The ghosts we hide (Winter Soldier x OC)

Sixty two

My stomach drops to the floor, through the floor, down until it reaches the centre of the earth.

I'm running long before my brain can catch up, taking the corner at full pelt. I get there just in time to see Peter fling the first man against the wall at the other end of the alley with more force than is humanly possible for a boy his age. Unfortunately two more are already on him, both clad in black SWAT gear, faces covered by bulky helmets.

Shit.

I target the one on Peter's back, slipping my arm around his neck and squeezing with all my might. He lets go of the kid as I'm hoping he will, instead clawing at his constricted windpipe as he stumbles backwards. A few more seconds and he'll be out cold, but I don't get the chance.

My legs are kicked out from under me, a hand winding itself in my hair. It's impossible to keep a grip on the first man and fight my new assailant, so I'm forced to watch as he breaks free of my choke hold and onto his knees, panting heavily.

Letting out a growl, I imbed my talons in the hand tangled in my hair, warm liquid dripping onto my scalp. The hand retreats as the man screeches, allowing me to spin around and slash at his face instead. My claws make contact with the black goggles of a SWAT helmet.

A helmet that is standard Hydra issue.

Gritting my teeth, I kick the man squarely in the chest, propelling him off of his already wobbly feet. I'm on him in an instant, fist flying towards his face. I hit him so hard his goggles shatter.

My breaths are ragged but I don't care, too high on the adrenaline coursing through my body like a wild fire.

The original agent has only just found his feet again, but I soon put him back on his ass, knocking him out with an elbow to the jaw. Part of me yearns for more, to unleash something primal and to tear the man to shreds for attacking Peter. It would be so easy.

But the rational part of me forces the thought away, bringing another to the forefront of my mind.

Peter.

Leaving the Hydra agent behind, I rush towards the hunched figure further down the narrow alley. The kid leans heavily against the dirty wall, head hung low. The panic in me is like nothing I've ever experienced before.

I grip his face as I reach him, pulling his gaze to mine. He scans me with sluggish eyes, the smile that had been lighting him up just moments before no where to be seen.

"What happened? Where does it hurt?" I rush out, scanning the rest of him while his head still rests in my hands. I can't see any obvious injury but the boy is getting more and more unstable on his feet, fuelling my consternation. "Peter?"

His eyes are on me as he lifts his other arm, the effort obvious, and presents me with an empty syringe. I eye the pernicious needle as a million thoughts race through my mind, but they dissipate the instant Peter starts to sway.

He's too heavy to catch with his forward momentum, but I try to anyway, succeeding only in slowing his fall.

"Peter! Kid, come on." I shake him furiously, but the head that's now resting on my shoulder doesn't raise.

I have to get us out of here.

But the thought is a second too late. I hear the air move as something blunt and heavy connects with the back of my head, the force enough to propel me forwards.

I hear myself gasp as I sway backwards.

I want to turn, to see who or what just hit me, but I no longer have control of my own limbs.