Peter let out a low groan, feeling the bright sun on his face. He yawned, rolling over expecting to find someone laying beside him, but getting an armful of nothing. He opened his eyes and stared blankly at the wall, wondering how the wall got so close to his bed. Also, why was the sun hitting him in the morning? Wasn't there curtains for that sort of thing.

After a minute or two, he sat up in his twin-sized bed feeling like he should know exactly where he is. Everything in the room was stuff he recognized: books, desk, dresser, a poster or two. All of it was familiar, but his mind was sluggish and couldn't quite piece it together. It felt like something was missing, something he reached for, finding only empty bed and wall.

Oh yeah. I'm home.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his head suddenly pounding. He felt hungover, but he couldn't recall drinking. Peter didn't drink. He was a serious student, on the track to graduate at the top of his class. But he'd done something, something that left his stomach feeling like it was full of writhing slugs. He barely had time to grab the trashcan as his body heaved and heaved, spewing out a foul smelling combination that could not be identified by color or texture.

Gwen. I need to call Gwen. Strangely, just thinking about Gwen made his eyes start to water and a pain settled in his chest that felt like a hundred pound weight. He started shaking as he felt around his clothes for his phone, but couldn't find it. Standing, he took a minute to find his balance before searching around the room. Still, no phone. He tried to remember the last time he used it, but he was drawing a complete blank. The harder he tried to conjure up any sort of memory, the more his head throbbed. So he decided to give up and go find some aspirin to remedy the monster headache. Maybe some food. He was starving.

There was an amazing scent outside his door. Smelled like coffee and pancakes. The thought of pancakes made his mouth water and brought up a strange image of a man in a red and black corset and caused him to feel a stirring in his lower stomach that had nothing to do with nausea. He made a mental note to ask Gwen about that one. He laughed, trying to put that memory with something else, but everything was hazy. He had the feeling he was going to hear one helluva story when he finally got hold of Gwen, if the brief flashes popping into his head were anything to go by. A man in red with a lot of scars. A gray kid with black lips. A man with claws. Must have been a crazy-ass party. He just hoped he wasn't walking downstairs into a lecture. Who drove me home? When did I become a wild-child? Did I call Uncle Ben?

Again, Peter felt a deep pain at the thought of Uncle Ben. His eyes burned and his throat felt thick, but he couldn't reconcile why he would feel this way.

Then he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and froze. He looked half dead. There were bags under his eyes, bruises on his chin, and about three days growth of stubble on his usually clean shaven face. He looked down at himself, at his calloused hands and felt like he was missing something really important. Almost desperately, he tried to come up with anything to explain his current state, including his dirty clothes, but nothing was coming to mind.

He rubbed his temples and made his way to the upstairs bathroom to dig around in the medicine cabinet and brush his teeth. Something was different about the bathroom too. Usually it had his stuff on the counter, like shaving cream and eyeglass cleaner. That was another thing missing: his glasses. When he realized his toothbrush wasn't in the holder, Peter felt like he was going to cry. He settled for a swig of mouthwash to get rid of the taste of bile and bad decisions.

With his head again throbbing, Peter returned to his bedroom and went to the dresser for some clean clothes, but was shocked to find it mostly empty. The only clothing was a couple pair of sweatpants, a couple t-shirts with a symbol that looked like an angry red and black emoji, and socks. The closet was just as empty, having only one pair of jeans that were far too big for him with a Hello Kitty patch on the butt. He stared at the jeans for a long time, really trying to understand why he felt like he had entered the uncanny valley.

Stranger still, when he took off his clothes he found that he was wearing a red and blue body suit covered in a grid pattern. Peter stared down at the shirt and pants, and decided that he didn't really want to know what kind of party he went to the night before. He just really, really hoped nobody took pictures.

Peter changed clothes, balling up the spandex outfit and hiding it under the bed. He dressed in a pair of the loose-fitting sweatpants and one of the baggy t-shirts, wondering why in the world he would have such oversized clothing and where the rest of his stuff went.

When he again emerged from the bedroom, the sweet aroma of pancakes was in the air. The aroma made his stomach growl and caused a strange feeling to settle in his skin, almost like the scent turned him on, as if he expected to find something sexy waiting in the kitchen that wasn't his Aunt May. Someone tall and scarred with a deep, rough voice…

His head was throbbing again.

Maybe I took ecstasy last night...

If not for the fact that he was starving, Peter would have stayed in his room. But he knew how his aunt and uncle were. They would be at his door if he didn't come downstairs soon, and he would rather walk into a lecture by his own steam rather than be ambushed.

