Well, that was embarrassing. Peter groaned inwardly as two concerned faces hovered over him—Bruce Banner's sympathetic worried expression and Harley's unmistakably alarmed one. Meanwhile, Tony Stark stood slightly apart, arms crossed, clearly irritated and… something else Peter couldn't quite place.

"Kid," Tony said flatly, "why didn't you say you were starving?"

Peter didn't have an answer, but even if he did, his mouth was too dry to respond from the endless saltine crackers Tony kept pressing on him. He shook his head and shut his eyes against the workshop's unforgiving lights. They felt sharper now, almost blinding, and the soft hum of the room had grown into a dull roar pounding in his skull.

Dr. Banner left and returned once again, this time with a small sandwich and handful of grapes. He smiled kindly at Peter, which was somewhat comforting but mostly made his skin itch. Peter ate the sandwich mechanically, feeling the weight of everyone's scrutiny. His head started to throb.

"Peter," Bruce said gently, crouching to stay on Peter's level, "we want to help you. I know you don't remember much, and your quick metabolism is probably new territory for you. But that's why you have to let us know when something feels off."

Peter felt his face redden. Ugh the whole thing was just so embarrassing. "Yeah, yeah. Okay." His head pulsed with pain and the room seemed to be buzzing with noise. Dr. Banner was too loud and too close.

Stark kept staring at him like he thought Peter was going to go feet-up again at any moment. "Bruce and I were just discussing this. You need a full medical workup. He didn't want to run any tests on you when you were unconscious last night. Not without your consent, but we can get it all done tomorrow."

"Tony, that's not exactly…"

"First thing in the morning. I have a great physician coming in to help."

Peter stiffened, "No."

Harley dropped down to sit next to him on the floor, perhaps recognizing he was feeling a little surrounded. Peter felt a wave of gratitude towards him.

"What kind of tests?" Harley asked.

Bruce hummed thoughtfully, "We'll do some indirect calorimetry tests, and some bloodwork. X-rays would be good, too. Just basic things like that."

Sure, that's where they would start, but where would it end ? Peter thought warily. His throat felt tight. "No tests," he repeated, more forcefully this time.

Stark gave him a measured look. "Look, we need to know these things. If you get sick, or hurt, we won't have any baseline information to work with. How would we get you back to health if we don't even know what healthy looks like for you?"

"I don't need you to keep me healthy. I'm not a houseplant." Peter glared at them. Seriously, where did the man suddenly get the audacity to be so concerned? "I can take care of myself. And since when do you care?"

Stark ground his teeth slightly but remained calm when he spoke, "Since I was given the task of keeping you alive. Never mind not knowing how to dose you if you need medication; even just the mundane stuff is a mystery at this point. We don't know how much food and water you need. Hell, we don't even know how much oxygen you need. At least a houseplant has the decency to wilt if it needs something. You just walk around silent as you please and on the verge of collapse."

Peter opened his mouth to argue and found he'd been clenching his jaw painfully. "Don't pretend this is in my best interest. I know you want to know more about my enhancements" he shuddered as a ghostly image of sterile rooms and sharp tools flitted through his mind like a wounded, panicked bird.

Stark threw up his hands in frustration, but when he whirled back around to face Peter, it was with a controlled and calm tone that he spoke, "What exactly do you think we're going to do to you?"

"I don't know." Peter snapped at him. "You're the ones with the lab. I'm just the lab rat." He was starting to feel angry at being cornered while he was down. But maybe he was just scared. He was so confused. It was all too complicated to sort out while sitting on the workshop floor, being stared at.

Harley knocked his knee against Peter's, a quiet reminder he wasn't alone in his corner, and Peter took a breath. The room buzzed at a less deafening level.

Harley cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I trust Tony and Bruce."

Peter let the words sink in and exhaled a long breath. That was worth a lot, actually.

The fact that Stark and Dr. Banner were even trying to convince Peter instead of strapping him down and doing whatever they wanted was probably worth something, too. Though Peter knew that would be their prerogative regardless. It'd be much harder to deal with an enhanced teen fighting them every step of the way. They would want to have his cooperation. Maybe that was just paranoia talking. Or it was Old Peter talking. Maybe Old Peter was a suspicious guy.

"Fine," Peter mumbled. "I'll do it. But just the basics. Nothing else. Blood, X-rays, metabolism test, basic vitals - that's it ."

Stark nodded, something like approval flickering across his face. "Good. Let's get some food in you between now and then. What do you like?"

Peter glared incredulously at the man, "How on Earth would I know?"

"Right, amnesia. Got it. So we order a little of everything and see what you like. No problem. FRIDAY give us the "world tour" order please? Happy is already on his way, so text him the list. And let the team know whoever's on kitchen duty tonight is officially off the hook."

"Yes boss."

"Come on, up and at 'em. Let's show you to your room in the meantime. You can rest a bit." Stark offered Peter a hand up, "Nap time for hydra babies."

Peter ignored his hand and gave him what he hoped was a murderous glare, but Stark just smirked lightly as he backed off.

He got to his feet on his own and was surprised to feel perfectly steady. His head still hummed and throbbed, but he felt strong.

Stark led them up one level and down a hall that apparently housed the rooms for several Avengers. "That's Cap's room. He's a grumpy old man who wakes up far too early, so we keep him on this end where it's quiet." Peter glanced all around, noting doors and windows and adding more details to his mental blueprint of the compound.

They walked past an open door from which Sam Wilson sat at a desk, scrolling on a StarkPad. He paused his scrolling to nod at Peter as they passed. Two doors down was apparently Dr. Banner's room because he slipped inside muttering about finally getting a shower.

Harley pointed out the guest room that he was staying in, directly across from Dr. Banner's room.

"That's Natasha's." Stark pointed left, "That's mine." Stark pointed right.

