When they got back to the Compound, it was quiet; as typical for the building at 10 PM. This was one of Peter's favorite times to be around, thanks to the lack of a crowd. Most of the workers would end their shifts, with only the overnight personnel and the in-house residents sticking around the area. It made it a lot less awkward to wander the vacant hallways, mulling over his thoughts.

Tony had already retired for the night after helping move the suitcase, camera, and vinyls to his room, where they rested on his desk beside the untouched tapes and the family album, flower long removed from the pages since it had started wilting. Afterwards the mutant had taken to his usual route of pacing the hallways to ease his troubles and organize his mind. This time, however, his thoughts were more active than they tended to be, thanks to the persistent voices that decided to stick around.

I wonder what's on the tapes? Weaver asked as Peter passed by the front desk on light feet once more. They contain Richard's and Mary's research, which we don't really know much of.

They were working with SHIELD; it was probably something to do with secret agent crap, the spider mused.

Peter frowned. "While that was their main job, I don't really know what SHIELD would've had them researching," His gaze traveled along the lined walls, catching sight of framed portraits that ranged from nature to familial. Pausing by one of the framed pictures that contained the loved ones of a worker that had been working there since the Compound opened, he added, "Besides, we've already got enough to think about at the moment to worry about that."

Like what? The spider asked.

The teen narrowed his eyes, gesturing widely with his arms. "Uh, isn't it obvious? This. Why the crap these internal conversations keep happening when they hardly happened before."

Isn't the answer obvious? Weaver asked, exasperated. These aren't exactly a new occurrence; you talked to yourself all the time before we came across the Avengers.

"That's not what I meant," Peter huffed, moving into the living areas. "Yes, I talked to myself a lot before- not that I had any other way of expressing myself- but it was just... me. Not... whatever this is."

That's not correct, the spider interjected matter-of-factly. We were there too, you just didn't hear us for us, and mistook our input for your own.

The former asset paused in front of his door with a curious frown, before twisting the doorknob and entering the room. He caught sight of the memoirs and glanced away. "Okay, but... why am I hearing you different now, then, if I couldn't before?"

There was a slight pause while Peter sat down on the bed, before Weaver responded, Because we've been separated enough from the trauma that you're beginning to realize what thoughts do and don't belong to you, if I had to guess.

Peter let out a huff as he flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "Oh, grand, that doesn't make me sound crazy at all," he muttered dryly.

Why would it be crazy? The spider asked curiously. You've been talking to us for years.

Peter narrowed his eyes. "Have you met anyone else that talks to themselves?"

We only meet the people you do, so have you met anyone like that? Weaver shot back.

"...When did you get so snarky?" The mutant asked.

I've always been cynical, in case you've forgotten, replied Weaver.

Letting out a sigh, Peter pressed his palms to his eyes. "Is there anything else you guys want to contribute, since you guys are so keen on pestering me?"

Yes, actually, the spider added. Though it requires you joining us inside.

"'Joining us inside'? What does that mean?" Peter asked, furrowing his brows.

Well, we can't exactly talk to you face to face when you're out there, can we? Weaver remarked, mildly annoyed. Come on, don't pretend you don't know where we're talking about. The Mind Prison, duh; where else would we talk?

"Well... out loud, like we are now?" The assassin asked, confused.

Sometimes your lack of logic amazes me, Weaver sighed. Just close your eyes.

Rolling his eyes, Peter complied, tucking himself under the weighted blanket. He wasn't quite sure why he was following their requests, but he had no reason not to. It wasn't like he was going to sleep well, anyways. With that thought, he closed his eyes.

The familiar dark room wasn't much of a surprise for Peter to see, if he was fairly honest. What was more surprising to the mutant was that it wasn't as dark as it had once been, and not nearly as foggy. Instead of a single spotlight and a few stray crates, there were five chairs sitting in a circle, and a general glow surrounded the furniture from a spot he couldn't quite pinpoint. It didn't feel quite as unsettling, and instead felt a bit more comforting, as if coming to the place on purpose made it nicer to be around.

