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The jungle was quiet.

Trees swayed back and forth in a rhythm to a song they couldn’t hear. The sound of crickets was muted underneath each crunch of grass smothered by their boots; the weeds were covered in moist dirt, creating the loudest noise among the terrain. Land that was far too large for them to besiege.

Trees among trees, and more trees. There was no end in sight.

They departed the Citadel in one massive assemblage, cloaked only by the darkness of the night. Slowly, the further they walked, the further they branched out. Moving outwards like a trident, splitting apart in coordinated bunches. Three groups ventured into the shadowy wilderness, with only the moonlight guiding their way.

It was a full moon. Steve craned his neck up high, catching what rays of light managed to stream between the thickness of the trees. It wasn’t much. And the further they went, the less that came through.

“What do you see, Sam?” Steve quietly asked, his voice as tight as the grip on his shield. It was heavy against his forearm, held by the magnetic brackets on his elbow and the back of his hand. He held it in front of him, sturdy and anchored. Prepared for whatever may lay ahead.

Sam’s head briefly swiveled around as he took in the surroundings, the red glow of his goggles not nearly bright enough to guard their next steps.

“A whole lotta nothing,” Sam whispered back, tapping on the side of his eyepiece to adjust the night vision. A beat followed before he spoke again. “Heat detection ain't picking up any signatures, either.”

Steve opened his mouth to speak.

"It’s not going to.” Tony’s voice could’ve been a bomb as it flooded through their comms. The eerie silence made any noise explosive, nearly startling Sam right out of his skin. “As long as the symbiote's active, it’ll cloak his heat signature from even Wakanda’s best gadgets. We don’t have a chance of finding him with tech.”

Sam frowned but made no move to adjust his goggles. Instead, he pointed sharply ahead, directing Steve across a shallow riverbank that parted the jungle in two.

The stream trickled water in a downwards cascade, softened only by the slick moss that laid atop rocks they couldn’t see.

Steve’s boots were the first to splash down.

"Tony’s right. Unfortunately,” Bruce mentioned with a brief crackle following his voice. “Shuri scanned for heat signatures a dozen times before you guys dropped down. We’re not picking up anything human. A lot of animals...expected, of course. What with it being...you know. A jungle.” Another crackle captured the noise Bruce made as he cleared his throat. “I’d, uh...watch out for the anaconda’s if I were you.”

Shuri’s huff was unmistakable. “The anaconda’s will hurt no one. They are a very peaceful reptile —”

“I’d really rather not find out,” Sam interrupted them both, shaking off his boots as he crossed the small riverbank. He placed one foot ontop a fallen log as he shook off his other leg, the wetness creeping up as high as his calves.

Bucky passed right by him. Not bothering to do the same.

“Make that two of us,” Bucky deadpanned. With the small beam of his flashlight, he swept the device left to right, gathering his bearings before marching forward, joining at Steve’s side. He barely looked over at the man. “No offense, but for being the ‘mighty Avengers’, you all don’t seem to know what the hell you’re doing.”

“Hush.”

Natasha’s voice was low, but the hiss of her words spoke thousands. It was all she needed to say.

The comms fell quiet. For a split second, Bucky could hear each puff of air that blew through his nostrils, the humidity leaving a sticky film that clung to the hairs across his upper lip. He pulled his firearm close to his chest, holding firmly to the grip of the weapon with fingers mere inches to the trigger.

Steve shot his arm into the air, and Bucky dug his heels into the ground, halting in place. Just scarcely, with a ray of moonlight coming between the wilderness, both he and Sam caught Steve’s outstretched palm held in the air. A tactical hand signal for ‘file formation.’

The space to roam had narrowed, considerably. Steve was the first to squeeze between the tight gap of tree trunks, his shield scraping away bark as he shimmed through.

The jungle was growing thicker, and it reeked of pent-up energy. Steve took a moment to look around, though his eyes mostly picked up shadows and outlines. The more distance they created, the less they could hear of the large waterfall looming over the Citadel. With each step they took, the only sound that filled their ears were the creatures of the night.

And their own breathing.

Steve took a steady inhale as he observed the trail ahead. With a hardened expression, he led them forward.

“Team A showing no tracks or footprints on the central path,” Steve announced through the comms, the rigid tone lacing his words nearly as stiff as Tony’s footsteps. Each metal-clad boot landed on the soil with a harsh thud. “Two miles in on the zone of action.”

For a moment, Tony was too preoccupied staring at the map within his HUD to pay any attention to Steve’s status update. The arc reactor tightly nestled in his chestplate barely lit the way for Clint and Wanda, providing enough light so the ground was in view but not bright enough that it gave away their position.

Beneath his Iron Man helmet, Tony rolled his eyes. “Keep the military slang between you and your comrades, Rogers.”

The metallic timbre of his voice bounced against the trees with an echo that startled birds high above. Tony shot his head up, closely followed by Clint and Wanda. They watched as a nest of creatures abandoned their post, wings flapping and fluttering in their hast to fly away.

They darted through the trees at an alarming speed, rustling the branches until leaves slowly descended to the ground; landing on the soil without a noise to accompany their fall.

Tony walked right ontop of them, his focus strictly on the map that only he could see. His pupils were constricted and narrowed, his eyes intently watching as the little blinking dot in his vision guided his footsteps where they needed to be.

If they found the watch, that meant Peter wouldn’t be far.

If they found Peter…

Tony stopped, briefly. He shook the thought as quickly as it came, taking the moment to use his HUD for a surroundings scan. With one arm, he pushed an overgrown branch out of the way, letting Wanda step ahead of him as he cleared the path.

Her footsteps were noticeably the quietest against the ground, though Clint was certainly giving her a run for her money in regards to stealth. The field agent was born for covert operations, and his movements testified that much.

“Nearing in on three miles,” Clint quietly divulged, tightening the grip on his bow as they stepped over large, compacted tree roots that kept the ground from being flat. Despite heading southeast, the landscape was quickly becoming a hike. He reached behind him, taking Wanda’s hand to help her walk over the bumpy terrain. “Stark, how much further is that GPS of yours taking us?”

Though their eyes had adjusted to the dark, it was a struggle to see anything past a few feet ahead. The moon cut through the foliage, but even that began to disappear the deeper they ventured into the jungle.

Tony didn’t let up in his steps. If anything, he quickened his pace. “Kids, we’ll get there when we get there.”

Clint’s exasperated huff may not have been heard, but Rhodey’s most certainly was.

“Tones —”

“It’s homing in on the watch,” Tony abruptly cut in. With his repulsor, he blasted away a fallen tree log with only a hard gust of air. Making no more noise than a harsh wind would’ve, despite the clammy environment providing them no such relief. Out of politeness — and his attention focused on his HUD — he let Clint and Wanda walk ahead. “If Peter’s still Peter, then he couldn’t have gone much further from there.”

A bundle of branches snapped under the force of Tony’s armored boots. The only thing more fragile than the contents of nature was his composure, hanging on by a thread thinner than the twigs he stepped on.

“Especially considering how his insides are being snacked on like a free for all buffet,” Sam mumbled.

“Wow. Real great analogy, Sam,” Rhodey scoffed. “You know —”

“Hush.”

Natasha bit back again, managing to sound even more intimidating than the last.

Tony stopped, but not because their own personal Russian impostor had bullied him into doing so. As fast as they could blink, his helmet retracted within itself, the dew of humidity hitting his skin full force.

Clint stopped in his tracks, pulling on Wanda’s arm for her to do the same. They turned around, their brows furrowed tightly with confusion.

“What is it?” Clint was the first to ask.

Tony froze. His eyes threw Clint a glance before they looked in every direction possible, bouncing to the corners of his sockets without ever moving his head.

“Do you hear that?” Suddenly, Tony craned his neck around. Pointing his ear to the far right as if it could enhance his hearing.

Wanda stepped forward, the slight crunch of leaves sounding underneath her feet.

“It sounds like the trees,” she mused aloud. Not even she sounded confident in her answer, though.

Clint took her six, and seemed eager to do so.

“More like someone hitting the trees…” he drawled out. Like Tony, he looked around in every direction, stopping only when a loud crack jerked his head to the side. “It’s coming from the west.”

Tony's lips thinned out as he eyed the path of darkness where sound crept in from the open spaces of the jungle. Wordlessly, with a silent command, his helmet formed around his head and locked into place.

“Keep moving,” Tony demanded. The LEDs of his eyes shined brighter than before, almost on purpose, as he took the large steps ahead. His next words filtered through the open lines of their radio communication. “Team C, some unusual activity may be heading your way.”

Within his own armor, Rhodey’s HUD took the message loud and clear. Before Tony had even finished talking, the AI within his War Machine suit was already pinpointing possible obstructions and hazards on their path ahead.

Still, Rhodey always did consider himself old-fashioned.

“Got any clarification on that unusual activity?” he asked, not exactly in the mood for any surprises.

Silence met the comms.

Then,

"You tell me when you find it,” Tony answered.

Rhodey resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead waving his team ahead when he determined the trail clear. Of course, the act was more for Natasha than anyone else. By the confidence exuding in his posture, Rhodey was sure that T’Challa’s suit had more night-vision within his helmet than his and Tony’s combined.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d taken point, outside of the fact that T’Challa curtly made it known he would cover from behind. Neither Rhodey nor Natasha had any complaints, considering he knew the territory like the back of his hand.

They had quickly lost a path to tread on, easily a mile or so back. The trees were so close together, the leaves rustling and brushing against his suit when he walked too close to them.

Natasha followed closely behind Rhodey, his bulky armor flattening the terrain that only grew with depth.

“For the record, I’m one-hundred-percent on board with Wilson,” Rhodey mentioned, his voice firm but hushed, and echoing with a metallic timbre. “We come across any anaconda’s and you can count me out of this escapade.”

Natasha paused at his side, her brows furrowing so deep that the sweat glistening across her forehead dripped down into her eyelashes. Her hair fell in her face, braids that had already loosened at the bottom with the humidity that caused frizz and tangles.

“You’ll take on a foreign sentient being, but you’re afraid of snakes?” She asked the question as if it were the most absurd thing she’d ever heard.

Rhodey returned the look of incredulously with his own. “What, do you wanna tangle with a python?”

Even in the shreds of darkness, the amusement that crossed Natasha’s face was unmistakable.

She opened her mouth to speak.

“Quiet,” T’Challa demanded.

As fast as the armor would allow him, Rhodey turned around to face the King. Natasha had beat him to it, nimble in the pliability of her Black Widow suit. She may as well have been a floating head in the shadows, the leather on her body blending so well with the night that she could hardly be seen.

“What is it?” Natasha asked, pushing away a thick, overgrown shrub to stand closer with T’Challa. The noise of the plants she disturbed was louder than her voice.