At the very end of the hall, directly across from Stark's room, was Peter's room. They had passed at least one completely empty room near the stairs but it was this one that had been selected for Peter. He sighed inwardly because it was apparent why Stark had made the choice. Peter would have to walk past everyone's doors every time he left his room. It was not ideal for sneaking out.

Peter met Stark's gaze and the man arched an eyebrow. Of course he knew it bothered Peter to be situated in the middle of a nest of Avengers. But Peter just smiled. It was his first hint that FRIDAY might not be infallible, and that Stark would also be relying on more traditional eyes and ears to keep tabs on Peter.

Stark opened the door to Peter's room and revealed a comfortable-looking bed, a tv, a desk, a small walk-in closet, and a full bathroom.

"Relax for a bit. The food will be here in an hour. If you need anything, ask FRIDAY. I might catch a few winks, but there will be plenty of people around to help with whatever you need."

I'll bet. Stark was so obvious it wasn't even funny.

"Nice." Harley walked in and made himself right at home. He dropped onto the desk chair and spun around in slow circles. "Your tv is bigger than mine."

"Knock yourself out." Peter didn't think his tone was anything more than perfectly neutral, but Harley instantly stilled.

"I can leave, though. If that helps."

"Helps?"

"I don't know if you're the sort of person who prefers company or solitude when stressed. Whichever is fine. Just let me know." And Harley looked like he meant it.

Peter felt torn. "Maybe, solitude? I don't know." Peter could feel his face redden again. The pulsing in his head was now a steady banging and the room was buzzing again. He wanted to turn the lights off so the sounds wouldn't be so loud, and he knew that made absolutely no sense.

"No problem." Harley hopped up out of the chair. "I've gotta go call my mom. I'll be in my room, okay?" Peter nodded and hoped he wasn't somehow angering his only friend.

Peter turned off the lights and flopped down on his bed, groaning. It was several steps up from Dr. Banner's medical bed. The buzzing still hadn't decreased. Peter closed his eyes and tried to focus on it instead of ignoring it. Where was it even coming from? His own head?

No. Peter sat up straight. It wasn't buzzing, and it wasn't in his head. It was a collective hum of hundreds of different noises. As soon as he focused on it, he started isolating different strands from the blanket of noise. He could hear Stark talking to Steve Rogers.

"Maybe we should take shifts. Just to be extra careful. I don't think he'd hurt anyone here on purpose, but it is a bit like letting a fox loose in a hen house. And what if the amnesia is on a timer?"

Great. New fear unlocked. Peter gritted his teeth and shook his head. Of course Stark didn't trust him. That wasn't news, but he wished he hadn't heard that particular theory on his amnesia. He tried to focus on that strand of conversation again but accidentally dropped it and picked up Sam Wilson cursing when his StarkPad battery died in the middle of a game. Bruce turning off the shower. Water draining through pipes. Electricity humming in the lights.

Peter sat up gasping. What the hell was this? Normal people couldn't hear like this could they? Peter thought back to earlier yesterday when he wondered if Harley was hard of hearing. And how he was able to hear footsteps outside the shed… things he hadn't really thought about in the moment, things he took for granted.

"Oh my God." I have super hearing.

Peter focused again, easily picking up more strands of noise. Harley's voice rose above the background hum. "Mom, it's me again. Please just answer your messages. Stop treating this like some sort of vacation. Tony thinks it's just a matter of days before we can all go home. I don't want to show up to an empty house and have to make up some excuse…"

Peter reared back. He didn't want to spy on Harley. He cast his attention elsewhere and soon heard a car approaching up a long driveway. The car door opened and closed, and someone got on a phone. "Yeah. Have someone come out and help with all this."

Another door, more voices. The sound of plastic and paper bags.

Peter pulled himself back into the immediacy of his room. "Woah."

The food was spread out in the kitchen when Peter made it downstairs. It was a lot.

Harley was already digging in. "Hey! We've got Thai, Italian, Indian, seafood, a few pizzas, salads, ribs and pulled pork from a BBQ joint, even gourmet mac'n cheese."

Peter stared, unsure of what to do in the face of so many options.

Sam Wilson came up behind him and handed him a plate. "Yeah, Tony's always been a little extra. But this is a bit much, even for him. Better dig in."

"Yeah, thanks."

The man watched him curiously as he started opening take-out containers. His smile was warm and welcoming, though Peter sensed a bit of wariness, too. "I'm Sam, by the way."

Peter nodded. "I know. You're The Falcon. Nice to meet you. I'm Peter."

"Hi Peter. So, what'll it be?"

Peter surveyed the options. "I don't know. I don't really know what I like." He sighed heavily. "I've got a lot to figure out."

Sam nodded. "I can't imagine how hard that must be. Anything look especially appealing?"

"Honestly, it all looks amazing. I hope I don't have any allergies."

"Oh, shit. Yeah, that could be a problem." Sam frowned at the food.

Dr. Banner edged around them, on his way to the dining room with a bowl of baked beans. "I'll add an allergy screening to the list for tomorrow."

Great.

Sam followed Pete to the dining table and sat in a chair next to him. After Peter had tried everything – with both Sam and Harley urging him on to the point he felt like bursting – the man sat back and asked: "So? What's your favorite?"

Peter gave it some thought, but there was a clear winner. "Definitely Thai. The larb was great."

Sam smiled. "See. You're figuring things out just fine, one favorite at a time."

Yeah. When he put it that way. It wasn't quite as overwhelming. Peter beamed. "And I didn't go into anaphylactic shock at any point."

"Congrats man." Sam grinned and clicked his glass against Peter's.

Peter let himself relax a little and smile back. So far, being at the compound wasn't terrible. He flinched inwardly, though. Tomorrow could always change that.