The woman stood in the doorway with her back to Peter, an unmoving silhouette against the light that spilled from the room beyond. He wished she would just step aside and let him see what was out there. He sighed in frustration and went back to building a bear trap. It was a large, toothy iron ring with a giant spring. They wanted him to build it faster. It was supposed to be done yesterday. They were going to be so displeased that he still wasn't finished. A cold dread seeped into his bones. He could feel them watching, even though he couldn't see them.

He glanced up to see if the woman had moved. She was gone.

What was he doing again? Oh yeah, the bear trap. It was cartoonish, really, and he was obviously dreaming. He almost smiled as he bent over the table to continue the absurd task... but no, the parts and tools in front of him had changed. It was a small remote incendiary device.

Oh. That made more sense. So, he wasn't really dreaming. He better get back to work. They would be upset if he took too long.

He picked up the pieces and got to work. It wasn't hard. He knew how these pieces fit together, after all, he'd done it before. He would build a flaw into this one of course, but… wait where was she? He glanced over his shoulder, searching.

Peter always liked to know where she was.

He got up, walked through the door and immediately slid. There was blood on the floor, a slick of red staining the white tiles. His feet pounded against the floor, sliding and slipping but never moving forward. He'd never get out now…

Peter woke up panting, arms and legs scrambling and clawing at the sheets as if he were trying to clamber out of the nightmare.

Just a dream. He gasped and whimpered into his pillow. Just a dream.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He clamped a hand over his mouth, muffling the whimpers that escaped despite himself. Nausea coiled in his stomach, thick and sour, and for a moment, he debated dragging himself to the bathroom. But the thought of sitting on anything resembling those cold, white lab tiles had him cringing.

He concentrated on trying to slow his panting and quiet his whimpering, desperate to regain control of his panicking body. Eventually the nausea subsided.

What the hell was that?

He had to get up. He couldn't stay there, trapped in that bed. The walls felt too close. His mind spun, frantic and disconnected, but it landed on one thought: he needed to move. He needed out .

He tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. It felt strange, speaking to no one—worse, to something—but desperation overruled the awkwardness.

"Uh... F—FRIDAY?"

"Yes, Peter?" the AI's calm, almost muted tones cut through the dark.

He swallowed thickly, "Can I leave this room without you… alerting anyone?"

There was a pause, and then, "That depends."

His chest tightened, "On w-what?"

"It depends on where you go when you leave your room."

"Oh," Peter licked his lips nervously, "where can I go?"

"You may go to the kitchen without triggering any notification protocols."

The answer caught him off guard, and a fractured laugh escaped him. "Good to know," he supposed they at least wanted him to eat.

Peter dragged himself out of the room and walked on silent feet all the way to the kitchen. Peter shivered, slight tremors traveled up and down his body. What time was it anyway? Green digital numbers blinked at him from the microwave. Four thirty AM. Good. He had a couple hours of peace before anyone was likely to find him there.

He pulled a counter-height stool to the island in the middle of the room and sat down, pulling his knees up to his chest. Peter closed his eyes and felt the tremors dissolve away as he absorbed the quiet hum that enveloped the compound. The fuzzy atmosphere of sound was composed of different noises at night: snoring, breathing, shifting bed springs, the thrum of the AC, air in the vents.

He had realized by now that the noises were always there, and that he filtered them out much the same way people filter out the sight of their own nose; which is always in their view, but no one actually notices. He only really noticed his far-reaching hearing when he was getting tired or overwhelmed. At that point, his brain just couldn't filter all the sound anymore, so it became a pervasive buzz.

The only other time the noises had broken through his filter, it had been when Peter had sensed danger. He had been hyper-aware of his surroundings, and terrified for his and Harley's life. That was the night Peter had disappeared into a more capable and confident other self. His old self, perhaps. The one who knew how to hurt people.

Peter breathed deeply and slowly and wrapped his arms around himself. It's going to be okay. You'll figure it all out. You're okay.

