Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

After seeing a loaded gun in the center console of her legal kidnappers' SUV, Parker Lane crashed their car into a tree. And it took forty-five minutes of constant movement through the dense Illinois forest to realize that she was, in fact, very lost.

That was the recurring thought as she stumbled along a dusty dirt trail, her foot catching on a root protruding from the ground. She tripped, caught herself, and continued on as the leaves rustled in the early fall breeze.

The stitch in her side would not go away. After the crash, she ran as far as she could, forcing herself through underbrush and weaving around branches that ended up scraping against everything that wasn't covered by clothing. Her tank was dark enough that it hid the drops of blood that fell from her lip, but her once-white jean shorts weren't so lucky.

They didn't just have dirt- they had blood. If anyone saw her, they would call 911. She would do it too if she saw a scrawny fourteen-year-old girl wandering through the forest like she just got hit by a car and then attacked by twelve cats.

Which, in all honesty, was not far from the truth.

She even lost two friendship bracelets that she made to the trees. And she would have panicked over that on a normal day, but she was busy panicking over the fact that, if caught, she was going to get a bullet to the head.

The men had a gun. She was sure of that. And even though the men were taking her to a school for 'troubled youth-' which she didn't even need- they didn't need to bring a gun.

That was unusual, right? Had to be- what would they even use it for if their goal was to get her to the school? The thought crossed her mind that maybe they weren't who they said they were and were going to kidnap her, or traffick her, or something bad.

But that didn't make sense. Her dad was a former SHIELD agent, so if anyone could sense bad intentions, it would be him.

A stick snapped behind her. Parker froze. Turned. Listened for the rustle of an animal. Kept going when she did.

Just keep moving, she told herself, forcing one foot in front of the other. Keep moving and you'll find a way home. Keep moving or the men will find you.

She would find a way home. Her parents would realize sending her away was a mistake. They would hug her, tell her how much they regretted signing her up for the program, her mom would cry- maybe her dad, too, and then everything would be okay.

She would find a way home, and it would all go back to the way it was.

Right?

Eight weeks in a residential home in Utah, Parker was told. The two men who she woke up to at five in the morning told her that. Said to get dressed, shove some things into a duffel, and leave. They didn't even say their names.

Her parents were just outside her bedroom door. Her dad didn't make eye contact, and all her mom gave her was a tight hug goodbye as Parker tearfully begged them to let her stay. They wouldn't even tell her what she did wrong, what she could have done to deserve being taken away.

Because she genuinely couldn't think of a reason why. She never fought, never snuck out, always kept her grades up… Parker did everything right. So why was this happening?

She locked herself in the bathroom at one point, punching the numbers 9 1 1 on her phone's keypad with shaking hands. Because being ripped from everything she knew at the crack of dawn with no warning whatsoever had to have been illegal.

But before she could hit 'call,' one of the men- the bigger one- broke the door open and dragged her out and into the waiting car as she screamed and cried in pain.

Parker pushed the hair that clung to her cheek back over her ear, wiping the sweat off of her brow with the back of a hand. From the look of it, there was nothing but trees for miles. She was walking a path that never ended. But the idea of turning back… that wasn't a risk she wanted to take.

She spotted the gun an hour into the drive when the man in the passenger seat's hand kept twitching toward it every time she shifted in her seat. And Parker went hunting with her dad often enough for her to know what a person ready and willing to shoot looked like.

Maybe that's why she unbuckled. Why she screamed loud enough to startle the one driving. Why she leaned forward and grabbed the wheel. Why she yanked it to the trees as hard as she could.

Why she ran when the men were dazed. Because, somehow, all she got was a split lip.

Snap.

Parker stilled, slowing her breathing as her eyes scanned the trees. Probably just a squirrel breaking a stick again. No big-

Snap. Snap.

Nope.

She ran.

Darting off the path, she sprinted deep into the woods, trying to find footing on the uneven ground. Brush tangled at her feet, threatening to trip her, but she kept moving, kept pumping her legs as fast as they would go.

Parker ducked low to avoid a branch, taking the opportunity to look behind her.

No one.

She turned her head to face forward.

There was a person standing twenty feet away.

Parker screamed. Her feet slipped against pine needles as she attempted to turn around, and she landed hard on the forest floor. Her knees scraped against the ground as she forced herself up, running through the densest patch of trees she could see. Sticks whipped against her, but she didn't stop, determined to get as much distance as possible.

Her foot caught on a thick patch of brush. She hit the ground, crying out as sharp pain shot up her ankle. Parker tried to get back up. Her foot gave out. She fell back down.

Run, hide, fight.