One of the chairs was already occupied by a rather impatient looking Weaver. His sole arm was resting on his lap, holding a new knife that his fingers fidgeted with. A steady puddle of dark purple blood pooled down the chair and onto the ground from the open wounds, though seemingly evaporated swiftly afterwards, leaving no lasting stains. Since his eyes had no pupils, it was difficult to tell where the former mask was looking, as his head was angled straight ahead.

On the other side stood the spider, standing as tall as ever. The brown arachnid had a large scar running across its subset of right eyes, as well as a few circling its legs and thorax. It was clearly too large for the chairs and simply moved two of them to the side so it was in-line with the seats, before crouching into what Peter could only assume was a comfortable position. The spider didn't look nearly as intimidating as it had the night before, which Peter couldn't help but think was because he had met the spider and wasn't caught off-guard by its presence.

They both looked at him as he appeared, and gestured for him to take one of the seats. Hesitantly, he took the seat to Weaver's left, before clearing his throat. "So, uh, I'm here now. What'd you guys want to talk about?"

Weaver turned his gaze to the spider and narrowed his eyes. "Maybe we should start with that thing you pulled me to the side for earlier?" His words dripped venom, and he pointed his knife at the large arachnid accusingly. "Because the theatrics weren't necessary for all that crap."

The arachnid rolled its dark eyes. "I'm rusty, give me a break. You try being hidden away for nine years and see if your social skills are impeccable."

Peter furrowed his brows. "You were... hidden away for nine years? What's that mean?"

The spider seemed to pause at that, before remarking, "When we were... younger, I was a lot more active." It seemed to be reminiscing, as its tone became wistful. "That was back before our circumstance became unfavorable. I tried to stick around during the Early Years; I was even brought forward on the occasion, but after the situation became worse, and the need to comply became more necessary... I knew I couldn't be around without jeopardizing our safety. So I stepped back and hid until it was safe. It just, unfortunately, took longer than anticipated for that to occur."

The mutant absorbed the words, getting more confused. Picking at his right arm, he asked, "So you were... like this for years? I..." His train of thought paused as he perused his memories, and his eyes widened in realization as he realized that he had, long ago, imagined seeing a spider in his thoughts. "I just... thought you were an imaginary friend. Have I... been seeing you guys all this time and just not realizing it?"

Weaver gave a nod to that, his grip tightening around the knife. "In my case, you didn't quite see me like this, at least not for a while. You just saw me as a disembodied version of yourself that you'd talk to in an attempt to separate yourself from the acts that were committed under my identity."

Peter swallowed thickly. "So... how did you 'hide away', spider?"

The spider seemed to perk up at that. "Araneae."

The former asset frowned. "What?"

"My name is Araneae," The spider reiterated. "Sorry, it just felt weird that you were calling me by that... term." The last word was said with spite, as if the concept was undesirable.

"Oh... sorry about that, Araneae," Peter blinked, wondering why the thought to ask what their name was hadn't crossed his mind. "Should I... re-ask my question?"

Araneae shook its head. "No, you're alright," It seemed to ponder what to say, before letting out an unsatisfied chitter. "I'm not quite sure how to describe it, if I'm being honest. I just knew sticking around wouldn't be beneficial, and..." It raised a leg and gestured to the surrounding darkness and fog. "...that darkness suddenly called out to me. When I entered it, I got separated from the others, and realized that my voice was isolated. It was like going further into that twilight closed me off from everyone else."

The mutant frowned at that, his gaze sweeping over the three unoccupied chairs. "The... others? Everyone else?" He stared into the surrounding darkness, trying to see if he could spot anything amiss. "There's more of us?"

"Apparently," Weaver muttered crossly. "That's what Eight Legs over there pulled me to the side for; or at least one of the things. Unfortunately, he wouldn't spill how many 'other's there were, or who they were. Seeing how many chairs Araneae set up, though, I'm guessing three."