Peter had let go of his awareness of the compound's noises, trying to relax and quiet his mind. Otherwise, he might have heard the sneakered footsteps gently padding down the stairs.

He was dozing upright at the kitchen island, feeling safe in the large, open room, when a hand landed on his shoulder.

Peter yelped, whipping around so fast the stool nearly tipped. His heart slammed into his ribs.

"Sorry," came a soft voice, "I didn't mean to startle you."

Peter stared wide-eyed with confusion at the sight of Captain America in running clothes, in the kitchen at 4:45AM.

"FRIDAY said I could come here," Peter blurted out, wondering if he was in trouble.

Steve nodded calmly. "I heard you get up. You're always welcome to eat whenever you need to," he paused, his gaze steady as he took in Peter's disheveled appearance and the way he'd curled in on himself at the island. "Or to just sit in the dark. Though, I'm sure you'll give a few of my teammates quite a scare if this becomes a habit."

Peter huffed a laugh. "I'll try not to make a habit of it."

Rogers nodded, "I'm going for a run. Can I get you anything before I go? There's cereal and milk. And an impressive assortment of leftovers in the fridge."

"No. Thank you," Peter said quickly. "I think I'll just… sit a little longer."

Steve hesitated, his brows knitting slightly, "Are you okay?"

Peter almost choked as he let out another nervous laugh, "Uh, yeah. I'm great." He didn't think he could be any less okay, but he wasn't going to admit that to Captain America.

"Hmm. Well, if you ever need to talk, my door is open."

"Oh," Peter said stupidly. "Why?"

Rogers gave him a small, sad smile, "I have a friend who also escaped Hydra. I don't claim to know exactly what you're going through, but I do know it can't be easy."

Peter's breath caught. The Winter Soldier? Captain America was close to him?

"You should go back to bed. It's still early."

"Maybe."

"When you … wake up unexpectedly… your body releases a bunch of stored energy in case you need it. When I wake up unexpectedly, I go for a run. It helps to find a way to expend the energy that's keeping you restless, and then you can relax again."

After the captain left for his run, Peter sat in the quiet kitchen, Steve's words replaying in his head. Burn off the energy. It made sense, but Peter couldn't imagine running right now.

"FRIDAY?"

"Yes, Peter?"

"Would you let me into Dr. Banner's lab?"

"Entering Bruce Banner's laboratory while he is not present would cause me to notify both Dr. Banner and Tony Stark ."

Peter groaned, "Aw, come on. What if I tell you exactly what I'm doing, and you watch me the whole time? And then if I do anything at all that you disapprove, you can send all the notifications you want."

"I cannot rewrite the parameters of this protocol."

Hmm, persuading an AI was probably a matter of logic. Peter put on his best lawyer voice and tried again. "Mr. Stark already gave me permission to work in his workshop to accomplish my intended task, but it would be ill advised to move the item I'm allowed to work on into the workshop. I'm sure Mr. Stark would make the concession that I could complete this task Dr. Banner's lab."

"I am unaware of any permission."

"Are you sure? 0400 hours on Tuesday night?"

Friday was quiet a moment.

"You'll be watching my every move, so you'll know if I do anything that Mr. Stark wouldn't approve of."

"Very well."

Peter smiled.

An hour later he had fixed the broken exam table, as well as loose cabinet hinges, a sticky drawer, and a lab cart with squeaky wheels. Now, Peter felt relaxed enough to return to his room.

As he burrowed into the bed, Peter thought that maybe fixing things could be his version of going for a run. It was a small thing, but it made him feel better.

"Thanks, FRIDAY," Peter mumbled stuffily from under the blankets.

"You're welcome, Peter."

What did Tony impulsively tell Peter, late that first night at the compound?

"Break anything else," Tony warned with as stern of a tone as he could muster, "and you're going to be spending your day in my workshop until you fix it."

Good enough for FRIDAY, lol.