Chameleon is planning something. Peter can hear him murmuring to himself. Always out of the bedroom, in the kitchen, or the small living room, out of earshot so every word is an indistinguishable murmur. He tries to listen. As much as it chafes him to admit, his condition has gotten a little better under Chameleon's care, and he funnels what little strength he has into picking out Chameleon's words. Still, he's far from recovered, and straining himself for scraps just puts a headache between his ears.

At this point, being light-headed is normal. Swallowing down his pride is like pushing a fork into his eye, but he stopped fighting Chameleon and allowed himself to be fed and cleaned, and only really pushed back when his captor started overstepping boundaries. Chameleon was still wearing different skins, the faces of his family or coworkers, and Peter only ever saw his white mask outside the bedroom, through the door when he thought Peter was sleeping as he cleaned, cooked, or talked quietly on the phone.

To prevent any more unsavory incidents, Peter slept more and when Chameleon started anticipating it, he started pretendingto sleep. It wasn't as hard as he thought it'd be, given that he was drowsy most of the time. Honestly, if he's not careful he does fall asleep for real, and yes, that has happened a handful of times. Stop judging him, he's doing his best.

It's during one of these fakeouts that Peter finally got a whiff of Chameleon's plan.

He only caught snippets of words. Phrases like "plane tickets," and "housing", and even "smuggling" was tossed around a few times. He muttered about different countries, how populated they were, what kind of resources they had. It took Peter a few minutes of slugging through his foggy brain before the words clicked.

Chameleon was trying to relocate.

He was trying to relocate with Peter.

Staying in the city was probably too much of a hassle for him now. There were too many ties to Peter Parker here, too many strings attached, and too many people who would eventually go looking for him. It was only a matter of time before he was caught. Chameleon was looking for a way out. Peter didn't know how he planned on smuggling him out of the country, where he wanted to go, or what he planned outside of toting Peter along like a human carry-on, but he wasn't going to sit here twiddling his thumbs waiting for it to happen.

No more mistakes. No more stupidity. He was getting out of this now and he was getting away from Chameleon for good. If he needed to disappear and live in the sewers for a few days (weeks? Months?) he'd do it. He'd sit there with the sewer rats, and wait, and figure out a plan. Find a way to contact an ally, maybe try Wade again, and get out of this mess once and for all. He's sick of playing the damsel and he's tired of his mind being played with like a child's toy.

It's time to get the fuck out of dodge.

He'd make his move tomorrow. Chameleon disappeared every two days or so, usually accompanied with a gun. Sometimes it took an hour, sometimes less than 30 minutes, but it was an open window of time that Peter could work with

LINE BREAK

Peter pretends to sleep. Humans are prone to habit, so Chameleon doesn't have a suspicious thought when he pokes his head into the room and sees Peter passed out in the bed, chest heavy with slumber. He lingered inside to adjust the blankets and fix the pillow supporting Peter's neck, and topped it off by sweeping Peter's hair out of his face, touch lingering too long. Even when he pulled away, Peter could sense him there, standing silently at the edge of the bed, watching him. For a horrifying minute, Peter thought Chameleon saw through his ruse and had to force himself to keep his eyes shut.

Go away, go away, just go away.

Eventually, Chameleon left. And like the creature of habit he was, he left the door open so he could keep an eye on Peter as he cleaned up the apartment.

This was normal. Only 10 minutes passed before he deemed their living quarters clean and nodded to himself. His fingers went to the belt at his waist, fiddling with the notch and his form changed. Messy brown hair sprouted from his scalp, the white mask became skin, his shoulders got a little wider and his height a tad shorter.

Peter forgot how to breathe as he stared at himself.

Chameleon grabbed the gun he'd placed on the counter and wrestled on a hoodie Peter recognized as his own. Humming softly to himself, Chameleon slid the gun in the pocket, grabbed a knife from the kitchen, and using Peter's face as his disguise, left the apartment.

Peter waited silently, straining his ears for any indications that Chameleon was coming back. When the coast was clear, he dropped the facade and sucked In a deep breath, clearing his fog-riddled head, and got to work.

He squirmed and arched his neck backward to look at the hairline fracture in the bed frame. Chameleon still hadn't noticed, and re-handcuffed Peter to the sturdier side, so it was now or never. He positioned the cuffs close to the juncture, between the steel bars and the frame, and pulled. The cuffs clanged hard against the bar, almost echoing through the empty space, and his head snapped to the door, listening for the sound of footsteps returning. All he heard was his own heart pounding in his ears. Anxiety was acid on his tongue. He returned to the bar, trying again.

