A/N: Hi, everyone. Thanks for clicking my story: it's my first! Thanks to HarryPotterEncyclopedia24 for REALLY helping me SO MUCH with this story. I couldn't have done it without you!

And to everyone else, I hope you like this story!

Disclaimer: I do not own Avengers or any of its characters (sadly :( )

He walks down the almost abandoned street, dark and cold for an autumn day. The lights are all out as no one is awake. It is at times like these when he can imagine that he is back in his own time, where he should be. He can pretend those high skyscrapers and neon lights are gone, and that the buildings are plain and of normal heights, like they used to be. But he's not sure if he wants to go back, and yet he's not sure if he wants to stay. The world has changed and he along with it. It's too late to go back now, but he's much too the same to be comfortable here.

There is a scream in the darkness. Most people would pause, perhaps for a second, registering the noise, and then run in the opposite direction. No one craves for trouble. Perhaps the more reasonable would quickly pull out their phones and dial the police. These are normal reactions.

But he is not normal.

He runs toward the sound without thinking.

Maybe I shouldn't have screamed. They wouldn't be so aggressive if I hadn't. But isn't that normal, to scream when a bullet passes by your head and you fall on gravel, scraping your leg, and three men are trying to catch and kill you and you know they're going to succeed soon? I think screaming for your life would be the right decision. Now, though, with my back to the rough brick wall and a knife pressed to my throat, I'm beginning to regret my decision. Though it wasn't a decision, really. It was more a survival instinct.

The plastic packet reflects the little light from the streets. It glints tantalizingly at me, asking me to grab it and run. That's exactly what I want to do, but they'll kill me as soon as I make a move. This small packet is exactly what made me get into this mess. I glare at it, though I know that won't make any difference. All I can hope is that my death will be quick.

Death. The very word makes me shiver.

The man in front of me - the one holding the knife to my neck - smirks in front of me. It looks more like a snarl to me. The snarl of a wild dog ready to devour its prey. "Now we've got you, little pretty," he says. "You don't know how much trouble we've gone through to get you."

I notice his use of the 'we', rather than the 'I'. It's almost like he's emphasizing the fact that a whole organization is trying to kill me. He presses the knife a little closer, and I can't help but wince. "Well," I croak. Before continuing, I clear my throat. "Now that you have got me, you might as well want to get it over with, don't you? Before I run away like last time, remember?"

He glares at me, obviously angered at the memory. I smile at my little victory. But it doesn't last long. He slides the knife up my chin, starting a thin red line up my neck. It stings and burns. My breath comes shallow and quickly, and I can feel my heartbeat pounding in my chest, now that he's started.

He looks at me straight in the face. "You've got such a pretty little face. We wouldn't want to ruin it now, would we? Oh, actually, maybe we do." He nicks my face with the tip of his knife. I wince. This won't be the quick death I hoped for. I close my eyes, waiting for more pain.

He arrives at the source of the scream: a dark alley. He cannot hear much else but mutters, nor can he see anything either. It is perfect for suspicious happenings. He inches closer to the alley, keeping close to the wall to hide. It comes naturally to him now, these sneaking practices. He can just make out shadows, recognizing the big ones in the back with bulky attachments as men with guns, and the slightly smaller shadow in the front with a small glint of light as a man with a knife. The man in the front is probably the leader of this armed group, he deduces. But what are they doing?

Then, he notices a small figure pushed to the wall of the crumbling building. It is too small and too slim to be an adult. He curses under his breath. It is a child. They are threatening a child. How low had people of this age stooped? He sees the shadow of a trickle of blood down the knife. There is no more time to lose. He grabs the lid of a trashcan, loudly on purpose. Strangely, he feels as if he had done this in another time, in another place. But there is no time for this thinking. The heads turn towards him. Time to start.

I hear the clang of metal against metal. So does he, as he turns his head towards the noise, loosening his grip on me. There won't be another chance like this, ever. I bite hard on his hand, tasting his sweaty flesh and some blood. He shouts and grabs his hand as he lets me go. I fall hard to the ground, turning to run away, but he slams his foot on my chest, preventing me. I hadn't thought this far.

"That's it," he cries as he lunges at me with his knife. I pathetically try to turn, but his foot is too heavy, and he is pushing too hard, creating a heavy pressure that pushes the air out of my lungs. This is the end, I think as I close my eyes. I hear a distant thud of a large and heavy object hitting flesh. I never thought a knife stab would sound like this. It sounds too loud and too dull.

Carefully, I open my eyes to see a man standing in front of me. I try to rise but my chest hurts too much and I fall back. The man comes closer and I wait for the shot, the stab, the end. But it doesn't come. Instead, I see the shadowed features of his face in front of me.

