Peter followed Tony Stark at a careful distance, his bare feet ghosting silently across the cold, gleaming floors of the compound. He'd awoken in a fog of uncertainty, his head aching after a hazy nightmare that had left him feeling unnerved; but he couldn't remember why. He had tried to lie back and relax, observing as much as he could about his new surroundings. But the mounting list of unknowns just made him more anxious.

Peter had a desperate need to feel out the edges of his container. What were the rules? What were the expectations? What was going to happen to him? And what did the rest of the compound look like? Would it be easy to escape if he needed to? Every second spent lying in that sterile lab had been suffocating. He needed to move, to feel out the boundaries of this strange place. Even if those boundaries came with Stark's sharp gaze and sardonic tone.

The one thing Peter knew for certain was that getting out of bed triggered some sort of security warning that would summon Stark. So, when he couldn't get back to sleep after Stark ordered him to stay in bed, Peter got up. He didn't exactly understand why he did it.

Stark was right. It was too quiet. Peter could barely contain himself, lying there in silence when he needed to know more about, well, everything. Waking Dr. Banner seemed wrong somehow. The man had been nice to him, which was as disconcerting as it was comforting.

Stark, on the other hand, wasn't nice. But Peter felt, somehow, that was more sincere. And Stark was already awake, so there was probably no harm in bothering him again. Peter stood up and waited, knowing that the unbearable quiet and uncertainty were about to be rectified. It did take longer than expected, and Stark's AI had started asking him questions, so Peter started fiddling with the bed, just to occupy some of his nervous energy.

So now he was following Stark around the compound, happily walking himself into those unknowns because that felt better than sitting in a dark lab and waiting for the unknowns to come to him.

"You still with me, kid?" Stark's voice broke the quiet. He glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised as if he really hadn't been sure Peter was following him.

Peter met his gaze and forced himself to look unimpressed, as if he hadn't been mentally cataloging every hallway, exit, and security camera along the way.

"Where else would I be?"

The man arched a single, suspicious brow and Peter rolled his eyes. Did he think Peter was going to try to escape at that very moment?

"I'm not feeling like leading a manhunt through a building full of superheroes. Sounds like a good way to get shot again."

Stark snorted, shaking his head, "So dramatic."

Peter trusted the Avengers in a general sense. He knew who they were. He knew they played by certain ethical rules, for the most part. More importantly, they didn't cause a buzz of fear up and down his spine like the mere thought of Hydra could. But Peter was not an idiot; that trust was tenuous. If the Avengers assumed he was a dangerous criminal, they might eventually decide to hurt or imprison him.

Fortunately, his walk around the compound with Stark gave him a sense of the building layout and the boundaries his brain had been itching to see. He would need to observe the Avenger's habits, schedules, security systems, and gain a better sense of who or what Friday was. If things got hairy, Peter would be prepared. Escape was an option.

Staying was also an option.

What if, as Peter got reacquainted with himself, he discovered that he was actually a bad guy? In that case, he could trust the Avengers to do the right thing and either kill him or stop him by some other means. This was simultaneously comforting and terrifying.

In either event, he needed to know more before he could decide if he was leaving.

Peter wished he had a little more time to explore his body's alleged enhancements. He still wasn't certain what he was capable of, and that made him nervous. He should experiment and figure it out, but he knew that even when he was alone, he was being watched by the mysterious Friday.

Strength seemed a safe enough ability to explore because the Avengers already knew about it. As soon as Dr. Banner had fallen asleep, Peter broke those metal restraints like cheap plastic.

One thing he had noticed right away was that he liked to move in small, controlled motions, fluid and smooth. He wondered if his old self had learned to do that as a way of controlling his super strength. His thoughts strayed to the broken exam bed he'd fiddled with out of boredom while waiting for Stark. Was careful movement a type of muscle memory, deeply ingrained from easily breaking everything around him?

Stark abruptly stopped in front of wide glass doors that had several warnings hung on them. Peter didn't know which, if any, to take seriously when he noticed: "For your safety, appropriate PPE beyond this point" accompanied by a drawing of coffee and sunglasses, and another, far more ominous message— "In case of emergency, run like hell."

The man swiped a hand over the sensor and the doors whooshed open with a hiss. He turned to Peter, jabbing a finger for emphasis. "Don't. Touch. Anything."

Peter stepped into a grown-up version of Harley's workshop, but with fewer screens and more machines. His mouth dropped and he turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. The air smelled of metal, oil, and solder. Sleek surfaces were broken up by chaotic workbenches, half-finished prototypes, and tools scattered like forgotten relics. Glowing screens pulsed faintly, and wires hung like mechanical vines from walls lined with projects in various states of completion.

Peter turned in a slow circle, overwhelmed, "Whoa."

Stark smirked, "Come on, pull up a seat. I need a hand with a project. And since neither of us is going back to sleep, we might as well get to work."

Peter looked dubious, "You need my help?"

"No," Stark pulled out a chair at a table that held a glove lined with metal plates, "I need your hand."

Peter took a reflexive step back, "Uh… I'm not sticking my hand in that."

The man just hummed, "Smart kid. It's a haptic glove for a video game. Old school design. Hurts like hell when air gets between your skin and the electrodes." Stark shoved it aside, "It was also Harleys project from a few years back, so no, you won't be putting your hand in that one." He gave another easy smirk, "You're not here to be tortured..."

That was actually kind of reassuring.

And if this was Harley's project, it was probably okay.

Stark put in its place a tray with a gel-like, translucent glove instead. "This one doesn't hurt. But it's hard to calibrate. I need a test subject."