He didn’t move. Not as Natasha approached him, nor as Rhodey’s chestplate illuminated his silhouette. The shadows may have favored Natasha’s stealth, but the jungle took to his obscurity as if he were one in nature. No different than the darkness that birthed the stars.

“Follow me.”

It was the only thing he said, before taking a sharp turn. Walking ahead of Rhodey but curving his trail to the side, his legs moving with flexibility that almost appeared animalistic. Each step he took was so quiet, it was as if there was no movement at all. The Vibranium weaved throughout his suit absorbed his every action, muting his footsteps even as he picked up his pace.

Rhodey looked on with a sense of confusion.

“That’s a deviation,” he needlessly stated. Yet he didn’t argue, slowly — and reluctantly — following the man as he took off.

“I know,” T’Challa responded sharply, hushed under his breath. The path he took bent down the hill, going the opposite direction they were originally heading in. “Now follow me.”

The overgrown vegetation parted with each agile leap T’Challa took, his feet never faltering in his quick haste. His movements were fluid, his body shifting effortlessly as he maneuvered through the underbrush.

Neither Rhodey or Natasha had time to ask questions — even a couple of wasted seconds would mean losing the Black Panther in the expanse of the desolate wilderness.

Following closely behind T’Challa, Rhodey did his best not to think about snakes.

“Team B,” he quietly announced. “Be aware, we’re crossing into southeast territory.”

Combat boots splashed down loudly in creek water as Steve came to a sudden halt.

“Team C, you’re designated west.” Steve paused, almost as if complementing what to say next. In that time, Bucky had joined him at the hip, with Sam not far behind. Their own feet waded through the muddy waters before coming to a stop. “Why the diversion?”

Bucky held on firmly to his firearm as Sam took the opportunity for a surroundings scan. A beam of red drifted along the jungle floor while the comms crackled to life.

It was Natasha who answered.

“Kitty-cat wants to play.”

Though a slight smile bled into her words, the tension that could be heard in her tone was indisputable. Steve wasn’t aware that the grip on his shield had tightened. Not until he could feel the metal bracket digging deep into his skin, right through his tactical gloves.

Sam noticed his unease. With a nod straight ahead, he silently addressed that they get a move on.

Steve briefly looked behind them before resuming pace.

Radio chatter filled the empty space between them. Bits of static and tightly contained remarks broke through their occasional grunts and huffs for air.

“You heading towards us, Team C?” Clint asked, his voice growing louder than before. His puffs of labored breathing could be heard. “What have you got?”

A crackle.

Static.

Then,

“Nothing.”

The comms clicked and closed. A beat passed, followed by another. And only more after that.

It didn’t take Steve long to realize that was the only answer T’Challa would give. And though he knew better than to question the King, the creek that blocked their path was up their calves and approaching knee length.

The central territory of the jungle was a swamp. And they were heading straight into it — without answers.

“T’Challa,” Steve quietly started through thin lips. “What’s going on?”

Water sloshed with the movement of all six legs, each man dragging their limbs through the muddy river.

A stiff, sharp motion of the hand played out the tactical sign for ‘straight ahead’ as Sam gestured forward.

Bucky returned the gesture with his own, and kept walking.

“Something has happened near the outskirts,” T’Challa succinctly answered. “There has been a disturbance.”

Steve never got a chance to dig for answers.

“You heading our way with a disturbance?” Tony’s voice perked up by the tenfold, and it was hard to tell if the sound of his footsteps were coming through the comms or could be heard miles away on land. “What’s your ETA, I want —”

“Not heading your way. Close to it, though,” Rhodey interrupted. “We took a hard right. Hugging the borders as we speak.”

A rickety tapping caught Steve’s attention, just loud enough that it proved to be a distraction from the teams chatter. Pausing slightly in his steps, he craned his neck up high, squinting through the darkness of trees to catch sight of the noise.

“We already cleared the borders,” Clint practically mumbled, a whisper that was caught in his throat. Any gruffer and they wouldn’t have heard him at all. “The guards are locked in position at the outskirts. Get back into the penetralia.”

Scarcely, Steve could make out the two beady eyes of an owl, the creature perched high on a branch. It stared intently as his team invaded the nature of its home, the eyes following his every move — but the owl remained still. Unmoving, even as he and the two other men carefully, and slowly, walked on by.

Steve could feel its eyes burning a hole in the back of his head, long after they journeyed onward. It brought a feeling into the air, an unease that prickled the back of his neck and made his heart beat just a little bit faster.

It was a while again before the comms fizzled with activity.

Natasha’s sigh, as restrained as it was, could be heard first. “We’re not going back into the penetralia, Hawkeye.”

White noise never came through, with Rhodey’s voice quickly overtaking Natasha’s the very second she finished speaking.

“Rogers, I recommend diverting Team B to our coordinates,” Rhodey firmly advised. A noticeable sigh also sounded from his throat, never released, but weighing heavily on his next words. “We’re looking at trouble over here.”

Tony’s voice came through like a firecracker. “I’m already —”

“Negative! Tony, stay on route!” Steve didn’t intend to bark. Still, the indignant half-shout, half-hiss managed to stir the wildlife nestled in nature. Multiple birds flew out in a scatter, taking different directions through the thickness of the trees. “Do not — I repeat do not — divert from your designated pathway.”

Steve turned around, his ankle twisting in the muddy waters as he looked to the sky, as if anticipating Iron Man to fly through the jungle overhead. The man’s demurral was instinct at this point; Steve was surprised when only the hidden streaks of moonlight greeted him. No suit soaring above, despite what he expected.

“Rogers, kiss my ass,” Tony curtly threw in.

That much Steve did expect.

“Talk to me, pooh-bear, and talk fast.” There was shuffling coming from Tony’s comm, accompanied by a noise that could’ve well been a gust of wind. The humidity sticking to Steve’s skin proved that theory wrong. “You find Goldie Locks digging into the porridge?”

Straight ahead of him, Sam waved his hand to the side, arching his steps until his legs twisted into a sharp turn. The mud clung heavy to Steve’s boots, suctioning with every step he took, but they finally touched down on dry land.

It wasn’t much of a path — they had to squeeze through trees to maneuver their way across the terrain. The jungle seemed to close in on them the further they went. But they managed to find a way out of the swamp.

Steve was careful to ensure his comm piece stayed tucked tightly in his ear canal as they pushed onward.

“Six guards on the southeast outskirts have been taken down,” Natasha stoically answered. A hard beat followed. “Five are dead.”

Steve bit back a curse. “Watchtower, did you catch any signs of unusual activity from your end?”

There was a primitive instinct to look up at the sky when he spoke, as if the Citadel tower offered the ability to see down in the jungle. Yet the darkness was crushing, and the trees had increased in numbers. Even the moon had hidden itself under the cloak of night.

A crackle of static preempted Shuri’s answer. “Nothing on the scanners.”

“For the last goddamn time,” Tony’s growl was unmistakable. The whirl of his repulsor even more so. “He’s not going to be on the scanners.”

Though his response was brusque, Steve couldn’t blame Tony for his scornful tone. As desperately as they needed it, anything with so much a battery attached to it wouldn’t be on their side — couldn’t be on their side. Not with the symbiote lurking around.

Not for this fight.

Steve wouldn’t admit it right away, but in the last five years since waking up from a block of ice, he’d found modern-day technology to be incredibly helpful in these type of situations. They didn’t have so much a card up their sleeve for this one.

It wasn’t a good feeling.

“Their wounds are fresh,” T’Challa succinctly provided. His voice was clipped. “The child is nearby.”

“Wounds?” Clint was quick to ask, his breath heavy in-between grunts of obvious physical labor. If Steve didn’t know better, it sounded like he was climbing. “You think this was a wild animal?”

Bucky threw his arm out, blocking Steve’s next step forward. He’d been taking small steps — they all had — and yet the act of a sudden barricade still smacked hard into Steve’s chest. His shield took the brunt of the impact, still held in front of him with cautious intent.

“What kind of wounds we talking about here?” Tony asked, rapid-firing his questions to the point where the sound of his environment couldn’t be decipherable. “Bite marks? Claw prints? Weaponry? Narrow it down, Puma.”

Without moving an inch of his body, Bucky threw Steve a look. An eyebrow that arched slightly up, and a frown that deepened with worry.

“Animals in Wakanda aren’t known to attack…” he kept his voice low and taut, allowing his face to convey what remained unspoken. “Even the wild ones.”

Steve didn’t like what that implied.

“It has been quiet,” Wanda spoke with a whisper that barely came through. The thickness of her accent, hushed under her breath, almost failed to be heard. “I have heard no creatures around us.”

“Can’t say for sure if it’s an animal,” Natasha said with uncertainty. “Too dark to get a good look.”

Slowly, Bucky lowered his hand, letting it drop back down to his firearm. At the same time, his eyebrow climbed up his forehead. Just enough that it spoke to Steve without any words escaping his mouth.

Steve clenched his jaw, but nodded, pressing a finger firmly into his earpiece. “Hold your position, Team C. We’re making our way to you.”

“Do not waste your time,” T’Challa couldn’t have spoken faster if he tried. “He is no longer in these perimeters.”

From off to the side, Sam noticeably frowned. “Then where’s he —”

“Four guards are down on the east outskirts,” Clint quickly interrupted. Precise and fast, and right to the point. “That’s four guards that I can see. Overhead is impaired, too much vegetation, but that’s definitely bodies down there. Something tells me we just lost our border patrol, people.”

Steve furrowed his brows. Something there didn’t make sense. “Clint, what’s your status?”

There was a distinctive sound of rustling that followed Steve’s question, followed by a hushed curse or two as branches began to shake.

“Made an eagles nest with a nice family of birds,” Clint grunted before continuing. “I’ll camp out up here if I have to —”

“Why aren’t you with Tony and Wanda?” If Steve pressed his earpiece any further into his ear, he would need surgical assistance to remove it.

"They've taken off to follow the trail,” Clint answered. More rustling followed as he obviously tried to get his footing in what Steve could only assume was a high-up tree, giving him the perfect vantage point. There was no surprise to the matter — it was what Clint did best. “Team C, you head down south a bit more and you’ll bump right into them.”

Both Sam and Bucky froze in place, waiting with buckled tension for Steve’s command. He briefly looked at them both — what he could see of them in the dark — before shaking his head.

“Team C, clear out your zone first,” he instructed, jerking his head forward and giving Sam the go to keep walking. “If the borders are compromised, that means Peter’s heading inwards. If he found a bolt hole, we’ll be nearing it. Let’s not lose that progress.”

As Steve pushed himself between tree bark that scraped at his face and pulled at his uniform, he couldn’t help but notice the hairs on the back of his neck reacting to the energy in the air. It still felt like eyes were watching him, but no owl or creature could be seen.