Her dad's words echoed in her mind. Every year, before school started, he made her practice what to do if a shooting happened. When she was younger, he made it a game: he pretended to be a monster, she had to try to not get seen, ideally get out of the house. But if she was cornered, she had to fight.

Parker wasn't cornered yet. She still had a chance. But she couldn't run. Not anymore.

So she had to hide.

Her eyes flicked to a fallen tree, and she scrambled towards it, half crawling, half running. She moved behind it, the rough bark digging into her back as she pressed herself against it. Parker covered her mouth to stifle her sharp breaths, trying to listen for footsteps as her heart hammered against her chest.

Her feet struggled to push her against the log, unable to find footing in the fallen leaves on the ground. Her hands shook as the snaps and rustles got louder and louder. Parker squeezed her eyes shut, holding her breath.

And then the footsteps stopped.

"I'm not coming any closer. Not if you don't want me to."

Her eyes snapped open. That voice was familiar, but it wasn't the voice of the men that took her. Where had she heard that voice before?

"My name is Steve Rogers."

No. No way.

"The men that took you from your home? They're a ten minute walk away."

His words didn't register in Parker's brain. That was Captain America. Of all people. Captain America. It couldn't be him. He was a war criminal, had been for months. And he was in a random small town in Illinois?

"My friends and I have a car a quarter mile away. We can get you somewhere safe." She heard the crunch of leaves as he stepped closer, and her breath caught. "I know you're scared. You have plenty of reason to be. But those men are coming with backup, and they will find you if we don't leave now."

There was a long silence- at least, as silent as the woods could be- as she took a breath. "Backup?" Her voice shook, and she cringed at how tired she sounded.

"I can explain more, but we need to move." Captain America rounded the fallen tree, staying a good distance away to not spook her but close enough so that she could see him. His hands were up and visible, and he crouched down to her level. "Can you walk? How's your ankle?"

"F-fine," she forced out, her eyes wide. He was hardly recognizable- he wore dark clothes and grew a full beard- and Parker wouldn't be able to recognize him by just his looks. But that was- that was Captain America. Steve Rogers in the flesh. And he was staring right at her.

Her hands pressed against the dirt under her, and she pushed herself up, but the second she put pressure on her foot, her ankle gave out. She grimaced, trying again, but this time she almost fell to the ground.

Get yourself together.

Steve moved forward, and she instinctively flinched away as he steadied her, but he didn't let go. "You're okay," he tried to reassure, but his tone was urgent. "You're okay. I'm gonna lift you up." That was the only warning he gave before picking her up, one hand under her knees, the other supporting her back. She tensed, and her face went beet-red as she tried to decide whether to trust him or not.

Captain America was carrying her.

Was she dreaming?

"I can walk," Parker insisted as he moved briskly through the forest- faster than she ever could. "I really can. I just- I don't really have a good pain tolerance- that's what my dad says, but like if I really tried-"

"Hurt anywhere else?" He ducked under a tree, turning to shield her from any sticks or branches. "Neck, back, head…?"

"No. I really can walk though." She paused when Steve didn't answer. "My head hurts a little. But that's 'cause I hit it when I-" Parker realized that she probably shouldn't tell him about the accident. If she told him about what she did, he might not want to help her anymore. Which would be a valid reaction.

"When you crashed the car."

Her heart skipped a beat. Was he there to arrest her? No, that wasn't it. He was a fugitive. A war criminal, ever since the Accords got signed a few months back. "How do you-"

"Anywhere else hurt?"

Everything hurt, she wanted to say. Her skin stung, her lungs burned, her feet ached, her ankle throbbed. But she just shook her head, staring at the former Avenger as if he was a ghost.

Her mouth moved before her brain could catch up. "My friend Logan, he- um- he follows an Instagram page that's like… trying to see where you are, and he said during AP Lang on Tuesday that you were in Japan fighting terrorists. Showed me a photo of it and everything."

Even though his beard covered most of his lower face, she swore his lip twitched faintly. "That right?"

"Ow." A hanging branch hit her twisted ankle. She grit her teeth, trying not to show how much it affected her. "Yeah. If he knew I was talking to Captain America he would go insane. I'm pretty sure he has a picture of you in his locker." There was a pause. "Wait- why are you here? Did my parents send you? Are you taking me home?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "Save the questions for when you're safe, okay?"

Her eyes slowly narrowed, and she wanted to push, but decided against it. "I'm Parker. By the way. Um- Parker Lane." He nodded, and her eyes narrowed further. "You already knew that. Why do you already know that? Did-"

"Later," he responded, ducking down again, being more careful this time to shield her from any stray branches. "You see that road up ahead? Through the trees?"

