HE COULD HEAR THE CLANGING OF CELL DOORS echoing in his ears in tandem with the ominous set of heels click click clicking on the concrete, always one step behind him. Peter's heart pounded against his chest while the blood in his veins turned to ice. He could feel phantom springs digging uncomfortably into his back and the chill of the room slowly sinking into his bones, burying itself inside him.

A single breath fanned across the back of his neck, making his sense scream.

"No-"

The word dripped with fear and desperation as it caught on Peter's throat. His eyes shot open and he stared at the ceiling with a growing panic- all he could see were cracks and loose plaster.

Air stuttered into Peter's lungs as if he had been deprived of oxygen all his life.

On instinct, his whole body jolted forwards, throwing itself from the bed in a flurry of frantic and uncoordinated movements. He tumbled off the side in a tangle of limbs, sheets and pillows in his haste before he landed heavily on the floor- cold sweat clung to his skin as he forced himself to take even breaths instead of gulping down the air around him.

Peter heard sobbing, but it took a moment for his hazy brain to register that the tears that burned his skin were his own, running down his cheeks at a rapid pace. He let out a pained cry and scrambled back from the blankets, shrinking away into the corner of the room.

There was a sharp crack as his hands flew to his throat and helplessly circled the skin to scratch relentlessly at the scarring, as if trying to pry something away- the window's glass ebbed out.

Desperately, Peter willed for the silence to fade away while the urge to scream worked its way into his throat. He blinked back the tears that blurred his vision and the air that had previously filled his lungs came out in short, rough pants that made his throat and chest burn as his body lowered itself to the ground so that he was hunched over himself. Harsh, red lines that stung irritably were left behind when Peter's hands folded themselves again his chest; the tears that had been streaming down his cheeks finally ceased for a moment, giving him a beat of clarity to see the silhouette of his room.

There was the heap of blankets now on the floor, the desk in the corner of the room with his textbooks towering high and his chest of drawers where a set of experimental web shooters sat.

No cold bars. No cracked concrete. No grey walls.

Exhaustion swept through the teen, making his body slump back against the wall and his head loll backwards slightly. Peter could feel his eyelids grow heavier and he fought to keep them open. The only lighting in the room came from the string of lights that hung over his bed; they had dimmed considerably over the course of a few weeks of being left continuously on overnight, but it was enough that he caught the sight of his hearing aids, (they were placed neatly on his bedside table in a spiderman themed case that Clint had gotten him).

Peter's gaze shifted and settled back on the dull lights that he longed to be brighter.

He wanted them to chase away the lingering shadows and dark corners of his bedroom. To chase away the chill in the room and the steadily building feeling of suffocation- Peter frowned when he felt his fingertips tingle. He looked down to see a blue hue emanating from them.

Another round of gut-wrenching fear slammed itself into Peter's body when he thrusted his hands out in front of him, his heart beginning to thud dangerously fast against his chest.

There was a mist-like energy that danced and swirled between his fingertips.

Reasoning and explanations raced through Peter's head as he stared at the power that seemed to hum beneath his skin with wide, wary eyes. "No, no, no, no, no." He pleaded, voice cracking.

His mind jumped back to the only logical explanation continuously, dragging the only memory of him seeing something similar to the forefront of his mind- anger flared in Peter's chest, threatening to consume him as he shook his hands abruptly. A breath of surprise escaped him when the powers diminished, the light fading as if nothing was ever there.

Peter blinked rapidly before he heard the floorboards creak from further inside the apartment.

Before he had the chance to think about what had just happened, the bedroom door opened in his peripheral vision. The teen looked up to see Natasha standing in the doorway.

The assassin moved silently across the room; her face lined with concern.

Distractedly, Peter noted that she was wearing a set of joggers- probably Clint's- paired with a baggy band shirt- definitely Clint's- with her hair tucked behind her ears while she grabbed the hearing aids and held them out expectantly to him. It took him a moment to process before he finally accepted the item and slid them on; the sounds of cars and Natasha's even breathing filtered through.

He eased slightly when the redhead crouched in front of him, taking up most of his vision. Her eyes flitted over his face. "Nightmare?"

