can hear someone a few dozen yards away from him who he has to guess is Tony, trying to keep up with Peter’s super-strength-fueled sprinting.
Unfortunately, though, Peter’s injured. He’s been shot once at the beginning of this mess. It was just a graze, really, but all the heavy physical activity, it’s gotten much worse. It’s been slowing his running more than he’d like to admit.
A root catches on his bare foot and Peter goes sprawling on the rocky dirt. He immediately tries to push himself up, bleeding hands pushing against the rocks, but his knees are too shaky, and the bullet wound in his side is dripping all over the ground beneath him. He can hear the pounding of footsteps getting near to him, bullets whizzing nearby, but then there’s a sweaty hand on his elbow, tugging insistently.
It’s Tony.
His grey tank top is torn and little scratches from tree branches are visible through the tears. But other than that and the obvious exhaustion, he doesn’t look too bad.
“C’mon. We don’t have time,” he says.
Peter drags himself up, joints protesting as Tony immediately pulls them into a run.
Tony keeps a strong hand around the teenager’s wrist, keeping them in line as they accelerate back up to the speed they’d been going before, despite how much their bodies want to hibernate.
The footsteps are closer than ever, but they don’t have the time to stop. They can’t afford another misstep.
They’ll be caught and killed if they fall even a few more feet behind.
So, they keep going. Clinging to one another as they sprint through the forest, hoping against all the signs that they’ll make it out alive.
The adrenaline is the only thing that keep him going.
One foot after the next, one breath after the next.
And then, just as Peter thinks he might collapse, an opening in the trees.
“Holy shit,” he blurts, too loudly. There’s a flurry of movement as the soldiers tracking them swerve to follow his voice, but Peter’s too busy tugging Tony towards the opening.
Tony stumbles but Peter’s quick to grab onto him and haul him forward, ignoring the fire that travels through his body at the strain in his muscles.
This isn’t it. There are a few cars coming down the street, but the soldiers are still right behind them. They can’t stop.
Waving his arms at the cars, Peter fumbles a few feet ahead of Tony, desperately trying to catch their attention.
But they zip past without a care.
Tony doesn’t waste time, grabbing Peter to keep them moving along the road, knowing the soldiers will see them as soon as they break the tree line.
“We need a plan!” Tony shouts over the sound of another car flying past them and kicking dirt up. “They’re going to- Fuck, they’re going to kill us at this rate.”
Peter, thinking purely on instinct, pushes Tony back towards the forest.
“What- Peter-”
“Trust me?” Peter says, letting Tony stop for just the few seconds needed. As soon as Peter gets a nod, he surges forward, yanking the older superhero along.
A bullet hits the tree beside them, blowing the trunk to pieces. Peter ducks, one arm raised over his head in protection. Tony nearly trips over another root in the ground, but Peter keeps his grip strong.
“Still trust me?” Peter says. He has a plan. A very bad plan, but a plan, nonetheless.
Tony turns to look at him, skeptically, but there’s an unsurmountable amount of confidence in his voice as he says yes.
He nods grimly, clenching his jaw and tightening his grip on Tony’s arm.
He counts down in his head, watching the cliff approach them. Tony’s hand squeezes when he realizes what Peter’s plan is, but his feet keep moving, he’s putting his life in Peter’s hands, and Peter doesn’t know if he can keep that kind of promise.
But they don’t have a choice, pushing forward as the thundering footsteps follow along behind them and the gunshots ring through the air. They don’t have a choice.
They leap off the edge of the cliff in sync, hands gripping onto one another as they drop into a free fall down the cliffside.
Peter can hear screaming, and he clamps his free hand over his mouth desperately, just in case it’s his own. They don’t need to go alerting the soldiers to their plan or else this was all for nothing.
Cold air whizzes past them and the ground gets nearer and nearer, the slanted edge of the cliff covered in dangerously sharp rocks.
Tony’s arms wrap tight around Peter’s body suddenly, pulling them together at the last second as they hit the ground hard.
They roll and tumble and slide down the cliffside, white-hot pain flashing through his body as they go.
And then, just when he thinks he’s going to fall apart at the seams, they stop.
Peter’s tucked against Tony’s body; head cradled against his mentor’s chest. He can tell he’s bleeding, from at least a few different locations, and he has at least a few broken bones. His ankle’s on fire and his ribs ache as he curls a little bit tighter against Tony’s body, but they’re alive and the soldiers’ footsteps are fading away. They must’ve lost them.
They stay frozen for a long time, fear running their blood cold, a contrast to their burning lungs, struggling to pull in every breath.
“I think,” Tony breathes, voice loud in their empty silence, “We lost them.”
Peter sighs in relief, breath too warm in their small space.
“What do we do?” he asks, too naively, too small, looking to Tony for guidance.
But Tony takes it in stride, offering the younger superhero a reassuring smile.
“Let’s go home, kid. I think this was enough fun for one day.”
*
It takes them nearly an hour to make it back to the main road. One of Peter’s ankles are messed up, making it much harder than before, plus they’re both covered in scrapes and cuts from falling down the hillside.
But they cling onto each other, sweat soaked and bloodstained, and eventually, they make it back to the main road where one of the drivers takes pity on them and lets them borrow their phone.
They’re on high alert until Happy makes it there and even the drive back to the tower, they’re both tense and shaking with their adrenaline.
However, the moment they make it up to the penthouse tower, the adrenaline rushes out of Peter.
Tony’s barely given a warning before his eyes are rolling back and his body is falling, Tony manages to catch Peter before he hits the ground, but the panic floods through him just as strong as the adrenaline had been.
“What the- Fri? Is he okay? I thought his healing-”
“Mister Parker has low blood sugar and seems to just be crashing. I’d suggest some good rest and nutritionally-packed foods when he awakens,” Friday replies gently, lilting voice soothing on Tony’s ears.
And sure, Tony should settle Peter down in the teenager’s bedroom and start preparing a meal for the Spider-Baby’s enhanced metabolism, but Tony’s tired too, and Pepper’s always spouting about self-care. Self-care means napping with Peter, right?
He carries Peter to the master bedroom and pulls the heavy blankets around them, smiling when Peter curls into his chest, even in his sleep. Tony holds the kid close to his chest, a tired smile on his face as he presses a kiss to Peter’s forehead, and allows himself to follow Peter’s lead, drifting off to sleep.
His dreams are filled with Peter and picnics in the forest, instead of being chased down by those people. He dreams of a picnic, sun shining down on Peter’s freckled skin, lighting his smile up.
And when he wakes, if he allows himself to indulge in the luxury of carding his fingers through Peter’s messy curls, watching the sun rise, casting his kid in soft orange light, well, nobody has to know.