Parker turned her eyes, squinting. Her head tilted to the side as she saw a flash of white through the green. "Is that a car?" Her voice trailed off as he carried her on to the small back road. "Oh my God."

The Falcon- Sam Wilson- leaned against a beat-up pickup truck. He straightened when he saw them, knocking on the window of the vehicle before he walked closer to them. The truck's engine started- someone was in the driver's seat.

Captain America kept one hand on her arm as he slowly set Parker on the ground, her mouth gaping like a fish out of water. "They're ten minutes away. Maybe closer. We should move."

Sam's eyes scanned Parker's bloodied state, concern in his eyes. Parker wasn't that bad off, was she? She felt fine- well, not fine, but not enough for an Avenger of all people to worry about her. "Steve, she's-"

"Sprained ankle, possible concussion. Can you do triage in the car?"

He slowly nodded, going to open the doors of the vehicle. "Rough morning?"

It took a moment for Parker to realize he was talking to her. She quickly nodded. "Yeah. I guess. I mean- you guys have probably had way worse, but- um. Are you taking me home? Because I really need to get home."

There was an uneasy pause as Steve and Sam made eye contact. "Home isn't safe. Not right now." Steve starting helping her towards the car, but Parker pulled back. His jaw tightened, and he crouched down slightly to be on her level. "We will do what we can to bring you back. But right now, that means keeping you alive."

Home wasn't safe? What did he mean 'home wasn't safe?' Of course it was safe. "But-"

"Parker. I need you to listen to me." Steve put both hands on her shoulders, making sure she was looking at him. "If those men find you, they will hurt you. I'm not going to let that happen." A second passed, and his voice lowered even further. "So I need you to get in the truck. Okay?"

She almost protested until she saw the set look in his eyes. He was serious. Something was wrong- really wrong. Parker swallowed the lump in her throat.

"…Okay."

Chapter Text

"Before you ask, no, you can't fly the jet."

Parker's arm was around Sam's shoulder as he helped her up the ramp into the quinjet, parked in a small clearing deep in the woods. One of her shoes was on, the other was off, as was her sock. In the truck, Sam insisted on looking it over to make sure it wasn't broken. It wasn't, as far as he could tell- thank goodness- but it took five minutes out of the twenty minute drive just to get her converse off.

She was really proving her dad right about the low pain tolerance.

But Sam kept her talking through the pain- tried to distract her. And it worked. When she asked questions that he couldn't answer, he would redirect them. Parker pretended like she didn't notice and tried to ignore the dread inside of her- after all, she was talking to Avengers. That was insane.

But something felt wrong. She shouldn't have still been scared, but she was. There were things they weren't telling her, and she hated that.

Or maybe she just hated the feeling of helplessness.

"I wasn't gonna," Parker replied in response, her eyes scanning the inside of the jet- a quinjet. The thing governments used, the thing SHIELD used before the fall. It was bigger than she expected, and there was a surprising amount of space inside.

Natasha Romanoff walked ahead of them, making a beeline for the cockpit at the very front. She was the person driving the truck earlier. Natasha didn't say a word to Parker- she hardly said anything at all. Maybe she was just focused on driving. Or maybe she just didn't like Parker. Which would suck.

She was blonde, now, too. And she cut her hair to a bob. It made her, like Steve, almost unrecognizable. Which was probably the goal. Sam looked the same, but then again, he was the least recognizable out of the three. A newer Avenger- made one after Sokovia, almost two years ago.

Sam lead her to a bench seat on the side, slowly setting her down and taking her arm off of him. "Good." He brought down a harness, helping her buckle in and tightening the straps- which was stupid, because no one else except for Natasha was even sitting down. "How's your head feeling?"

"Fine." He gave her a look before going across the jet and grabbing a bright red med kit from under a seat. She sighed, her eyes tracking Steve, who was closing the ramp as the jet lifted off of the ground. "It's not bad."

"Out of ten?"

"Two." Sam raised his eyebrows. "…Three." The quinjet started to move, and she braced herself against the seat as it picked up speed. It really didn't feel like they were moving much at all.

Steve walked past her, heading for the cockpit, and Sam set the medkit on the seat next to her, rifling through its contents. "You do any sports? Wait- let me guess. Track?"

"Cross country," Parker corrected. "Track's in the spring."

He nodded, tearing open an antiseptic wipe. "This is gonna sting, so tell me if you need a break." Sam pressed the wipe against her skinned knee, gently trying to get the dirt and crusted blood out of it. She bit back a hiss of pain, squeezing her eyes shut tightly.