The grip on his shield tightened.

“We got your six, Cap.” The reassurance in Rhodey’s voice was there, but even for him it was lacking. Containing an edge that they all felt.

“Good,” Steve said, wincing as he squeezed through another tight gap of jungle trees. A grunt followed his next words. “We might need it.”

Sam may have been wearing goggles that gave him better eyes in the darkness, but Steve still marched forward. Taking the lead without hesitation. His focus, sharp tacked on the path ahead, almost kept him from hearing Rhodey’s reply.

“Copy that, Cap.” Rhodey dismally turned away from the patch of land in front of them. The bodies were lying face down, and though he wouldn’t say it out loud, he was partially thankful for that.

T'Challa didn’t seem to share in that relief.

“You tell us,” Rhodey started, gesturing down. “You guys got any wildlife that’s known to do this?”

Natasha, still bent at the knees and hunched over one of the bodies resting near Rhodey’s flank, barely offered T’Challa a glance before she returned to her examination. A small pen light was the most she had for any sort of inspection, and she found herself using it primarily as a prodding device. Poking gently at wounds that tore open the skin of men and left their blood to color the grass below them.

“Doesn’t look like a puncture wound,” she mentioned evenly. Her head craned around, the tight lines around her eyes illuminated underneath the light of Rhodey’s arc reactor. “These aren’t bite marks. Or claws.”

“The animals in Wakanda are no different than any wild beast on earth.” T’Challa surveyed their surroundings, his head craning slowly from left to right. “If they feel threatened, they will attack. But in all their time of existence, no Border Tribe member has provoked such a feeling in the creatures. They are in harmony, and have been for many centuries.”

Rhodey cocked his head to the side.

“You don’t think an animal did this.” He didn’t ask.

T’Challa kept looking around, worry darkening his eyes. “I do not believe even the angriest beast would bring quietus to our people, no.”

Slowly, Natasha lifted herself off her knees. Her movement was tightly controlled, rising at a speed that would’ve made a snail look like an Olympic runner.

“Even that one?”

It was a whisper, barely grazing past the skin of her lips. Natasha didn’t point or gesture. She barely lifted herself half-mast, her back still hunched as she simply jerked her head forward.

Rhodey had his arm in the air before T’Challa could even turn around. The light of his repulsor brimmed hot; white energy casting over the field in a way that lit up every single blade of grass below them.

Two yellow eyes cut through the turf. Beady and kindled, taking on a luminescence that rivaled the moon.

“Oh, boy...” Rhodey swallowed hard.

The jaguar emerged slowly, mimicking Natasha’s speed, taking small steps that barely rustled the ground it stepped on. Had it not been for Rhodey’s repulsor, they would’ve never seen anything more than the duel golden spheres approaching them. Eyes that were wide and untamed. Its coat was blacker than the night, a gloss on its fur reflecting against the repulsor shining ahead.

“You got a, uh...thing with cats, right?” Rhodey tightly asked T’Challa, never once letting his eyes look anywhere but ahead. Even a flicker to look elsewhere could mean death, and Rhodey didn’t care to find out just how resilient alloy metal was against wild animals. “That thing’s not about to make us a late-night snack, is it?”

Despite the threat, no sound arose from the creature. Not a single growl or murmur as it laid one paw down on the terrain, followed by the other. Walking towards the trio as if it were lost, resembling a child more than the carnivore it was.

Rhodey lifted his arm higher, aiming his palm with intent.

“She is scared,” T’Challa voiced. While both Natasha and Rhodey stepped back, he made his way forward. Cautious with every movement that pulled at his muscles.

Rhodey threw T’Challa an incredulous look behind his War Machine helmet.

“She,” he unnecessarily stressed, his words clear-cut underneath his breath, “has claws. And teeth. Very sharp teeth.”

Stating the obvious had no effect on T’Challa. A silent plea for placation was heard as he approached the jaguar, both armored hands open-palmed. If he spoke, it was too quiet to hear. Even in the abundance of jungle silence that shrouded them.

Still, Natasha could’ve sworn she heard something murmured under his breath. Foreign words that were trapped beneath the Vibranium of his suit.

Rhodey really didn’t feel like waiting around to find out if the Black Panther had any effect on real panthers.

“Sorry, but I think we’ve gotta go with cause and correlation on this,” Rhodey said, puncturing his words by waving his other hand in T’Challa’s direction. He was abundantly careful to keep his repulsor aimed precisely at the animal ahead. “Jaguar shows up next to a bunch of dead men...Nat, let the others know —”

“The jaguar has done no harm,” T’Challa insisted, without once turning to face Rhodey.

Off at his side, Natasha’s frown deepened. “How can you tell?”

There was a stillness to the animal, one that Natasha only noticed when she released her breath. One grating exhale let out the air that had been trapped in her chest, bypassing the instinct to fear, morphing instead into confusion. Her pulse decelerated, the absence of harsh emotion replaced with rationality.

The large animal moved with hesitation, her paw lifting and settling on the ground many times before finally staying put. As if the ground were lava that she dared not burn herself on. Each inch that brought her forward was taken in centimeters. Moving so slowly, Natasha briefly wondered if she, like the men below her, had also been injured.

T’Challa neared closer. His hands stayed up, even as his body lowered to the ground. He stopped in a crouch once having reached eye-level with the jaguar, but never reached forward to touch her. The jaguar wouldn’t allow it.

“She is scared,” T’Challa repeated. His brow furrowed beneath his mask, his mouth tightly drawn. “And not of us.”

Though she didn’t run, the tension in the jaguar’s body spoke that she wanted to. Muscles in her back were rigid with spasms — muscles Rhodey knew would shred them to pieces if the creature attacked.

And yet her eyes weren’t hungry, or vicious.

Natasha had never seen fear in a beast as large as a Wakandian jaguar. And yet for a brief moment, she swore that’s what made the yellow irises stand out so much.

Rhodey did a quick look around. “How do you know —”

An eruption of electricity burst into the air. Shattering the darkness with sparks of heat that pierced through the night, lighting the jungle ablaze.

No more than a second later and Rhodey’s arc reactor shattered.

“Rhodey!” Natasha’s yell was both a whisper and a shout, mangled between the sound of glass sprinkling to the ground. She reached for her weapon, right at the same time Rhodey’s armor exploded.

The lack of it bathed them in darkness.

Natasha hesitated before speaking again. Bits of electrical energy still sparked and fritzed on the grass, littering the ground like discarded firecrackers in July.

“Rhodey,” she dared to walk near him, if only an inch. “Are you —?”

“I’ve been hit,” Rhodey cut right to it, and Natasha had her finger on the trigger before he’d finished speaking.

What disturbed her most was the lack of his movements.

Still as a statue. Like there were no man inside the lifeless and lightless suit of armor in front of her.

“I can’t move,” Rhodey’s voice broke in a panic. He sucked in a harsh gulp of air, followed by another. None of which could be seen in the War Machine suit that contained his body. He may as well have been just a voice. “I’m locked out, I can’t see a damn thing! I’ve got no power — can’t even activate the emergency protocols. Call Tony on the comms, he’ll be able —”

“Natasha, get —!”

T'Challa's warning was swallowed whole before he could finish.

The jaguar ran, leaping through the foliage and cutting through the trees at a speed far faster than what their eyes could keep up with.

She wasn’t the black object that had gained their focus, though.

T'Challa's voice was barely a whisper.

“Do…”

Natasha clawed at the coils twisting around her neck, trapping her in place. Pale white fingers dug deep, slime crawling into the soft tissue of her nailbeds.

“Not…”

It dripped down between her knuckles, black sludge that spasmed with each tug and jerk she desperately gave. The choke-hold only grew tighter, eagerly motivated by the brutal labor of her breathing.

“Move.”

T’Challa both gave the advice. And took it for himself.

They stood, frozen in a deadlock.

All four of them.

“Peter…” T’Challa spoke his words slowly. Carefully. Not daring to step closer. “Let her go.”

A wet snarl responded. Sounding from the boy that stood facing Natasha, his body cloaked in more than just the jungles darkness.

There was no light between them, the moon long since obscured. And yet T’Challa could see, clear as day, the struggle in Natasha’s face as she exhausted the air remaining in her lungs.

The only sound that escaped her throat was a dry wheeze, crackling between clenched teeth.

The sound that came from Peter was as animalistic as the jaguar that ran away.

T’Challa inched forward. Barely lifting his foot off the ground. “Child —”

"Ba̫͍͓͓͓c͉̠̠k̥ ̫͖a̱̯w̰̹̗̠̭ay!͚̲̫̬̠̖̟" At neck-breaking speed, Peter’s head whipped around.

T'Challa stopped.

A growl sounded, exposing the insides of Peter’s mouth. Letting the sludge from within seep down his chin. Chunks of hair matted and congealed with the living sediment devouring him, responding in tremors and quakes that no substance should have the means of doing.

If there was a body underneath the plague, no amount of light in the jungle would uncover it. The symbiote consumed his flesh in whole, embedding into the sacks of his pores. Leaving just pockets of his face to be seen.

T'Challa slowly brought his hand forward. “Peter, you must —”

"B̺̥Ḁ̭̠͉̥̪͕C͔͔̩K̵̮̙̝̤!̭̰̪"

No part of his body held onto Natasha. His hands and legs were his own, useless at his sides. Tendrils of symbiote wrapped around her throat, working on their own accord. Limbs with a life of their own.

His eyes, as black as the night around them, looked back at Natasha. The only sign of his grip tightening was the strangled, choked gasp that tore from her lips.

Peter’s head tilted sideways. " Y̺͑o̩͊u̳͛u̟͎ͣͪu͉̲̾ͫũ̻̻͎͊̀u͙͎̯͛ͤ̚ṵ̺͙͇͐ͬͥ́ȕ̦̥̳̯̀̆ͭ…̘̼̦̠̺.̭̠͈͍.̳̤͈̠.̝̱̠.̦͖.̩͖.̺.̮"

The blast from Natasha’s gun sizzled in the air as just barely, her finger pulled at the trigger.

The shot wasn’t even close to hitting its mark.

Strands of symbiote wrenched the device from her grip, hurling it far into the jungle.

“Peter, stop!” Rhodey’s shout barely made it through the barrier of his helmet, his body encased in a suit he couldn’t control.

T’Challa shot his hand out in Rhodey’s direction.

“Quiet!”

“He’s killing her —!”

“He is not in control —”

“Then it’s killing her!” Rhodey yelled.

Natasha fell to her knees, smacking the ground at a sudden descent. The ringlets of symbiote extended to her reach, snaking downward in length. All while Peter stood upright. The living entity snaked out of him, possessed with a mind of their own.