He walked down the stairs, looking at the familiar family photos that decorated the wall. There seemed to be more of them, and he stopped to look at one that he didn't remember. It was a framed picture of a mugshot of Aunt May. She was holding up a peace sign and smiling. He huffed a laugh, trying to figure out why she would have a picture like that. Maybe a carnival? I really need to pay attention…

The living room was oddly messy. There was a blanket on the couch, clothes laying over the back of one of the chairs. A bottle of wine and two glasses sat empty on the coffee table next to a blue-ray disc box for a movie Peter had never heard of. He grimaced, wondering exactly what his Aunt and Uncle were doing the night before, and suddenly feeling kind of happy he had no memory of it.

There were voices in the kitchen, and Peter took a deep breath to steel himself for disapproving glares and speeches that start with, "I'm disappointed."

He should have prepared to find Aunt May wearing nothing but a t-shirt and sitting in the lap of a broad-shouldered, dark haired man who was absolutely not Uncle Ben.

May gasped upon seeing him, her eyes going wide. The stranger raised an eyebrow, and with a thick accent, said, "Good morning."

Peter's jaw was slack and his eyebrows were practically up to his hairline. He fish-mouthed a couple of times before saying, "Wh- wh- what the…"

"What are you doing here?" May asked, grabbing her robe off the back of the empty kitchen chair. She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. "I mean, I didn't know you were here. Why didn't you call? Did you and Wade have a fight?"

"What?" Peter asked, his head again throbbing like his brain was going to erupt from his skull. "I live here."

May raised an eyebrow. "Honey, you haven't lived here for almost 8 years. What's going on?" She squinted at him. "Are you on drugs?"

"Am I on drugs?" Peter almost squeaked. "No, no. Why are you… Who the hell is that!"

"This is Armando," May said as if it was obvious. "My neighbor whom you said I should introduce myself to via wine and cookies?"

Peter shook his head. "What? I don't… And even if I did- Why-? Why do you…" He could feel something constricting inside his chest as he asked, "Where's Uncle Ben?"

May's face fell as she studied Peter's eyes. "Peter, what's wrong? What's happened?"

The throbbing in his head was becoming too intense, like something was going to break through at any moment. His entire face hurt and body shook to the point he couldn't stay upright. He could feel hands on him, feel himself become weightless, followed by a chill on his face. Then there was noise and people, and arguing. Everything mixed and blurred in his head, along with golden eyes and scarred skin, gravestones and swords, guns and flying over buildings.

By the time his head started to quiet down, Peter discovered that he was in a hospital room. There was an amber liquid slowly drifting into his veins. There was a man with dark hair wearing a lab coat adjusting the flow of the IV. The man smiled, and said, "I figured you'd come around soon. Don't worry, Peter. You're in safe hands."

"Where…" Peter said, his hand coming up to cover his eyes. "Where am I?"

"You're in Medical at Avengers Tower," the doctor said. "Does that sound familiar to you?"

Peter's brow scrunched. "Avengers?"

"It's okay if you don't recall it right now." The doctor held out his hand, and said, "I'm Dr. Bruce Banner. You might not remember me, but we're actually friends. We work together."

"In a hospital?" Peter asked. His head was still throbbing.

"No," Dr. Banner said with a small smile as he sat in a rolling stool and raised the head of the bed so Peter was sitting more upright. "Now, I've already informed your aunt, but I need to tell you. At some point, you were injected with a large dose of a drug called Tabula Rasa. Does that mean anything to you?"

"It means 'blank slate' in Latin, right?" Peter said.

Banner nodded. "It's also the name of a very powerful drug designed to erase memories."

Peter nodded. He might not remember much, but he was still smart enough to put two and two together. "I've been drugged. I've lost my memories. A lot of memories, apparently."

"From what we've gathered, nearly a decade," Banner said sympathetically. He gestured to the IV, and said, "I've been working on an antidote, since this isn't the first time we've encountered the drug. Another person in your life, a man named Wade and his sister Wanda were affected by the same drug. Do you recall either of them?"

"No," Peter said. "But my aunt mentioned a 'Wade'." Just saying the name made Peter feel funny, and all he could think of was a red and black. It was strange, and he asked, "Is Wade… What is he to me?"

"You've been in a romantic relationship with him for two years," Banner answered.

Peter laughed once, and asked, "Where is he?"

Banner's expression turned, and he said, "We don't know. You were on a mission together. As of right now, you are the only member of the team that we have found. The rest have not reported in for the last 24 hours and we've not been able to make contact with them, nor contact the Jean Grey School."

The throbbing was settling between Peter's eyes, and he asked, "What kind of mission? What…" He let out a groan as the pain intensified. There was a beep, and Peter felt a brief pressure in his arm. A moment later, the pain started to subside. But then again, so did his consciousness.

"Try to relax, okay Peter?" Banner said softly. "We'll try talking a little later, once the antidote has had a chance to work in your system."

Peter nodded, sinking back into the welcoming darkness.