"How long you've been doing cross country?"

"Just- ow- just a month."

"You're pretty fast. Ran five miles in thirty-eight minutes."

Parker opened her eyes. "How do you know that?" He hesitated, taking the time to replace the alcohol pad. "No, seriously. Were you guys tracking me?"

"Hey- Hey. No, we weren't tracking you. Not in that way. But we were trying to find you, 'cause you were lost in the woods for an hour and a half. Alright?" Sam moved to her other knee. "You do well in school? Get good grades?"

This time, she hesitated, and Sam smirked, looking up at her. "I- I don't fail anything. So…"

"Mm. Right." He pressed too hard, and she inhaled sharply. "Sorry. Almost done."

"There was this- this one guy in my Geometry class who kept cheating off of me, and he was kinda cute, so I let him, and then he got caught, and the policy for cheating is that- um- both people get zeros. So we both failed that test. He kinda looks like a rat, though, now that I'm thinking about it."

"So you do fail stuff." He threw out the old wipe, getting a new one to clean off the gash on her face. Parker looked to the front of the jet, watching Steve and Natasha talk in low voices to one another as the trees blurred under them. If only she could hear what they were saying.

"Am I in danger? Like- a lot of danger?" Sam sighed, but she kept going. "Are my parents okay? Do they know I'm okay? Should we go and get my parents-"

"Hey-" He started cleaning her busted lip, which shut her up. Her nose scrunched as the strong scent of alcohol wafted up her nose. "Take it easy. Your mom and dad are fine. Those men don't want them. They want you. So that's what we're gonna focus on, alright?" Sam scanned her, looking for any other big gashes or cuts, before nodding, satisfied that he got all of them. He stood up, grabbing a black backpack near the cockpit.

"How we looking?"

"Forty-five minutes until the safe house," Natasha replied. "No one following. Yet."

"Good," Sam replied, kneeling down and opening the bag, pulling out a large ziplock with dark clothes inside of it, and also grabbing a box of baby wipes. He walked back over, handing the items to her. "There's a bathroom in the back. Small, but it'll do. You can clean up in there and swap the clothes in the bag with the ones you're wearing now."

Parker unbuckled her harness, and he helped her over to the bathroom. After telling her keep it unlocked just in case something happened, he let her go inside alone. The room was small: just a sink, a toilet, and a mirror, and it was like a normal airplane bathroom, except dark and modern.

She carefully set the plastic bag on the ground, opening the pack of wipes while being mindful to not put pressure on her ankle. She paused when she saw herself in the back lit mirror.

Her arms, chest, and face were scratched up, along with her legs which had it the worst. There was dirt all over, staining her torn tank top and shorts, and the dirt was crusted under her fingernails. Her lip was swollen, and there was a bump on her forehead next to the gash. Heavy bags were under her eyes, and her sporadic acne on her cheeks and chin were red and inflamed.

Parker paused, then sniffed under her arm. Body sweat and pine, not a great combination. No wonder Sam wanted her to clean up. She grabbed a cold wipe and started with her arms, scrubbing at them to get all the grime away. She only had three bracelets left, too: two on her right, one on her left, and Parker was careful to avoid them.

It might have been the adrenaline starting to wear off, or maybe the fact that she finally had time alone to decompress, but it hit her like a semi-truck.

She could have killed those men.

Like, actually killed them. And they probably had families, maybe even kids, and she could have taken all of that away in an instant. And for what- to maybe not get shot? That gun could have been there for protection. Not because they were going to shoot her if she did something wrong.

And she crashed the car. Crashed it right into the forest on the empty road, cutting across the lanes, right into an old tree. The men's heads whipped forward and then back as the airbags deployed. Parker got thrown into the seat in front of her before forcing a door open and running. She hardly even looked to make sure the men were alive; all she wanted was to get away.

Oh, God. She really could have killed them. Which would have totally proved her parents point about sending her away, but this time she would go to prison, and Illinois probably still had the death penalty, and-

Knock knock.

"Parker. You good?"

It was then she realized she was breathing very heavily, heart pounding, as she braced her hand against a wall. She blinked, eyes going to the door.

Another knock. "Parker?"

"I'm fine," she forced out. She started wiping down her other arm. There was a short silence before she spoke again. "Are those men okay? Like I- I didn't… um…"

"They're fine. Just a little dazed. Why? What's up?"

"But how do you know that." Parker's voice cracked on the word 'know,' and she hated that she sounded like a twelve-year-old boy whenever she tried not to cry. "Who were they? Really? And why do you- why are you guys even here? 'Cause they were just taking me to a program, and- and I-"

"They weren't taking you to a program. Not- not like the one you thought, okay?" He paused. "Just- finish up in there, and then we can talk. For real this time."