Another wheeze broke through. A croak that died off, no air left to produce a sound.

“Use the comms!” Rhodey’s hands clawed uselessly at the inside of his gauntlets, desperate for movement. He could feel his fingernails peeling back as he tried to rip apart the suit from the inside. “Get a team —!”

“The comms were attacked alongside your suit of armor,” T’Challa stoically explained, the absence of fear in his voice more unsettling than if he were panicked. He was close enough to Rhodey that the man could hear his hushed tone, even through the metal suit he’d been trapped in. “It is not only you who has been affected.”

Rhodey's HUD had been tampered with before he could see what was going on. He’d be blinded by a show of fireworks — his arc reactor was hit. Attacked. Smashed into pieces by what he was now sure had been one of the many threads branching out from Peter.

The damn symbiote wasn’t just vicious.

It was smart.

Rhodey cursed. “Son of a —!”

“Quiet!” T’Challa hissed, again.

Just scarcely, a patch of red hair could be seen on the ground below. Natasha pounded fiercely at the sentient branches wrapped around her neck, too many to count. Too many to pull loose.

As T’Challa neared, he could see her eyes flickering back. The whites a far contrast to the black that filled Peter’s.

“Child…” T’Challa held his hand out, no different than he had to the jaguar earlier before. His footsteps weren’t heard underneath the Black Panther suit, and yet Peter whipped his head around at his presence. “Listen to me —”

“̨L͏͈i̗͎̞̦̗̰s̬͙̟͖͉͉̘t̙̯̯͉́e̙͖̝̪̜̲n̷̤ ̬t̗̱̤͙̦̰͟o ̢̰͇͔̜̦Ư̥̯U͈̟̫̞̠̥SS̷̻̪̖͉̘̲̱S̺͓S̜̰̪̦Ś͈͈̘̺͔̘͎S̗̜̝̜͍͉͖!̲͔͙̬̼̙̦”̧̮͉͚̞̮͎

T'Challa froze, but only for a second. If it had even been that long.

“I do not speak to you.” Another step. Followed by one more. “I speak to the boy you are inhabiting.”

It sounded like rain had started up, drips of liquid softly hitting the dirt below. Yet the air was full of humidity, the skies providing no such relief. Each step T’Challa took brought him closer to it, the submergence of symbiote that cascaded off Peter; dripping to the ground with inundation.

Slowly, with the sound of cracking bones, Peter cocked his head to the side.

“̭̬̤͚̩W̘͖̣͍ͅe̩̞̟̰ͅe̻̤̖̖͖e̗̬͕̪̟e̩̹͖͕̻e̮͉͉̭e̬͍͔͚e̥̦̟͈E̗͇̗͔E̤̗̮͓E̦̯̫̤E̪̦͙E̮͙̻ ̭̥̟a̲̣̠r͙̝ͅe̠̪͕ ̠̰i̖̙n̝͓ ̦̝c͙̈́õ͇n͈͌t̃ͅr̤̯ͬ̎o̤ͯ͗ͅľ͇͒ͅ.̥̱̂̓.̻̤̩ͨ̂̑.͓̬͙ͨͥ̒…̘̼̦̠̺.̭̠͈͍.̳̤͈̠.̝̱̠.̦͖.̩͖.̺.̮"

The voice that ripped through his throat had no resemblance to Peter. Not even a ghost of who he was. It hit the air with a caustic sting, acidic as it drifted off into the empty lands of the jungles borders.

Murderous, and unrelenting. The sound only a monster could make.

“That is where you are wrong.” T’Challa’s breath stayed in his chest, as if he didn’t dare breathe while the woman below him fought for air. He was close enough that he could grab her if wanted, though it made no difference to the hold the symbiote had on her throat. His steps drew closer. “Peter. My child. There is a heart of a warrior beating beneath this poison.”

Peter's head slanted further, until the place of his ear met the place of his shoulder. Each movement of his body sounded like twigs in the forest breaking underneath pressure. Brittle snaps reverberated between them.

Still, T’Challa held firm. “You must fight it.”

Natasha rasped for air, her vision blurring as she clawed at the blackness constricting her throat. Her one hand slacked off the hold on her neck, pounding the ground beneath her. Rapidly, with taps and beats taking a pause. She hit the dirt harder than she hit the symbiote limbs keeping her hostage.

“͜Fig͏ht.̝̱̠.̦͖.̱̪̑ͩ.̲͖ͨ̚.̗̉.̖͂.̲̐” Peter growled, his lips upturning in a way that showcased his tongue. Dripping with the sludge that coated the inside of his mouth.

The pounding on the ground continued.

Rhodey caught on first.

“It’s morse code!” Barely, with the strength he could manage, Rhodey moved his head towards T’Challa. It hardly budged a centimeter. “She’s saying shoot him!”

“Not unless you want her dead,” T’Challa curtly answered, his voice resolute. He never let his eyes leave Peter. The same went both ways. “The electricity will travel to her as well.”

“Damn it!” Rhodey had enough. “Then do something!”

With a noise akin to no animal T’Challa had ever heard of, Peter took a step back. The vines of symbiote wrapped around Natasha continued to quiver, but the wet squelch that followed sounded of some release. The harsh, shaky inhale that broke through Natasha’s throat only further confirmed it.

She tried to scramble away — only to be yanked back and slammed into the ground.

T’Challa furrowed his brows with guarded confusion.

“͜Weͩ͒̑ fig͏ht.̝̱̠…̘̼̦̠̺.̭̠͈͍.̳̤͈̠.̝̱̠"

Peter snarled, a harsh crack accompanying the clench of his jaw .

"“̺̱̩̤͕ͤ͛̓̊̓W̦̠̱̪͒̃̾ͭ͛ͅe̩̬͚͍̎͊͂ͤ ̺̝̲̂͗ͤ́ͅfig͏ht ͉̳̆̌y͈̳̏̓o̟̓u͎̍.͂!"

Suddenly, Natasha heaved for air like an emergence out of water. The symbiote’s ligaments withdrew at alarming speed, all but vanishing from its hold on her neck.

She was still mid-gasp when the same oozing coils latched onto Rhodey’s armor.

“What the —!” Rhodey watched in horror as fingerless limbs grabbed the chestplate of his suit, spreading outwards like a twisted, demented spiderweb.

A quick tug yanked the piece apart.

“Shit!” he clenched his eyes shut among the onslaught of mini explosions.

Sparks flew, bright as before. Emerging from the empty cavity of a War Machine armor that still contained Rhodey.

“Natasha!” T’Challa leaped forward. “Watch —!”

The chestplate swung in the air, flying like a whip that held leaden metal and sizzling sparks.

It struck directly against Natasha’s face.

“Nat!”

Rhodey’s shout was the last thing T’Challa heard before taking off into the jungle. His legs moved at a speed that only the Black Panther could, running so fast he emulated the animal of his name.

Peter stayed far ahead of him.

Clint saw him first — sitting in the trees in an ungainly crouch, angled just right to the moonlight above. It was a mess of eroding sludge, but Peter nonetheless. Though if it hadn’t been for Queens, Clint wasn’t sure if he’d identify him the same.

The slightly mistakable blur of Black Panther came second. Right as he tapped into his comms, but not before he jumped down from the tree.

“T’Challa! What’s going on?”

Nothing.

Clint paid no mind to the tree bark that cut through the palm of his hands as he quickly shimmied down, doing more falling than he was climbing.

“Rhodey! Nat!” Clint was running before he even hit the ground. “Come in!”

Still, nothing.

Swear words he hoped his kids would never hear hurled from his mouth faster than his legs ran through the jungle.

“All teams, radio check!” It was too dark to see. He kissed tree bark enough times to split his bottom lip open. “I repeat, all teams —!”

“Team A,” Steve announced, “we read you.”

Tony’s voice came through mid-sentence. “ — am B, what the hell is going on!?”

Clint ignored the question.

“Team C, do you copy!?”

It couldn’t have been more than a couple seconds of silence that greeted him. Adrenaline robbed him of the fear that would’ve made his heart skip a beat. Or at least it would’ve, had it not been busy adjusting to the strain of a sudden cat and mouse game that left him gasping for breath.

Clint was right about to yell for the others again when static broke through.

“Their radio frequencies are offline!” The fact that Shuri sounded panicked didn’t bode well for Clint. “I cannot get them back, I —!”

“Rogers, it’s Peter.” Clint spoke fast and concise, weaving ultrafast between the trees. “T’Challa’s hot on his tail but — damn it!”

A moss covered rock stole Clint’s footing, the slickness nearly sending him pummeling straight onto his face. He barely recovered his balance before starting up again.

“Southwest, merging central.” He twisted, hard, so abruptly that he nearly lost his quiver to a tree branch. “I’ve lost contact but —”

“We’re on it.”

The short, clipped response was all Steve offered. It was enough. And Clint wasn’t naive — he knew that Tony would be diverting paths without waiting for approval. There was no time for him to argue with Steve, no time to question decisions. They’d both be narrowing in as fast as T’Challa, wherever the damn living human panther had run off to.

No amount of SHIELD training gave Clint the upper hand to keep up with either of the two. Their speed already had him in a full sweat.

Clint stumbled to a stop, his back heaving with each inhale he sucked in. For a moment, all he could hear was the crickets that sang deep inside the foliage, raking as far up as his knees.

That, and his own breathing.

He felt every single one of his forty-four years. Plus another ten.

“I need to…” Another breath in. Another breath out. “Peter’s too far ahead. Too fast.” Another breath in. One more out. “I need to fall back, check on Nat and—”

A twig broke.

Clint lost his breath, caution rooting him to the ground. His heart beat loud enough to deafen him, his hand scrambling to reach for his bow and arrow.

He’d almost had a grip on his weapon when a body barreled into him full force.

“Shi —!”

The air whooshed from his lungs, the force hurling him backward so violently that he was nothing more than a rag-doll soaring through the jungle.

Branches clawed at his clothes and skin, tearing at his flesh until finally, gravity returned to the laws of physics.

Clint never heard the audible crunch of his bones as he landed in a body of water. Nor did he feel the sensation of his barefoot, sans the boot that had been knocked right off. All he felt was the white-hot pain as he succumbed to unconsciousness.

Steve wasn’t far from the swamp when he heard the crash.

If he didn’t know better, it sounded like an elephant jumping into the river, so forceful that he could smell the musk of water sent upwards into the air.

Bucky was the only one who didn’t turn around, his narrowed focus leading him straight ahead.

“What was —?” Steve spun on his heels to face Sam. “Do you see anything?”

Sam was already shaking his head. “No, nothing. You don’t think —?”

“Give us aerial,” Steve commanded, not wasting a second to breathe. “We need to zero in on his location and get everyone in the same spot. Now.”