Peter let out a huff of air and nodded. His thoughts were drawn back to the reason that had woken him up with such a start and practically dived out of his bed- he shivered.

The nightmares were only getting worse.

Sometimes he was in nothing but darkness and all he could hear were voices and people moving around him. Other times the world was deathly silent, but he could feel the cold seeping into his bones from the metal table he had been strapped to or feel the fire bubbling beneath his skin from the rejection of the mutant powers or feel the water rising in his throat, slowly drowning him.

A few times it had been of Clint and Barney.

Except they hadn't come to save him. Instead, they'd marched him through the Hydra base where pain would overtake his every sense as they watched and- Peter hadn't been able to bring himself to share that one with either Natasha or Clint.

Peter ran a shaking hand through his hair as his latest dream hovered in the back of his head. He pulled hard on his hair and bit back a yelp.

"Hey." Natasha whispered; her features downturned at his hiss of pain. "Come on kid." She mumbled, gently untangling his fingers from his hair. She smoothed down some of the unruly curls and effectively soothed the sharp ache before she helped Peter to his feet.

The heavy weight of her arm settled over his shoulder helped ground Peter while he was guided out into the small corridor where there was a warm glow coming from the living room.

Natasha had started wordlessly leaving a lamp on every night in case Peter woke up from nightmares. He hated the dark now, not that he had ever told her as such. She just seemed to know, and Peter had never been more grateful since she always seemed to know exactly what he needed.

He didn't protest as Natasha nudged open her bedroom door and gently pushed him inside.

It was pristine and immaculate as always; not a single object out of place. Peter's panic soothed at the familiarity as he took a moment to reorient himself while Natasha walked round the bed.

There was a lack of personal items which was a stark contrast to Peter's room. He had posters of his favourite movies and photos of him and Harley dotted around the room joined by Lego sets and comics. However, there was one exception within the assassin's room of a single framed photograph on the bedside table that Peter knew was of her, Clint, Fury, and another Shield agent; a woman with brown hair that he'd never seen in person or had the pleasure of meeting before.

Peter was disturbed from his mental assessment by Natasha's question.

"Wanna talk about it?" She asked, breaking the quiet that had settled. Peter's jaw clenched reflexively at the topic as he climbed into the bed, fingers grazing the cool handle of a gun beneath the pillow once he settled. No other words were exchanged for a moment, and Nat gently took his still trembling hand into her own; they stilled almost immediately and held on tighter, maybe more than he should have but Natasha didn't comment or complain if his strength was slipping out of control.

"You're not at Hydra anymore."

The sudden statement was soft yet said with an undercurrent of iron. It caught Peter off guard and he tilted his head towards the woman curiously. She was staring at him, her green eyes searching.

Natasha remembered when they first met, never wanting to look Peter in the eyes again. He was too perceptive with his scrutinizing stare that felt as though he was picking you apart at the seams, prying you open and exposing your insides to the world so he could judge your every breath.

Like he could see the blood on your hands and knew how deep it ran.

But looking at Peter with his eyes red-rimmed and distant, like he wasn't seeing her eyes boring into his but something far graver made Natasha never want to look away. When she continued to speak, the words were barely above a whisper and seemed to carry through the room.

"It's over. You're not their plaything now- you're Peter Parker. You've survived and you're healing. You're going to be okay."

There was a beat where Peter opened and closed his mouth before breathing out a quiet, "I know."

The answer settled something restless in Natasha. She nodded, satisfied with the answer before she tucked him into her side so she could rake her fingers through his hair. He practically clung to her like she would be snatched away from him if he loosened his grip for even a moment.

"I'm right here." She murmured into his hair; he was already drifting off into sleep. 

A/N

This story is going to be more Peter Parker centric- the first book had multiple different chapter povs and was following a lot of story lines at once, but this is one is going to be primarily between Peter and Natasha.

Also, I really hope you enjoy! I am super nervous to post in case it doesn't live up to expectations but I really wanted to publish a sequel so... yeah?

Anyway! Let me know of any spelling mistakes! xoxo.