She almost protested. But instead, she kept her mouth shut and focused on getting cleaned up. By the time she was done, she had used up what felt like half the bag of wipes and still felt grimy. The plastic bag held some basic items of clothing and she put those on, and after what felt like forever, she finally opened the door. Sam was right there and helped her back to the bench seats. Natasha and Steve were still in the cockpit, but Steve did glance her way. They made eye contact, and he nodded as she walked past.

"Ankle doing any better?" Sam asked, not bothering to clip her in again since they were in the air. Instead he grabbed a cold pack, shaking it so it activated. "Put it up on the seats. We'll try to elevate it."

"It's fine." She propped it up, wincing slightly as he put the pack on it. Her ankle was swollen- all red and inflamed, and Parker could see a bruise start to form. Just a bad sprain, Sam said in the car. "Like a… five? Probably less."

Sam gave her a bottle of water and some ibuprofen, and then sat down next to her, two seats away. He crossed his arms and leaned his head back against the quinjet wall. "You should try to drink half of that. At least."

Parker popped the pills in her mouth, cracking open the cold bottle and taking a large sip. She gagged, feeling the pills in the back of her throat, and tried her best to swallow and not throw it up. After a few seconds, she got it down, but she swore her life flashed before her eyes.

She capped the bottle and set it on the floor next to her good foot. The jet hummed around her as the silence passed. After a few minutes, she spoke. "I crashed that car."

Sam didn't answer right away.

"I could have killed them." Her voice was quieter. "I could have killed them, and- and they wouldn't see their families again, and it would have been my fault. And they had a gun, but they weren't pointing it at me or anything-"

"Those men are okay. And you're okay. That's the only thing that matters right now."

"Who were those men?"

He took a breath, shifting in his seat as he tried to figure out how to respond. His eyes went to the cockpit. "Government agents." Parker's eyes widened, and she sat up. "Hey- hey. Don't freak out-"

"Government agents?!" she repeated, her voice rising. Steve glanced at them, and Sam caught his eye. "I could have killed government agents?"

"They were going to take you to a very bad place. So yeah, government agents. But you did the right thing by crashing that car."

Parker stilled, her brow furrowing. "…What?"

Sam sighed. "Steve, you wanna-" He motioned to her, and Steve nodded, slowly standing up and walking over to them. His eyes scanned her, as if making sure she was good, before they met her waiting gaze.

"We were going to stop that car either way. You just did it first." Steve stopped five feet away, hands in his hoodie pockets. "Your dad was contacted three weeks ago by the Secretary of State. He offered your family a lot of money if they handed you over to them."

"They tried to bribe my dad?"

He inhaled, jaw tightening. "I'm sorry," he said, and he really did sound like he was.

"…Did he take it?" Steve looked away, his expression an answer in itself. Parker's heart sank. Her dad took the money. He took the money and sent her away with those men.

He sold her out. He sold her out and lied to her that she was a bad kid to sell the lie of her being forced into some troubled youth retreat.

"He didn't have a choice." A moment passed. "If your dad said no, they would have taken you anyway and jailed your parents. Maybe even killed them. So he called a friend, who contacted us."

"What- What did I do? Why does-"

"You did nothing wrong," Steve insisted. "We… we're not sure why they want you. But we're going to figure it out, and we're going to do our best to get you home." He glanced out of the jet's windshield and ran a hand through his overgrown hair. "Right now we're headed to a safe house in California to lay low before leaving the country. There's a couple in Bolivia who agreed to take you in while we figure things out."

"Ex-SHIELD," Sam clarified. "Good people. You'll be safe with them."

"So you say I'm in danger, and then you're just gonna… hand me off?" Parker didn't know what to say. They did all this work to get her out, and then they were just going to leave her and send her with random people she's never met a day in her life.

"Staying with us would hurt you more than it would help." No it wouldn't. Staying with two randoms would hurt. Staying with former Avengers wouldn't. Steve's voice then softened as he took a couple steps back. "We're about a half hour out. You should rest. We move again tomorrow morning."

He walked back over to Natasha, taking a seat next to her, as if he didn't just uproot her entire life in a couple words. They didn't give her a timeline, didn't tell her that she would go home at all. Which she would. She would go home. Even if her dad sold her out. She was his daughter, after all. So why was no one saying that she would see her parents again?

They were Avengers, after all. He was Captain America. They were supposed to save her. So why did she feel like they were dragging her deep into a mess that would be impossible to get out from?