His body didn't appreciate the strain of effort, and if he slowed down to actually consider his current state, he'd throw up. Swallowing it down, he glared at the bar, adamant about keeping his focus.

Come on, come on. He was so close. He pulled again, hard, and the fracture grew just a little. If he were at his full strength this would be child's play, but just moving made him want to shrivel up and die. But freedom was waiting beyond these cuffs, he could hear it calling him. And as a true American, he followed that call of freedom, just like Captain America taught him.

Peter stopped, repositioned the cuffs, and took a deep breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, balling up nausea and throwing it far far away, and counted to three.

1...2..3!

He yanked as hard as he could and the bar finally, finally, came free. The frame broke with a loud SNAP and his arms collapsed on top of him, followed with a few stray pieces of the frame. The bar broke, and a jagged edge caught his wrist painting a running, sticky red line down his arm, but Peter didn't have time to register the pain.

He needed to go now.

There was no telling when Chameleon would be back. Time was draining out of the palm of his hand and he needed to leave. With his arms freed he reached down and broke the frame of the bed near his feet. A few quick tugs and they were free as well. He wasn't strong enough, or even healthy enough, to try breaking the cuffs. He'd already established that it was a hard thing to do, even at full-functioning capacity.

He eased his legs over the bed and hobbled to his feet. The cuffs barely gave him the length to take a full step and he had to shuffle across the room. It would've been humiliating if nervous sweat wasn't dripping down his neck, or if his heart leap didn't leap at every sound. Did Chameleon still have the key on him? Did he hide it? Was there even more than one?

Frantic, Peter took a pit stop by Chameleon's side of the bed and eased the drawer open. Inside was a decent pile of throw-away syringes and several bottles labeled: Carfentanil. Peter picked up one of the bottles, holding it up to his face. He recognized this drug. It was used to sedate elephants, incredibly potent for human consumption, and so dangerous you can't touch it with bare hands. He knew this because Kraven used it to sedate him. Nice to know Chameleon picked up a few tricks in his time with the Sinister Six. This was probably one of the few drugs that had a heavy-enough effect on Peter, which explained why Chameleon managed to keep drugging him so heavily.

He wondered if this is why he hasn't gotten better and why he's been feeling so weak, even when not drugged. Yes, he was feeling a little better, but his body should've been able to overcome a head cold if he was laying in bed eating soup all day. Getting injected with this, even for one day, would've killed dozens of healthy, full-grown adults, and healing factor or not, his body couldn't keep taking it. He put the bottle back and snapped the drawer shut again. The key wasn't in there.

He shuffled into the living room, frantically looking through drawers or in nooks for a hidden key, his desperation growing by the second. He fumbled to a stop when a faint BANG reverberated through the building. It was small, and deep inside, probably towards the lower floors or basement. A gunshot. That meant Chameleon was on his way back up. He always came back after that shot.

There wasn't time to find the key, he had to leave now. The door was locked when he rattled it, so with a deep breath, he yanked and broke it off its hinges. Only one hinge snapped, and the door teetered, connected to the wall by one hinge, and hit the floor with a loud THUD. Peter tried breaking the last hinge off, but his feet didn't have enough room to kick it down, so he stumbled over it, collapsed on the floor once, and hobbled back to his feet. He scrambled down the hall, breaths coming out heavy and labored through panic. Sweat dripped down his neck and anxious fear shot throughout his body like carfentanil. But he kept going, doing his best not to trip and fall over his feet when the sound of a door slamming reached him.

He froze, straining his ears, and his heart leaped into his throat as footsteps echoed through the stairwell down the hall. Chameleon was on his way.

Hey guys, it's been two weeks and as promised, a chapter.

Sorry if there are any mistakes in this chapter. My dog was disguised with parvo yesterday (which is a highly dangerous and incredibly contagious dog disease), and he had to be taken to the vet. Unfortunately, he didn't make it. His body stopped responding and he wasn't hanging on, and I had to make the decision to give him the euthanasia shot to end his suffering. Still grieving over losing him, but my coping mechanism is writing, and this chapter was already practically finished so its update stayed on schedule.

Next chapter will be in another 2 weeks.