Peter felt a tight knot form in his gut at the words test subject. He stepped back instinctively even as he nodded, his voice weak, "Sure. I'll help."

Tony paused, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied him—really studied him—for a heartbeat longer than was comfortable. Peter shifted under the weight of that scrutiny, feeling small and vulnerable under Stark's sharp gaze. Then Tony tossed him a packet of sanitizing wipes, "Wipe down your left hand and wrist. Sit."

Peter sat and obeyed; he was curious about the glove but a bit dizzy with an unrecognizable feeling. His fingers trembled faintly, though he wasn't sure if it was from nerves, cold, or exhaustion.

"So…" Stark began connecting thin, gossamer electrodes to the glove as Peter cleaned his hand. "You don't remember anything before yesterday."

"No." Was this going to be a little interrogation of sorts? He didn't mind. There wasn't much he could offer in the way of answers. He knew the man wouldn't believe him, so there wasn't much use stressing over trying to convince him of anything.

But to his surprise, Stark only nodded, "Bruce found some funky stuff in a spiky projectile from your pocket—amnesia-inducing compounds. That ring any bells?"

"A projectile?" Peter shook his head in confusion, "That spiky thing that was on my neck was shot at me?"

Stark's gaze flicked up to Peter's, "You don't remember getting hit with it?"

"No. But that would make sense, if the drugs were in that thing. I wouldn't remember anything before it hit me."

"Hmm," Tony said nothing else, his expression unreadable as he slid the glove onto Peter's hand. The material was cool against his skin but quickly warmed to body temperature. And then it felt like nothing at all. He tapped out a few commands on a screen and suddenly the tips of Peter's gloved fingers felt like they were tapping, too. The pressure solidified as if he was pressing hard against a surface with his whole hand, though there was nothing there at all.

"Woah. Cool."

Tony's mouth twitched into the faintest of smiles before it disappeared, "Yeah, well. It's still a work in progress." He adjusted a few more settings, brow furrowed, "So, you're probably wondering what's going to happen to you."

Peter's stomach lurched, but he nodded. He had been wondering. It's why he couldn't go back to sleep.

"You're going to be staying here for a while," Tony said matter-of-factly. "I'll set up a room for you. You're not a prisoner. But I'd prefer if you stay inside the compound until we know more about whether or not we can let our guard down. We have a couple Avengers mopping up any Hydra presence that might be looking for you or Harley."

Peter blinked down at the glove, absorbing the information without comment. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. Trapped? Protected? Maybe both. And now he had even more questions about his future than he did moments ago.

Stark continued, gesturing vaguely to the ceiling. "FRIDAY keeps tabs on everything here. She's my AI—part security, part facility operator, part babysitter for superpowered kids who break my furniture."

Peter flinched at the mention of the exam table, but Stark didn't seem angry. Just wary.

"I believe you when you say you don't remember being involved with Hydra. But there are still a lot of unknowns. I know you don't really trust me. But you can trust that none of us here want to hurt you." This was similar to Dr. Banner's speech. Peter almost expected the honest addendum: But we will hurt you if you turn out to be a violent monster. Stark, however, stopped there.

Peter nodded. This all made sense. But he would have to process it and decide what he thought about it later. He wondered if he should correct Stark's impression that Peter didn't trust him. It was probably best to remain quiet about that. What was he going to say? Actually, even though you shot me, I think I'm one of your biggest fans? And if I turn out to be a monster, I have every faith you'll be able to take me out before I hurt anyone?

Peter did vaguely remember being an Iron Man fan. If he squinted hard enough, he could almost see Iron Man action figures and other toys from a life lived so distantly it might as well have been someone else's. And perhaps it was. Maybe he was just remembering a TV commercial. But the feeling was there, regardless.

Stark continued to fine-tune the glove's electric signals and Peter watched with distracted interest. He almost asked if he could help calibrate the signals to include the sensation of vibration, but he stopped himself. Stark kept frowning slightly at the glove, but Peter was sure the man did not want his help. He only needed Peter's hand, he said, and Peter didn't want to overstep.

"I'm going to make some adjustments," the man said. "Hold still." And then he worked in silence for a few minutes while Peter thought about how little he understood about his life, and somehow, he understood what Stark was doing with this haptic feedback glove. He wondered what that meant.

If this wasn't an interrogation, Peter thought he could venture a question of his own. One that had been bothering him this whole time. He cleared his throat hesitantly and Stark's eyes snapped up expectantly.

"If ... If my memories are gone because of a drug, does that mean they'll come back when the drug wears off? Am I going to remember again?"

Stark gave him an assessing look before answering. "I don't know. I'm sure Bruce will have more to say about all that. He can probably help you start regaining your memories once he figures out what exactly was in the shot."

"No," Peter shook his head vehemently, and Stark paused. "I don't want to remember."

Before the man could respond, FRIDAY chimed in: "Boss, Harley Keener is entering the lab."

The glass door slid open and Harley walked in, yawning, and carrying a steaming cup. "I've got my PPE. What are we working-Peter?" Harley stopped in his tracks.

Peter gaped in surprise, "You're here, too?"

Stark reached for the coffee cup with a grin. "Hey, bud, hand that over and pull up a chair. We've got a new project for you."

Harley looked like he was about to say something when Dr. Banner came skidding into the room, out of breath and sporting impressive bed-head. He deflated dramatically as soon as he set eyes on Peter. "Oh. Good. You're here. I thought... never mind." He caught his breath for a moment, still looking rather bewildered. "Hey, did you break my exam table?"

Aww, is this early-stages bonding with Peter and Tony?