Who are you running from

Sometimes, even quicksilver needs a place to slow down. To stop and let everything go, to stop running.
When he was a kid, his escape was his twin. His sister. Playing dolls or something with her was his way of reminding himself that it was okay to stop and feel and let it all out, once in a while.
These days he went to the roof, led down on the slates, closed his eyes and just breathed. Because fresh air (air that wasn't tainted with the smell of lost hope and failure) was very hard to come by. Peace was very hard to keep.

Peter relished in these little pockets of freedom, for he knew that without them, there was nothing keeping him sane. Nothing keeping him from flying.