Sam was mid-air before Steve had finished talking. His wings took him high, quietly and discreetly cutting through the trees that hid the night sky. It was a risk of giving away their position, but it was now a risk worth taking. Sam could see for miles — Steve needed that intel.

The darkness was absolute, the moonlight barely managing to filter through the dense canopy of leaves overhead. Steve’s heart was pounding in his chest, his grip on his shield white-knuckled.

Three seconds was all he wasted in watching Falcon rise above the jungle, and yet it managed to be three seconds too many.

When Steve looked back down, he was alone.

“Bucky?” he called out, his head swiveling left to right. “Buck!”

Nothing.

Steve pressed into his ear with a gloved finger and determination that lit his nerves on fire.

“Bucky, do you copy?”

Static.

“Buck!” Biting his tongue hard enough to bleed, Steve resisted the urge to punch a nearby tree. This wasn’t part of the plan. “Clint, do you read?”

Still, static.

“Damn it!” Definitely not part of the plan. “Anyone!? Shuri! Banner! Do you copy?”

An explosion of lights turned the black sky into white, combustion so bright that Steve had to momentarily shield his eyes. It blew through the trees and gave a brief draft of wind, chilling the beads of sweat that dampened his hair beneath his helmet.

The crash that followed was different than before. No water accompanied the fall, no splashdown heard in the distance. The tree branches above Steve shook and broke, littering the air with leaves and dirt.

One after another. Faster by the second.

It almost hid the noise of Sam’s screams; descending closer to the ground with each rapidly splintering tree branch.

Steve was still shielding his eyes when the impact landed near him. He never had a second to witness the crash.

“Sam —!” Straight ahead, the crushed winged jetpack let out sparks of broken electricity, catching patches of grass on fire.

The same fire that lit up tendrils reaching for Steve, grabbing him at the waist. Yanking him back in one brutal tug.

“MmpnnnukckKKK!”

The force of the throw sent Steve sailing through the air, his body hitting tree branch after tree branch until he finally landed on the ground with a thud. Rolling uncontrollably until his body finally came to a stop at the edge of a creek.

He didn’t get up.

Hoards of birds took to the air, their flapping wings a warning sign.

Tony shot his head to the sky. The LEDs in his helmet’s eye-slits hid his confusion, his mouth running dry as birds flew from the jungle around him. Scattering away in bunches, their speed speaking of a terror that straightened his spine like a rod.

Quietly, Wanda joined at his side. He almost didn’t notice her until she spoke.

“That...is not good.” Her whisper managed to sound like a shout. Every bit of noise intensified the stillness.

Tony worked his jaw before answering.

“No,” he stated simply. “No, it’s not.”

They heard the crash — both crashes. They were heading in the direction of the first when the creatures awoke, all at once — seemingly communicating the danger to swarms of others, fleeing long before finding out what trouble awaited them.

Tony almost couldn’t blame them. Fight or flight — they were smart to take to the skies.

They weren’t the only ones.

“Get to Rogers and the others,” Tony instructed Wanda, a bite to his words speaking urgency. A single command lit up his repulsors and subsequently the ground below them, taking him into the air. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Without waiting for Wanda’s response, Tony took off in the other direction.

The outskirts didn’t fare much better than the depths of the jungle he flew from, the lights from the city barely reaching the far miles to the borders. It was clear of trees, but dark all the same. With guidance from his HUD, he was there in less than a minute.

Tony was running as he landed. The sound of his feet pounding on the grass was the only thing he could hear over the hammering of his pulse.

“Rhodey!” His knees slid to the grass, the Iron Man armor creating deep gorges in the dirt. “What—!?”

“I’m dead in the water!” Rhodey’s voice was heavily muffled inside the War Machine suit, layers of metal making him sound lightyears away. And yet his jagged breathing was clear as day, the dry panic in each breath piercing the air like knives. “The suit’s KIA, I’m no good, you gotta —!”

Tony paid him no mind to what he said, roughly pulling Rhodey’s hands away from the space where the chestplate should’ve been. The middle of the suit had been blown away, revealing Rhodey’s sweat-drenched body inside.

The wiring was a mess, the structure was totaled. Tony had no doubt half of that was at fault of Rhodey; the man trying desperately to free himself from the suit. The armored knuckles covering his hands were littered with deep scratches, a telling sign of his desperation.

“The exoskeleton’s missing its core belt stabilizer,” Tony’s mind was already working a thousand miles a second. “Even if I jump start you through my suit, without the arc reactor —”

“Forget me!” Rhodey grabbed Tony’s hand when he didn’t listen, the act strenuous enough to leave him panting. “Tony, forget me. You gotta —!”

“I’ll get you outta here, buddy,” Tony mumbled, already at work with the wires inside the chestplate. They sparked in his face and he cursed at the unstable electricity. Not even Ivan Vanko had done this much damage to his suit, and hell, that crazy Russian had arc reactor whips. “Give me a minute —”

“Tony —!”

“Two tops —”

“Tony!” Something in his voice jerked Tony out of it. He looked up at Rhodey, both of them hidden behind their helmets. The light pouring from Tony’s arc reactor only intensified the lifelessness of Rhodey’s. “Tony, get to Natasha — now!”

The muscles of his brow bunched in confusion and consternation. Tony shifted his weight, turning at the hip to look around.

At first, he didn’t see it. The black leather blended in immaculately well with the darkness of the night. It wasn’t until the glow of his arc reactor scanned over a tuft of red hair that it hit him.

“Oh, fuck,” Tony swore, eyes wide. He didn’t give himself the grace to stand up, all but crawling on his knees to Natasha’s prone form. She was moving before his hand touched down on her shoulder. “Romanoff, are you —!”

A harsh gasp tore from Natasha’s throat as she pushed Tony away, rolling onto her back with a cough that barely made it through her windpipe. She wheezed more than anything, her chest pushing upward as she heaved for air.

Red hair fell away from her face, and Tony couldn’t help but repeat himself.

“Fuck.”

The light from his suit brought a glisten to the blood that poured from her cheekbone, dripping into her ear and tangling into her hair. It hid the deep bruising already taking place, the entire upper side of her face a mess of damage. One eye was swollen shut, a sharp contrast to the wide appearance of the other. The light also caught on the tears that ran down her face, mixing with the blood and creating pink rivulets that stained her skin.

He was a smart man. Looking back at Rhodey, he could put two-and-two together.

Didn’t mean he liked the result, though.

Tony gripped her arm with concern. “Are you —?”

“Fi’...fine!” Natasha rasped, reaching to touch her face before grimacing. Her hand fell to the grass with a thud. “Go!”

Tony gravely shook his head. “I’m taking you back to the Citadel — both of you.”

“No, Tony, she’s right!” Rhodey drew in a shaky breath and let it out, his voice husky with each word that barely sounded through his suit. “Go find T’Challa, he’s got contact on Peter. You get to him and —”

“And leave you here defenseless!?” Tony hissed through grounded teeth, never once letting his eyes off Natasha. His HUD was already running a medical diagnosis on the injury — the words orbital socket fracture was enough to make his heart stumble over a beat. Or five. “You said it yourself, you’re dead in the water!”

“Exactly!” Rhodey retorted, anger flaring in a way Tony rarely heard. “Peter —” his voice drew tight with correction. “It — whatever it is — it’s not coming back for us!”

Tony whirled his head around to Rhodey, his hands hovering uselessly over Natasha as she drudged her strength to suck in every ounce of oxygen possible.

For a moment that they didn’t have to spare, Tony and Rhodey stared at each other, through what means was possible.

Decades of knowing each other, and Tony could almost see the look Rhodey had on his face.

“That thing’s taking us out in clusters, Tones,” Rhodey pressed grimly, the brief moment of facts briefly burying the dread that circulated. “It’s going for fresh blood — you need to go, now!”

The gravity of the situation was palpable, and yet Tony couldn’t find it in him to move. His knees were practically buried in the burrows he created.

Realization clenched his jaw tight.

“Tony!” Rhodey barked. “Before it kills one of us!”

“Goddamnit!” Tony cursed, fear and fury bubbling up inside him. From there, he didn’t dare waste a second. Thrusters kicked the dirt into a sandstorm as he took off in the air. “Maximoff! You find Rogers and the gang yet?”

The comms were crackly, full of static and bad reception; barely functioning on the smallest of levels. They fizzled in Wanda’s ear like the magic that fizzled against her fingertips, a swirl of maroon dancing around the palms of her hands with a glow that lit the space between them.

“No…” Wanda answered slowly, shakily bringing one hand to the air. “But I have found Peter.”

If there was a response through the comms, Wanda wasn’t privileged to hear it. The white noise went dead, deafening the already torturous silence. It burned against goosebumps rising on the nape of her neck.

The radiance of red dancing around her hand was just bright enough to shine a light on Peter’s face.

Or what was left of it.

Wanda could feel her muscles lock in place, her shoulders tense with each breath rushing from her lungs. The ability to speak was no more, suddenly hindered. Stripped from her.

She swallowed, hard, and brought her arm up higher.

“Peter...”

There was so much blackness, so much septicity emerging off his body. The only sign of life she could descry came from what little of his face hadn’t been entombed. Traces of skin were barely visible, patches of shockingly pale flesh that only served to intensify the oozing fester. Making the darkness even blacker than she thought possible.

It was everywhere.

Peter cocked his head to the side, staring at her with the one eye that hadn’t been crusted over with convulsing grease. Even that was gone, a dark void in the place of what should’ve been a lively brown pupil.

“Peter, please...” Wanda begged. Her voice cracked at the edges, taking on a shake that matched her hand. “I do not want to hurt you!”

Peter’s teeth barred down against one another, nearly hiding the low growl that climbed up through his throat. It was wet, like the sludge that sealed his lips shut.

Wanda’s eyes darted rapidly, her heartbeat increasing with each spasming limb that blocked her path. Black strings as thick as her legs branched out from his body, creating the silhouette of a tree far different than the trees surrounding them.

The heat from her palm grew, surging through her. Spreading outward.

As did the symbiote.

“Please, Peter!” The sentient limbs swelled up, reaching out for her. Wanda rooted her feet in place, quick to raise both arms out in protection. The shake in them spoke of how much she didn’t want to fight. “This isn’t you, this isn’t —!”

Vines not of nature shot out, cutting through what little gap kept them apart.

If it weren’t for the crackle of magic drowning in her ears, she would’ve sworn they screamed. A shrill cry that vibrated the inside of her bones, birthing from the symbiote itself.

“Pietro!”

Her cry gave life to the surge of magic within, a barricade of crimson that shielded her from the attack.

It held. Embers of crimson sparked, bathing the trees with scarlet red, lighting the night sky with its brilliance. The vines slammed against the barrier, one after another. No amount of her magic could hide the sound it made this time. A piercing shriek that stripped bark off the tree trunks and sent leaves flying through the air.

