A/N) So, I'm back with another chapter! Yeah, it's been a while, and it's a little short, but whatever. I've been grappling with other fandoms recently, and it's hard to tell myself to stop and continue these stories. Especially since I have no one really to tell me off whenever I try to start another story. (Fanfiction is a dirty secret, because no one in my family really likes this site...)

Anyway, I'm back now! Oh, and just so you know, there will be mention of the organic webbing that Peter's body can now produce in this chapter. (See my last A/N for more details)

I would also like to thank ShadowHiro, who, in my other story mentioned that 'Spiderman' is actually spelled 'Spider-man'. Thanks!

This chapter's song is 'Losing your senses' By Renegade five. (Which the peasant does not own- wait, why are we even doing these? We're on Fanfiction for Pete's sake! No one owns anything here!)

Now then, enjoy this next chapter!

Peter was currently upside-down on the ceiling in the abandoned warehouse he had trained in before. He was still wearing his suit and hoodie, although it was still quite damp. Mind you, it wasn't as though he had any other clothes. He was kind of cold, but he had found a moth-eaten blanket that had been nibbled at the edges. It didn't help much, as wet clothes weren't really the best in cold climates, (nor were old blankets) but he didn't mind. He had other things on his mind.

The warehouse had fortunately remained untouched in the months that he had been away from it, which he was very relieved for. He had no idea where he would go if he didn't have this place. Perhaps he would seek out some of the other vigilantes? Maybe he would wander the streets in his civilan clothes? Who knew.

Anyway, he didn't have to worry about that. He was here now, so he had time to plan his next move. They would surely find him again soon, so he would need another place to escape to, if that situation were ever to come up.

His first idea was to escape into Europe. There, he could easily disappear, and no one would follow him if he was Peter Parker. Perhaps he could just pull a 'Bruce Banner'? The idea was alright, but he didn't really have the money to execute it. The government had taken May's will rights, after he had disappeared. They had assumed that he had been killed in the streets, after being run over by a car. He had planned that as a disappearing act just after the event with Daredevil and Deadpool. He had had a feeling that he'd need it.

Daredevil had helped with the set-up, because he'd done the same with his 'Brother' at one point. Deadpool had his own ways of escaping, after all, he'd been running from the government for a while before that anyway. (Something about a crim-boss who owed him...)

Of course, they had planned this over old, untracable phones that Deadpool had found a couple of months beforehand. That was mainly how they planned meetings, or training sessions. They didn't use the phones all too much, as they weren't very close, but Peter knew that they were trust worthy.

Another idea was that he could hitch-hike all the way to Canada, and maybe find a boat that would take him someplace else. (Or maybe he wouldn't have to go as far as Canada? All he knew was that there was a lot of fishing boats there that could potentially help him out). He could maybe work on the boat as payment, or something. That was how it worked in the movies, right?

Peter sighed, coming up with no more ideas. He kind of wanted to stay here in New York, because this was his home. He had lived here his whole life... he didn't want to leave it. His house had been desimated, but his home would stand strong.

He was still tired from all the energy he had needed to use the evening before, when the Avengers had attacked him. The interaction with Ironman had been strange, but at least he hadn't kidnapped him. Not that he could have kidnapped Peter- he had been too weak. Plus, the suit had probably completely shut down. If the water had gotten into the suit's system, he'd be stuck in an unworkable suit. A heavy unworkable suit.

A small noise interrupted Peter and his thoughts. His stomach was growling with discomfort, and lack of food. It was not an unfamiliar sound; he had grown used to it over the months. But this time, he had a better food supply. He was in an abandoned warehouse... there was bound to be rats and other small rodents here. He could probably skin those, or something. He had read about survival in a booklet that his incle had gotten him for his thirteenth birthday. (Oh, how he wished he had that now).

Peter dropped down from the ceiling (much to the protest of his wrists, which were still scabbing over since he had last used his organic webbing- his skin tore open every time he tried to use it) and began looking around for a good vantage point. An easy way to catch rodents would be to find a good hiding place in the rafters, set out some bait, and wait. He could easily use some of his natural webbing to capture anything that came about. He just needed a spot in the rafters, and some bait...

In the end, he didn't find any bait, but he did find a good vantage spot. He could see around most of the warehouse, (apart from that shadowy place, Simba. You must never go there). All he had to do now was wait, silently, impatiently, and hungrily. Yeah, not so easy. He wished that he had read more in that booklet about hunting stratagies.

