I won't let you give up

Ch. 12

Much happens.

The sounds of pursuit grew louder.

Feet pounded on the dry ground, and heavy breathing filled the air.

Peter slung Tony's arm over his shoulder as the older man stumbled, and Clint did the same on the other side.

"Come on," he panted. "We can't stop."

A howl rent the air, followed by a gunshot from either Steve or Natasha.

They kept moving.

Up ahead, he could see the steep incline of the hill, still at a distance, but closing in quickly.

Tony stumbled again, face twisting in pain.

They had to keep moving.

Peter risked a glance back, swearing with what little extra breath remained in his lungs.

The Infected mob was gaining.

Natasha and Steve were getting closer to their own small group, and every few feet would stop to unload a clip of bullets into the approaching mass.

They were barely making a dent.

"Bruce!" Peter waved the older man. "Take over!"

As soon as he'd ceded his position, he dropped back to rifle through his bag. "I know I've got it in here somewhere."

His fingers closed around something hard, and he grinned delightedly. "Steve! Tasha! I've got a plan!"

The two turned, and when they noticed the object in his hand, matching expressions of concern spread over their faces.

"Hurry!" He yelled again.

They sprinted to catch up to his position.

Not a moment too soon, as the mob broke free from the bushes, and started onto the flat ground outside the city.

Peter waited until Natasha and Steve were on level with him before pulling the pin, and throwing the grenade.

"Go go go!" He sprinted towards the two, grabbing their arms to drag them along.

4...

"A grenade? What were-"

3...

"-you thinking?"

2...

"I'm not!" He pushed them forward. "Get down!"

1...

The three dropped instantly, and almost simultaneously the explosion rent the air.

Peter covered his head, hoping that the two on either side of him would have enough common sense to do the same.

A lance of pain shot up his leg, and he cursed sharply, biting the sleeve of his shirt to muffle the sound.

A moment later, and the noise was just an echo, rumbling in the surrounding air.

He rolled over, flinching at the fresh throb of pain in his leg, and then again at the high pitched ringing in his ears.

Beside him, Natasha rolled over, lifting herself to her feet with grace.

She looked remarkably calm for having just been in the range of a detonating grenade, although he wasn't too surprised about that.

The things he didn't know about Natasha Romanov could fill a book.

Steve pushed himself up as well, and from the way they weren't frantically trying to run again, Peter surmised his plan had worked.

He flopped back on the grass with a small, hysterical laugh that he could barely hear over the pounding in his ears.

Both of them looked at him like he was crazy, which, fair.

But he'd been saving that grenade for a long time, and using it gave an adrenaline rush he didn't know what to do with.

"That was wild," he gasped, extending a hand.

Steve took it, hauling him easily to his feet.

From their position on one of the knolls, he could see the damage done from his hastily improvised plan.

It was a lot, and yet he'd do it again to save his newfound family.

"Let's go."

Natasha pushed a finger against his forehead, making him go nearly cross eyed trying to look at it. "We will be talking about the grenade later, kiddo."

"Yes ma'am."

The instant they were in sight of the small building, Peter waved the other two ahead. "You guys go on. I'll take first watch."

"I don't think so," Natasha said firmly. "You're coming inside, and we're taking care of that cut you've got on your leg, the one you hoped we didn't notice. Then you'll eat, and take a freaking break for a few minutes. Someone else can stand watch."

Peter looked to Steve for backup, and was met with a noncommittal shrug.

"Traitors," he announced. "The lot of you."

Natasha pointed to the building. "March."

Peter stared at her for a second, and then did exactly that.

Whistling the Imperial March from Star Wars, he started exaggeratedly marching towards the building.

"Oh for-" Nat hurried forward, catching ahold of his elbow. "You're gonna be the death of me."

"What? You said march."

"You know what I meant you pridurok."

The door opened, and Bruce peered out. "What the hell was that?"

"One idiot child." Natasha manhandled Peter through the door, ignoring his halfhearted escape attempts. "He got a piece of shrapnel from the grenade he neglected to mention that he was carrying around."

"It's not that bad," Peter argued halfheartedly. "I'm fine. Really."

Tony limped closer, dropping the medical bag onto a small crate. "Here."

Peter glanced up, smiling awkwardly. "I swear, I've had way worse."

The statement got a few raised eyebrows.

"Come on," Bruce urged. "Foot up. Let me see."

With a put upon sigh, Peter did as told, letting his leg be turned every which way in examination.

"It's a nasty cut," the older man said eventually. "But it's not too deep, and it didn't hit anything vital."

"See?" Peter met Natasha's stare with a stubborn look. "Fine."

The woman narrowed her eyes. "Still not forgetting the whole grenade thing, kid."

The teen laughed awkwardly. "I wouldn't expect you to."

This one was a doozy, huh?

Peter with his grenades is a favorite of mine.

Hope you enjoyed!