The man is wearing a dark gray hoodie, covering his head. His black trousers are worn out and torn in certain places. There is a tinge of red on his knees, which looks suspiciously like blood. The battered sneakers complete his rugged look. But the most striking feature is his blue eyes that shine through the shadow cast by his hood.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

I nod carefully. Out of all the things I expected, this was not one of them. I survey my surroundings. The men are lying on the floor, unconscious or dead, I am not sure. I don't know which one I would prefer. Probably the latter, though that want makes me feel nauseous. They were trying to kill me anyway.

"Alright," he says, "now, I'm going to ask you a few questions. I want you to answer them as well as you can, okay?" He talks to me as if I am five years old. I don't mind much, though. It's nice to be talked that way for the first time in a long time. And besides, I'm small for my age, notwithstanding that I am around fifteen now. I don't blame him for making that mistake.

"First, are you sure you're fine?" he asks. I sigh inwardly and nod, again. He just saved my life. The least I can do is answer all his questions.

"Second, do you know where your parents are? Or where you live? Your address or home phone number?" I hadn't expected this question. I thought he would ask something more along the lines of, why the hell were people trying to kill you? Maybe that question will come later.

I take a deep breath before saying, as steadily as I can, "The people who were trying to kill me, they killed my parents too." Saying these words make my chest ache more. It makes everything seem more real. I see his eyes change in the darkness. Surprise, first, then understanding, and then hard resolve. He slowly stands up and I realize he is taller and heavier built than I expected. No wonder he was able to fight and win against three trained murderers.

"All right," he says, "I'm taking you to the police station." My eyes widen in panic, which he apparently sees before saying, "You're not in trouble. We're just going to report these people, try to get everything sorted." I'm about to protest, explaining why I can't go anywhere near a police station, but I catch a glint of light from an upstairs window. The glint of a piece of metal. A gun.

"Get down!" I shout, tackling him to the ground. A bullet whizzes just above our heads. I hear the sniper reloading his gun and taking aim again. But before the sniper can shoot, he crumples to the ground. I see the man holding a gun that wasn't there a second ago. He looks composed, and mutters something under his breath.

"Change of plan. I'm taking you to my house, which is safe, and I'm going to call some… friends, to take care of these people." I like this plan better, and nod vigorously in agreement.

Before we leave, I take the packet from the pocket of the man who tried to kill me. Finally, I have it back. The man sees it and then looks at me suspiciously. I wonder why, before realizing the packet contains pills. I hurriedly explain, "These aren't drugs."

He obviously doesn't believe me. I'll have to go into more detail, though I really don't want to. "I have a strange… disease, which means I need to take special pills that are sold nowhere everyday. Or else I die. But these people stole it from me to make me reveal myself to them. They want to kill me."

"Why?" he interjects.

"Why what? Why do they want to kill me?" He nods. The question has finally come. How do I say this as truthfully as possible? "I know something that I shouldn't," I answer carefully. That is true. I also am something I shouldn't be, but I don't need to say that, yet. He apparently takes my word for it. I open the packet and take one pill out with a sweaty hand. The relief of retrieving the medicine makes my hand shake, so I quickly pop the pill into my mouth before it falls to the ground. I set the timer on my wristwatch to thirty minutes, the time it will take for the medicine to start working.

I stare at the lifeless bodies on the ground, crumpled into a heap. "Are they… dead?" I ask, a lump forming in my throat. I've never been too comfortable with corpses.

"No, they're probably unconscious. Nothing you need to worry about," he looks at me strangely, as if questioning my concern. "My… friends will take care of the bodies."

He motions with his head, an indication that we should be leaving now. I agree. I get up and follow him, trying to ignore the pain in my chest. The murderer must have had very heavy boots, or perhaps those with the spikes on them. There will be a bruise there tomorrow.

As we near the corner, a black car approaches us. I don't recognize the car, but I do recognize the triangle on the hood, the one with three circles on each of its vertices. The sign. Instinct tells me I should run in the opposite direction as fast as possible, but reason tells me to stay here. If I leave this man who saved me with those people, they will kill him just for being with me. I can't let that happen.

I whisper to the man, "These people are one of them." It's an extremely vague sentence and I think I'll need to elaborate, but he miraculously gets it and slowly draws his gun. I know better, though, that a confrontation is not the way. "We need to run," I whisper urgently as the car creeps closer to us. He gets that too.

"Try to keep up," he says and grabs my hand. Just as the car doors open, we run away. I hear bullets firing at us and duck my head. Somehow, we reach the abandoned warehouses before they catch up with us. There's a large metal padlock in front of the warehouse. It's a dead end.

My heartbeat races as a wildly look around for a different exit. There is none.

A/N: So, my first chapter in my first story. Thanks to everyone who's read it. Any advice whatsoever would be nice, as I'm completely new at writing :) Thanks!

Also, I'll try to update weekly, at least, so please await the next chapter!