Wanda’s face twisted in pain, her fingers quaking, her lungs close to rupturing as she held her breath and held it tight. Held it right along with the barrier, her knees buckling as it wavered and light flickered. Edges fizzed away as she failed to keep up with the vicious attack.

Not even the likes of Ultron had caused her to break a sweat. Strong or weak, her powers never faltered, no matter what the enemy. Yet even with red hot chaos erupting from within her core, limbs of the symbiote destructively pounded at the wall of magic. She could see holes ripping through the rain of maroon.

Wanda was a half-breath too late in dodging.

The symbiote shattered through the barricade like glass.

“Peter —!”

The vines came rushing forward — Wanda didn’t even have time to scream before they were upon her. Sentient stems that had no fingers wrapped around hers, each one of her knuckles already bent in a demented direction with the magic that failed to keep the poison at bay.

The tendrils latched on with a crushing vice.

And then,

 

SNAP!

 

A cry bubbled up in her throat, caught there by shock.

 

SNAP!SNAP!SNAP!SNAP!SNAP!SNAP!SNAP —!

 

Wanda screamed. It was a wordless, primal cry of anguish — her stomach turning, her vision blurring as finger after finger cracked. Tendrils pushed them back, further than they could go, joints ripping apart and bones shattering underneath the pressure.

The crimson magic vanished.

The sounds around her dimmed, her jaw unhinged with a wail that died off once her lungs ran out of air.

Through the fringes of blackness on the edge of her vision, Wanda caught a flash of movement to her right. It was the last thing she saw before collapsing to the ground, cradling both hands protectively to her chest.

“Peter!” T’Challa’s voice came and went, speeding by her in a way that was as inhumane as the entity he targeted.

Peter —it —charged ahead towards him.

They collided in midair. The force of the hit sent them both tumbling to the ground in a heap of limbs — none of which were Peter’s; his body just a vessel for the symbiote

Tendrils lunged at T’Challa, screaming for a hit, spasming harder with each failure to make contact. There was none — not against the Black Panther suit. Each attack bounced back with the kinetic energy laced throughout its molecular structure.

“My child!" T’Challa punched fast — the hits had no effect. "There is a hateful venom within you right now!" His kicks were useless, his attacks a waste of energy. "You must fight it!"

Everything he did bounced off the stems of symbiote, so fast that globs and clots of black matter hurled off Peter’s body.

Sprouts darker than the night lunged for him. Far too many tentacles to count. T'Challa prepared to defend.

He never got the chance.

The symbiote was on him in an instant, latching onto his face and wrapping itself around his head. Covering the white traces of his helmets design, squeezing with a crushing grip.

His curse couldn’t be heard. His helmet was cocooned, his Vibranium claws extended and yet unable to pry it off. It was like trying to fight off an octopus. The more he tried, the tighter it wrapped around him. Cutting off his air.

Not even the Vibranium weave of the Black Panther suit could conceal just how hard T’Challa’s heart was pounding. A drum that beat to no song Wakanda had ever heard.

“Ga-auchk—CCCKK!”

A searing firestorm of pain slammed through his abdomen. His scream was stolen from him.

T’Challa gasped and spluttered, his eyes growing wider than the moon. A single tendril of symbiote snaked through his stomach, piercing out from his back. Slithering with heavy spasms as it wrapped around his waist in a death clench, leaving a trail of blood along his suit.

The agony ripping through his core was nothing compared to the confusion. So intense that it became his litany, the wound to his Vibranium far more overwhelming than the wound to his flesh.

A blast of electricity sizzled in the air before making contact on the ground, right next to him. Another struck down on the opposite side.

T’Challa couldn’t see any of it, his claws so deep into the symbiote that his knuckles were nearly inside the black matter.

“OsCorp monstrosity — up here!”

In the sky, Tony didn’t hesitate to shoot again. And again. Each repulsor blast kicking up dirt, leaving holes in its wake. Tearing up the ground with a vengeance.

A shrill cry of rage told him he’d pissed off the damn thing.

Tony pursed his lips and aimed his repulsor down below. Good.

“Why don’t you get the hell...” he slowly descended down, “off my kid!”

Peter shot his head up, his teeth barring in a snarl. The glisten of slime that regurgitated out of his mouth mirrored against the light from Tony’s arc reactor. The decaying matter steamed with brume as it fell down his chin.

“H͇e͍͕’̳͈̦s̲̹̥ͅsͫcc̯͇̫̾̄͌r̥̖̮̽̐͊ë̗̮́̓̉ͅa̟̭͐ͭͩͅm̟̥̌ͭm̠͙̑̐m͓̦̈́̆i̖̯ͭ͆n̰̽ǵ̺g̘͋ḡ̖…̘̼̦̠̺.̭̠͈͍.̳̤͈̠.̝̱̠.̦͖.̩͖.̺.̮" Peter’s lips were never seen moving underneath the pulsating excrescence. The voice didn’t come from his throat.“Y̽ȯu̇ ͐̿ẅ̂i͒́l͊ͮ̏l͆ͭ͒ t̒ͮ͐̓oͮ̀̓̈́o͗ͫͤ̾o͑̊̏̆̏o͆͒ͥ̚̚.̭̠͈͍.̳̤͈̠.̝̱̠.̦͖.̩͖.̺.̮" 

Tony grounded his teeth, a blaze of rage following the next blast of repulsor that lit up the jungle. The electricity burned as it made contact with the symbiote, small pits of fire quickly lighting the grass up in flames.

Tony didn’t stop.

He wouldn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

Not until he had Peter back.

The black tendrils lashed out, so quickly that his repulsor blasts were still mid-air when it wrapped tightly around Tony’s middle. Strands after strands, growing in numbers that ceased to end.

Tony grunted, the metal of his suit creaking from the pressure. Warnings blared in his HUD, his vision growing white as too much information was thrown his way. Klaxons sounded relentlessly, static replacing screens that contained information he needed and yet was taken from him, all as the suit began to shut down functions.

“Okay,” Tony deadpanned, “that’s enough.”

His arc reactor flared to light, beaming with energy that only grew in size. Expanding until it burst with a blazing unibeam. Aiming at the tendrils wrapped around T’Challa’s head.

The Wakandian was able to get out of the way in time, but the force of the repulsor blast still sent him flying. It was too dark to see which direction.

Tony had other concerns to worry about.

“Peter!” he shouted, his arm in the air with a repulsor lit and scorching. His gauntlet was the only thing between him and Peter. “Don’t let this thing control you! You can stop this, you can —!”

 

"W̊ͨ̾͐̓ͯeͪ͐͒̒eͯͣ̉̔̑̋e̓̊ͩͦ̍eͭͣͣ̊ͧéͥ̓̉͒̔Éͫ͑ͮͩEͥ͂ͨ̎̑Ê͑ͣ̏͒Ĕͦͬ̈E͊ͤEͫ̅ c̦o͕̟̜n͙̙͚̳͔t͔̟̫̭̥̦̪r̟̟͙͎͎̜̥o͙̥̗̫̪l̺͕̟ ̉̇h̽ͦ͒i͌͒͛͌͆̅̀m͌ͩ͂̾!̾̍͊"

The voice was nauseatingly high, sounding like dozens of vocals were speaking at once. Steam spurted forward with each word it spoke, creating a halo of fog where there shouldn’t have been any.

It sent a shiver up Tony’s spine, one he refused to let show.

“Not if I have any say in it.”

Repulsor blasts shot from his gauntlet, this time at the ground. The impact sent a shockwave that threw Peter back, and for a brief moment, he stumbled.

Tony used that to his advantage.

His jet boots launched him forward, the repulsors on his palms activated before he even made contact. He collided with Peter at full force, driving him back and into a nearby tree.

The impact was enough to shatter the trunk, and Tony could feel each tendril of symbiote spasm underneath his grip.

“Let. Him. Go,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous as he looked into the black void that should’ve been Peter’s eye.

It narrowed, almost menacingly.

“H̞e͎ ̩i̜s͇ ̪͉o̠͕u̹̫r͙̹r̜͙̙r͕̭̪s̳̲͔s̰̗̬s̻̠͈͎s̤̱̺̦s̱̳̮̬ ͔̹̩͓n͚̘͙̮͔o̲̖̪̟̺w̼͕͕̯̻,̱͉̮̞̤ ” the voice hissed, the sound coming from spasming tentacles that rose up and circled Tony. Gravitating towards his shoulders and back. “A̤n̪d̺ ̩s͎o͈ ̬m̹a͎͚n̜̟y͉̱ ̩̻m̳͔o̟͓r̦̜e͖̙ ͙͇͇f̭͖͈o͈̻ͅr̙͕̖ ̫͕͇ussss̖͕̗̲s͖̳͍͈ ̥̳̱̞ṯ͇͎̣o̭͙̻̹ ̮̠̪̟ṭ̪͍̥a̞͇͈̘̝k̰̼̯͈̘e̱̮͎͉̠e̳͙̞̮͈e̻̞̼̼̯e͙͎̼̮̭e̘̯̙̬̟."

Tony’s jaw tightened threateningly as he pushed harder against Peter — harder, harder —

HARDER .

The repulsors blazed with energy that should’ve melted the damn thing into vapor. The tree trunk splintered with the growing pressure, the roots breaking rapidly and snapping one by one from underneath the ground.

Tony could feel them tilting forward as the tree started to topple.

The black-stained lips on Peter’s face smiled.

“Y͖o̟̝̮u̥̹͈͎ ̜͇͖̖a̝͕͓̥͍r̘͕̯̙͈e͍̯̥̗̘ ̭̗̣͎ͅn̬͍͖͚̗e̹̣̟̜͉x̬̪͙͈̯x̠̰͈͈̣x̝̟̠̘̩t̖͉̭̘̜t̞̟̫̝̞t͎̘̝̠͙t͚͎̝̹ṭ͍̜̥.̻͚̗"

Tony hadn’t felt the twisted hug that formed at his waist. It was only when the crackling sound of boiling grease crept along his ears that he shot his head down, horrified at the savage vines that had wrapped along his body.

By the time he looked up, they were constricting.

“Ga-huUUH!”

Tony’s vision went white and gray, stars flashing in the corners of his eyes as he clenched his teeth around the screams that wanted to bleed from his throat. Breath rasped in through rapid puffs, and the thunderous beating of his heart drowned out the beastly hiss that crawled inside his ear.