About every half an hour, Peter would shift into a different position. Peter congratulated himself on this, and even gave himself a pat on the back, but even with a thirty minute break between each shift, he was sure that most rodents would hear it and move away. This made Peter wonder if he could trap some food without him in the vicinity.

Peter sighed, and frowned to himself. He decided to give up on this idea. He was just getting hungrier and hungrier, and there was still nothing around for him to munch on. Every now and again, a midge or two would pass by, which he would snap into his jaws desperately. He was starving. Much more than a normal person would, because of his metabolism.

Peter wasn't sure what he should do. Never before had he starved himself this much, and it hurt. He could literally feel his stomach acids raging like waves in the pit of his body. He felt like he could double over, and never get back up again. (Gwen had described period pains like this, and he was not really sure what he wanted to think about that). He felt like groaning and grwling out loud because of the feeling, but he knew that it was essential that he was silent, so as not to give his position away to anyone around. He could perhaps steal something to eat, or go to a homeless camp. Maybe he could look around in some dustbins, or something. Anything! Just so long as he got some food!

He knew that this was an animalistic part of him speaking, and that it was potentially dangerous to let such an uncontrollable, spidery force out on its own, but he couldn't really bring himself to care. He was hungry, and that was all he knew right now. He was hungry, and his stomach was done with begging. It wanted action, and it wanted action now!

Peter leaped down from his perch, and landed in a perfect crouch on the ground. He didn't get up straight away, but he did lift his head up. He was trying to use his Spidey-sense to 'feel' around his surroundings. He needed to make sure no one was around. That, and he also wondered if there was any live prey around...

.o0|O|0o.

When Steve found Tony, he was in bad shape. He had witnessed Ironman's and Spider-man's fall into the water, (although Spider-man appeared to have had the idea of hopping in for a dip anyway).

Steve rushed to his friend, and started to examine his condition. He was breathing, but he fumbled slightly for his pulse. He was a little worried when he didn't find it at first, he did find it after his fingers stopped shaking, though. As soon as he was sure that he was alive, Steve relaxed and took in his now-friend's appearance.

The paint on his suit had been chipped, and a lot of it was missing. His chestplate and faceplate looked like they had been torn off harshly, as well as one of his gloves. Tony was unconcious, but the glowy-thingy in his chest was still going on strong. (Steve remembered that Tony and Bruce had had an in-detail converstion about it, but most of it was lost on him. He left the science to them). Tony's hair was dishevelled, and his top was dripping wet.

As soon as he had asessed his team mate, and made sure that he was alright, he called in the others, and asked Bruce to get down there. (They had split up in order to find Tony and Spider-man, although the latter was obviously somewhere else at this point).

Steve silently nodded as Bruce rushed to his location first. He had probably been very worried about his friend, and rightfully so. Bruce did give a hasty wave to Steve, but he mostly concentrated on diving for his friend with the first aid box.

Now that Tony was in good hands, Steve's mind began to wonder back to Spider-man. Judging by the water's thundering and rumbling, he assumed that an unconcious Tony could not have gotten himself out of that by himself. In such raging water, he would have been carried along further. This made it seem as though Spider-man had been the one who had pulled him out. But why would he do that? He was a criminal, and they were his enemies. Why would he help out his enemies?

And in these conditions, it must have sapped a lot of strength. It was have been hard for him, so why would he...?

But that raised another thought. What had he been eating down here? How had he survived? It had surely been difficult for him. Steve felt... sorry, for Spider-man. He felt upset that his team, and his allies had aided in putting such horrible conditions on one human being. It stung his heart ever so slightly to know that he had been a part of something like this...

Steve shook his head, trying to erase these thoughts. He was a criminal and a vigilante. He was a danger to the public! So no matter how much civilians pleaded or rioted outside of Stark tower, they would bring in every last vigilante. Otherwise, tons of people could be hurt!

Wasn't it strange, though? Said a small, rebelling voice inside of him. Wasn't it strange that he had so many supporters? What if he actually was doing good?

No, he was dangerous. And in any case, there were many more non-supporters than there were supporters.

... Was there? Asked the voice innocently. It left the argument with those two words, and Steve tried to tell himself that it didn't bother him. He tried to tell himself that the seeds of doubt had not been planted in his heart.

He tried.