“͚W̝̜e̹̥͎e̤̪͖e̦͈̱͉e͔͈̩̗e̹̠̘̹ ͇̮̤͓c̤̥͇̬ͅo̹͚̺̰ͅn͇̯̣̮̻t̳͈͕̹̬r̮͔͈̙̫o̺͍͖̳̩l̝͙̙̦͇l̜̝͈̪̰l͉̥̳̺̖l̳̩̫̳ͅl̗̠̳̮̣ ͉̯̮̻̣̜e̪̮͓̣̩v̪͙̺̮̻e͚͔̙̫̗r̪͙̻̟͎y̳͈͚̟̘t̙̺̝͙̺ḥ͕̘̬̰h̫̦̬̰̞h͔̭̜̮̻ẖ̮̰̠̫i͚̰͉̩͙n̯̼̰̬n̻̯̯̻g͉̮̖̯g̳̻̖̪g̙̺̮.̙̱̦”̗̥

Pain was a red cloud from his neck down, concentrated at the center of his chest, his lungs red-hot as they failed to expand.

He couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t breathe.

Tony’s jet boots lit the ground on fire but the hold was too strong. He couldn’t move.

He couldn’t breathe!

“Hey!”

The blast hit Peter squarely in the back, setting off an explosion of blue electricity that would’ve scorched Tony’s retinas had he not been wearing his helmet.

 

Ch-Ch! Reload.

BLAM!

 

“Pick on someone your own size, won’t you!?”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut, unable to handle the onslaught of gunfire that threatened to blind him. The heat from each blast was scalding, exploding in his face, creating beads of sweat even through the suit.

 

Ch-Ch! Reload.

BLAM!

 

Voltage after voltage struck, desperate in its nature, barely a pause between each hit. Each impact grew larger as the weapon drew closer.

 

Ch-Ch! Reload.

BLAM!

 

Peter whipped his head around with a shriek that shook the jungle raw, teeth barred and dripping with sludge. Energy blasts kept coming, chewing away at the surface of the tree. Showering them with decaying, burnt wood.

Tony grunted — the rage it felt only briefly lessened its grip. He didn’t hesitate to suck in a gasping breath.

Bucky stormed forward, cocking his gun before aiming it directly against the nape of Peter’s neck.

“Enough electricity to take down a rhino, my ass.” Bucky reloaded but held back on the trigger pull, the barrel of his gun pressed against nothing but the greasy substance of symbiote. “Got any ideas here, Stark?”

Tony heaved for air, the oxygen system in his suit long since damaged. The humidity of his own breath was enough to send his head spinning.

“Yeah,” he managed to drawl out, fighting the symbiote’s grip to no avail. “Keep shooting!”

“Works for me.” Bucky pulled back on the trigger. 

A blaze of cobalt detonated, and then another, and more — until the blue naturalized into a crisp, colorless white. Nothing but pure energy seeped into the sky, sparks mixing with the air and dragging into their lungs.

Tony couldn’t hold back the gasp as the vice on his body again reached unbearable levels. He roared a painful cry as his heels dug into the ground, desperately pulling back with no relief. He could feel the suit crushing him alive, the metal digging into skin and compressing his rib-cage against his lungs.

Bones cracked and he couldn’t pinpoint which ones, all happening too fast, his HUD cutting offline with one dying flicker of static.

The LEDs of his eye-slits dimmed and died out.

Tony estimated seconds before the same happened to him. The taste of copper tinged his lips, a thin line of blood trickling out his mouth.

“K-kid!” Tony couldn’t even recognize his own voice, a rasp that failed to work his vocal cords. “You-you gotta —” Gasping punctuated his words. A blast followed it — Bucky wasn’t letting up. “Y-you g-gotta f-fight thi—”

Tony could feel his feet lift off the ground. It was so sudden he didn’t have time to think about what came next.

“Stark!”

With one ruthless toss, he was flying over the treetops of the jungle. No repulsors to keep him airborne, and nothing but the stars soaring above him.

And then, those same stars were gone. Nothing but darkness in its place.

Bucky didn’t stop — firing voltage ammo faster than he could breathe, his gun pressed so firmly against Peter’s neck that he had to readjust every time a shockwave sent his arm flying back.

The electricity discharged against the symbiote, blasting it apart.

It only grew back.

Bucky went to fire again, his next breath stolen when vines wrapped quickly around his hand. Entombing his fist, and his weapon.

“Oh, you gotta be kidding—!”

The tendrils yanked him forward. Bucky narrowly dodged colliding with Peter, frantically rolling off to the side, somersaulting away.

Distance. He needed distance, and fast.

The nearest tree gave him coverage. Bucky grimaced as he crawled low to the ground, until his back pressed against the trunk. Using his free hand, he dug desperately inside the pockets of his vest.

“Come on, come on, come on!” He reached for his knife and nearly sliced his cheek open ripping it out of its holster.

He flipped it in his hand, tossing it blade down. With one quick plunge, he stabbed the metal into the black goop covering his hand.

The knife bent on impact.

“Shit!” Bucky’s eyes went wide enough for the lids to rip.

Just what in the ever-living hell was this thing!?

Each spasm of the symbiote pulsated against his skin, vibrating the bones underneath his knuckles. Looking down at his Vibranium arm, as if he’d forgotten it was even there, he immediately reached over and used that hand to pull.

And pull, and pull, and pull.

“Shit shit shit shit —gmpfHHHHH!”

Bucky's legs kicked wildly as the symbiote dragged him away. His combat boots dug into the dirt, his upper body fighting viciously to get back on his feet.

The symbiote did the job for him. Yanking him around, his body spinning in the air before his hip crashed into something — Bucky shot his head up, a tsunami surge of terror and rage locking his every muscle in place.

All the color drained from his face as he found himself inches away from the broiling heat that emitted off its oozing substance.

Peter’s head cocked painfully far to the side.“̜W͙̟e̘̣̲e͔̲̥̫e͚͚͙͕e͓͍̫̤e̯͇͓̣͖e̘̙͍̫̞e̠̜̦̥͔ ̬̦͎͉̯w̺͉͍͎̦i͚̜̻̼̹l̯͚̺ͅͅl͈͇̮̝ͅ ̬̣̠̼̰c͉̰͍͕̞o̲͖̥̜̼n̗͍͙̥̥s͔̝̘̻ͅs̩̮̟̪̣u̗̭̥͈ͅm͖͍̲̲̲m̠̟͉̭̩e̼̫͚ͅͅe̱̬̩̝e͍̳̬̰ḙ͙͎͖.̗̤̙”͙̬

Bucky’s nostrils were assaulted by rotting breath and sludge covered teeth. Stale, rancid breath wafted out from where Peter’s mouth should’ve been, one black eye peering at him from a face hidden by layers of sludge.

Breathe. He couldn't breathe. His world was all about air and the stench on top of him.

“̯W̜̤e͈̘̭ḛ̻̘͔e̼͓̺̼e̞̦̜̪ ̦̙̥̪̬w͚͕̬͕̲i̺̠̗̜̭l̼͙̹͚͚l̬̗̬̬͍ ̭͔̙̗̪d͈̘̱̤̠e̦̲͓̻͉v̯͉̲̟̳v͔͉͎̜̫o͖̖͉̗ͅu̬̖̟͎̭u̺̥̠͉̦u̩̜̝̩ͅr͕͎͓͕͓r̜̩͙̰̘r͕̣̻͙r̯͙̱̺r̘̙̜͖.̥̹̜”̙̥

The ooze of symbiote began to creep avidly, seeming to actually move with each word it spoke. A voice that in no possible way could be Peter’s, lined with tremors and cadence that made each bone in his spine shiver viciously.

“Oh, yeah?” Bucky flexed his arm, all layers of Vibranium activating with a sound that couldn’t be heard over the sizzling of the symbiote. “We’ll see about that.”

Silver fingers closed into a fist. With a swift reflex, honed by years of combat, Bucky hastily drew his arm back and punched directly ahead.

An oozing limb that came from nowhere grabbed the Vibranium arm, stopping it in place.

“What the —!”

Bucky’s eyes shot wide. The red star forever etched in the arm was quickly deluged, covered almost immediately. He couldn’t count how many tendrils surrounded him — more kept forming where needed.

In sheer desperation, and with both hands hostage, Bucky yanked himself up. His knee was jerking upwards before his feet even hit the ground, pummeling any contact he could get on Peter.

 

"B̙̺̞̥͖̽͌̾A̪̥̦̭͚̠̱͉̙̥̻̪̗͕̱ͨͩ͂̎ͧ̄̊͒C̰͔̠͔̥̩͇̋͑͌̈́Ḱ̵̩̼̮̞̙͖̝̫̤̖̄̂͌̑̀ Ô͑͛͜͝͝F̶̵ͣ̀F̴̅!̬̭̞̰̱̪̱̈̌ͤ̅"͙̃"

 

 

The scream left Bucky’s ears ringing.

It also freed his hands.

Bucky reached to catch his gun before it hit the ground, almost falling from his grip the moment the symbiote rescinded. It happened so suddenly that he didn’t have time to think. Just do. Pure instinct and nothing but it led his actions.

The barrel was against Peter’s temple before either of them knew what had happened.

“How about you back off?”

The blast fired, and again, each shot hitting as fast as Bucky could pull the trigger. It should’ve been enough to render him blind — he could feel the sing marks that burnt hot against his face.

“Come on!” Bucky grimaced as the gun recoiled, its kickback sending his arm into the air with each blast. He didn’t dare stop. “Come on, come on, COME ON!”

Chunks of symbiote were obliterated with each shot that landed. The skin beneath barely cleared for a second before it returned, creeping inwards with tremors.

Bucky went to reload the gun with his other hand when the gun was knocked away.

“Fu —!”

His Vibranium arm was quickly consumed. The silver metal was swallowed up by a growing surge of infective black.

Bucky didn’t scream when the arm was pulled away.

"W͋E͊ ̂̒Kͧ͋̈Iͨ͛ͤ̿L̍̿̐̄L̏̄̑!̊ͧ"

The threat never made it to his ears.

He felt the crack, felt the fire down his side. He didn’t know how, but he swore he felt his arm break in two. It laced into the muscles of his shoulder and screamed the cry that he didn’t.

Sparks flew from the nub, reflecting against his eyes, embers that burned bright orange against the scorched metal.

Bucky stared at the half-mangled Vibranium dangling from his shoulder, eyes wide in horror and shock. His pupils almost pulsated with the hammer of his heartbeat. Jarring through his bones, far too fast. Out of control.

The Vibranium arm was tossed away, the sound it made as it hit the trees louder than the voltage shocks that had fired from his gun.

THUD!THUD!THUDTHUDTHUD!THUD!

Bucky shot his head up, just as the tendrils wrapped around his other arm. Tossing him aside just as easily.

“Shi —nnnUUGK!!”

He imagined his body made the same sound his arm did when hurled through the jungle.

His shout echoed, his body tumbling against the terrain, colliding into tree after tree before finally rolling to a harsh stop. Splashing down and submerging him face-first into the swamp.

Bucky gasped as he broke through the waters, taking a mouthful of mud that left him convulsing in the throes of a coughing fit. He hacked violently, fighting to draw in any air. Barely getting a hoarse breath in before another cough wrecked his lungs dry.

It was only once he pushed back the wet tangles of his hair, plastered against his face, that he caught sight of the silver and blue a few feet away. The glisten of the star was unequivocal. So bright underneath the moonlight that it could’ve fallen straight from the sky alongside the others.

“Oh, shit,” Bucky murmured, his legs fighting to wade through the swamp. “Steve.”

His feet battled in the suction of mud as he ran the best he could in the water. Bucky’s fingers barely grazed Steve’s uniform when he was brutally yanked back.

“GodDAMN—!”

Bucky considered it a miracle when the symbiote slipped up, freeing him from its grip. He lunged forward, diving down inside the murky waters and not breaking through until both hands grabbed onto Steve's body.

He swam as if the hounds of hell were at his heels — and with good reason; Bucky could faintly make out the bloat in Steve’s cheeks, unconscious in the water for what had to be too long. Still, he didn’t give himself time to think.

With the only hand he had left, Bucky ripped the shield off Steve’s magentic arm brackets, and spun around at the waist.

His hip was still twisting when he raised the shield, and raised it high. Just in time to block the tendrils that came flying down on him.

Peter’s body barreled into him full force, knocking the wind out of him.

On his knees, Bucky was pushed back in the water. He grunted fiercely, digging his boots as deep as he could into the mud to retain position. Yet he could feel himself sliding back with each second that passed.

The edges of the shield began to drip black into the swamp. Thick droplets, quickly covering the large, silver star that garnished it. Replacing its design with something far more heinous.

Bucky craned his head around with a grimace. He was running out of swamp — fuck, he was running out of time.

As if reading his thoughts, the symbiote erupted into a shriek so shrill that Bucky swore he was now deaf.

If there were any options left, he wasn’t aware of them.

If there was any chance, any chance at all that he could fight this thing, it wasn’t happening through warfare.

The soft tissues of his palm was bleeding underneath his grip on the shield, his arm trembling as he forced it against the tendrils that spasmed with anticipation for whatever it could devour.

“I don’t know how much of you’s in there right now, punk—!” Bucky shouted a cry of labor as he was pushed further back, inching out of the swamp, his knees beginning to create crevasses in the land behind them. “But I know there’s enough for you to end this!”

A screech sounded in response. Angry and full of rage, multiple layers with different cadence of poison.

Bucky grounded his teeth. “Come on! You’re stronger than this!”

Bucky could feel the drops of symbiote that plopped into the swamp below them. It didn’t just rain off the symbiote, it poured. Reaching out at him with a hateful urge that screamed for death.

His left eye twitched. The cords in his neck bulged, his heart shouted with each pulsating beat. And his arm burned, screaming for release, the muscles ripping at the strenuous effort to keep the shield raised.

The orange embers from his nub still sparked. Dropping into the swamp overtop the black goop that rained from above.

“Punk, I kn-ow you’re i-in the-there,” Bucky’s voice shook with a tremor he couldn’t hold back. His breaths came out in rapid puffs. “I k-know you can h-h-hear me.”

The blackness drew closer. Bits of sludge fell onto his face, one drop after another.

“ͭW̌E̍E̍ẼEͧͨEͭ̚Ȇͤ ͒͛h͒͑eͥ̌a͆ͩr̐̍ ̓̃y̾͊ôu̅…̘̼̦̠̺.̭̠͈͍.̳̤͈̠.̝̱̠.̦͖.̩͖.̺.̮"

“Yeah, yeah!” Bucky rattled off with a few nods of his head. He strained, all his focus on pushing the shield, keeping himself alive a second longer. “And s-so does he! I’d b-be the first to k-know.”

Bucky roared as his knees slid back and the symbiote nearly reached out for him. His face tensed hard enough for the skin to ache, his lungs burning as he couldn’t relax enough to breathe out.

The sweat nearly blurred his vision when he opened his eyes again. His teeth clenched so hard he could barely speak.

“Kid…” Bucky grunted against the knuckle-white clutch on the shield. Lines of blood bled down from his palm, tainting the sleeve covering his forearm. “Whatever h-happens here—”

Peter growled through a gurgle of steaming sludge.

“W-whatever…” Bucky’s eyes clenched shut against his best efforts. The strain was sending ripples of tremors through his arm. “Whatever this t-thing does t-to you —gucckkkKKK!”

His throat became encased, tendrils wrapping around his neck, creeping up his chin. Lapping at his ears. Bucky scrambled to get away, with nowhere to go.

It squeezed. And kept squeezing.

And he couldn’t get away.

His eyes frantically flickered to Steve, as motionless in the water as he’d been before. If he could scream, it’d be pointless to call out for him.

The others were MIA, the comms gave nothing but static —

Bucky’s blood ran cold as he looked back up at Peter — at the godforsaken thing that had consumed him.

He was still in there.

He had to be.

Bucky swallowed, hard, barely getting down what saliva was in his mouth. It constricted his throat so tightly that he only managed a wheeze.

He used it for his next words.

“It ain’t your fault!”  Bucky’s reaction to the roaring snarl was reflexive; his eyes clenched shut and he fought to turn his head away from the onslaught of droplets. “D-don’t — don't you d-dare forget t-that.”

“͑ẆÈEͥ̊Ë́ͪE̿̚E̾ͪE͐͛ ͒ͧ—̆"ͭ

“Forget everything but th-that if you g-gotta!” Bucky tremulously shouted, feeling as his windpipe began to crush inside his throat. “Hear me, Peter!?”

Black sludge poured out from the mouth of the symbiote. Its hold on his neck kept Bucky in place, his face littered with chunks of ooze that slid down his skin, straight into the body of water below.

It shrieked, snarled, made every sound known possible to mankind and Bucky gave everything he had to the hold onto the shield. It was closer to his face now than ever before, the symbiote far more powerful than the super-soldier serum that pumped through his veins.

“You hear me!?” The sludge crept up to his eye, covering his eyelashes, sticking to his eyebrow. Bucky could feel as it closed in around his mouth, a deadly march that brought it ever closing to consuming him.

He gasped, his body flailing, his lungs bursting.

One eye stared back at him. Pitch black, but still an eye.

Still Peter.

Bucky could hear his gasps turning into a death rattle. It was a sound he’d become all too familiar with, too many men that died in agony on the battlefield. It crept into his throat as the inability to breathe through the choke-hold finally got the upper hand.

He watched his own hands choke away the life of others. Far too many times to count. Far too many nightmares that stole away his sleep. If there was any inkling of a chance that Peter was the same, he refused to go out letting him think anything but the truth.

He'd been there before.

It wasn’t Peter's fault.

“...it’s okay, Peter...”

Bucky wasn’t sure if he managed a smile through the strain against his face. But he tried. Even as the erratic staccato of his heart left his chest in agony, even as his vision began to darken at the edges.

Consciousnesses began to slip. Along with his hold on the shield.

“...it’s okay.”

There wouldn’t be a final breath; he’d taken that minutes ago when the fight first started. The last thing he’d feel would be the burn in his lungs as his brain slowly rotted away from lack of oxygen. He’d descend down a dark tunnel of unconsciousness before his pulse ceased to beat and his organs shut off, one by one.

His arm dropped like a limp noodle, splashing into the swamp with one harsh plop. The shield fell from his grip, floating away out of reach.

Bucky’s eyes slid shut.

What he heard next came eons away, distant even as it hit his ears.

"....bucky?"

He briefly wondered if he fell underwater — the sound of his name was muffled, echoing down a long tunnel.

With every ounce of strength still left in his bones, Bucky opened his eyes. Just barely, creating tiny slits that let him see.

And then, they blew wide open.

In front of him, Peter’s throat worked soundlessly, his eyes locked on Bucky’s.

Eyes, Bucky noticed. Immediately, it was the first thing he saw. Patches of symbiote dissolving against the skin, pallid patches marking the boy underneath. Bit by bit the symbiote retracted, sucking back into the pores it emerged from.

A bolt of burning heat shot past Bucky’s face.

“Gu-HUU—!” Bucky gasped sweet, sweet air as the hold lessened. Right as a second arrow zipped by, sparking with a blue tinge of electricity.

It hit Peter in the neck.

The hold on him released entirely.

Bucky hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud and somehow, remembered to tuck his legs underneath him and grab the floating shield to protect his head. From what, at first, he didn’t know. But he sure as hell wasn’t about to find out the wrong way.

The air sizzled with burnt electricity. Only once the sky had turned back to a normal, pitch dark blue, did he lift the shield from over his head.

Cautious wasn’t the word to describe his movements. He moved like a scared, tiny animal leaving its nest for the first time. Wary of anything and everything surrounding him.

He was still panting, his chest still heaving without restraint. And there were still sparks of voltage that lit the space around them with little flares of ember.

It was a second too late that Bucky realized the sparks weren’t coming from the arrow, but from the mangled portion of his arm.

A body splashed in the water, knees first before toppling over to the side. Bucky watched first hand as Peter released his hold on consciousness, succumbing to the weapons blast. The arrow in his neck had long since dimmed to a pale blue, dissipating in electricity from within his flesh.

Clint ran forward with quick surety, cradling his bow to his chest — no, Bucky realized. He was cradling his arm.

And his bow.

But mostly his arm.

His feet sloshed through the swamp, his eyes wildly looking back and forth between Bucky and Peter. Clint managed to say it all without speaking a single word.

Bucky nodded breathlessly, silently acknowledging the approaching archer as he slowly rolled up onto to his knees.

“Good. Now…” he pointed halfheartedly ahead at where Peter laid, out cold. “Stay there.”

With Peter being absolutely positively Peter again — how the hell was there not a trace of symbiote anywhere in sight? — and the jungle around them coming to a calm, Bucky found the fight washing out of him all at once.

His breath began to shake with each exhale, and he leaned back on his heels to further expand his lungs. The dew of the swamp had never tasted so beautiful before.

Clint rapidly approached them, falling to his knees the very second he got to Peter. Two fingers pressed against his neck and the look of fear that crossed his face turned Bucky’s blood to ice.

And then he sighed in relief.

Bucky panted each breath and for a moment Clint looked to the sky, the release of adrenaline noticeably causing him to shake. The silence between them held firm like cement.

That was, until,

“What the hell happened to your arm?” Clint asked, all in one breath.

Bucky wiped his brow with the back of his hand, hauling his head around with a visible effort to look at Clint. His eyes scanned him, up and down, before a furrow creased his forehead.

“What the hell happened to your boot?”

The chirping of crickets and croaking of frogs was the only answer that either men got.