Araneae's eyes narrowed. "It wasn't my place to out them when they weren't ready," the spider raised its head to stare to the left. "...Though it looks like they're ready, now."

Three figures were slowly making their way out of the surrounding darkness and towards the group. As they came closer, their features became more defined, and Peter was surprised to see that two of them were girls. The tallest of them Peter almost could've mistaken for a guy, thanks to her mostly cropped black hair and formal business attire. The next in size looked rather similar to himself when he was younger, minus the scarring and with prominent freckles. The shortest was a pale transparent blue, and her features seemed to fade in and out, as if staying tangible was difficult.

As they made their way over, they each took a seat. As the taller girl sat next to where Araneae rested, her green gaze swept over Peter and Weaver with thinly veiled distrust. She adjusted the dark green bow tucked under the black dress shirt before commenting, "I see we're a bit late to the party... or maybe you guys are just early."

The smallest boy, who looked to be about eight, grinned brightly as he sat between Weaver and the tall girl. "We're here now though! Nice to meet you all!"

The shortest girl took her seat beside Peter and Araneae, and gave them a shy smile. Her hands were folded in her lap, mostly hidden under the long gray sweater she wore underneath a furred coat. Her silence was a bit unnerving, but as she made no comment to contribute, all Peter could ask was, "And you guys are...?"

Rolling her eyes, the tall girl remarked, "Rose. It's the name I much rather prefer than who I'm supposed to emulate."

Weaver frowned. "That's very similar to Ross."

Rose narrowed her eyes at Weaver. "Wow, aren't you a smart one?" She folded her arms, clearly annoyed at the comparison. "I'm nothing like that deplorable bastard, so I'd appreciate it if you stayed away from associating me with his legacy, thank you very much."

Oblivious to the tension between Rose and Weaver, the young boy piped up, "I'm Ben! And you're Peter, Weaver, Rose, Araneae, and Mayflower!"

Peter blinked, furrowing his brow. "I'm sorry... you're named Ben? And... she's 'May'flower?" He redirected the latter part at the girl beside him, who simply gave him a quiet nod in response.

Ben kicked his feet, the light-up sneakers blinking every time they hit the ground. The jacket he wore drenched his thin frame and spilled out past his hands and down to his knees, casting shadow on the simple white shirt and blue rolled-up jeans he had on. "Yeah, that's right!" His head tilted curiously, the smile wavering. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"Considering the former is the name of our dead uncle, and the latter is close to our dead aunt, yes." Weaver scoffed.

"Those were the names they chose," Araneae intervened. "Besides, the rest of our names are pretty attached to traumatic beats anyways; if you're going to question their names, question the rest of ours, too."

"Fair point," Peter sighed, before glancing them all over again. "So... let me get this straight. This entire time you've all been here and I never realized it, and... you're out now because it's 'safe' according to Araneae's standards?"

Rose nodded. "Well, not all of us have been here for the same length of time, but we've been here for years," She gestured to Ben. "For example; he's been here for almost ten and a half years, but hid shortly after... Mayflower, on the other hand, came in six years and eight months ago. I've been here for just under nine years."

Weaver let out a huff, clearly upset to find that only one of the others had joined after he had. "Why do most of you guys look different than Peter, then?"

Araneae rolled its eyes. "We're not all a Peter wannabe, mask," The spider adjusted so that its two forelegs were able to gesture around the circle. "After all the crap they did to our mind, did you really expect there to be no residual after-effects?"

Peter furrowed his brow, picking at his right arm. "What exactly are you implying?"

"We spent ten and a half years under a life-threatening, abusive, hostile environment. While they did a fair amount of damage to our body, they did worse to our mind," To emphasize its point, it touched a leg to its head. "The chips. The programming and protocols. The times they cut open our skull just to see how it functioned. The attempts at brainwashing and amnesia they tried to instill. The years upon years of forced silence, murder, and torture." Araneae fixed his gaze on Peter. "It's frankly surprising we're remotely sane. I suppose this was just... how our brain decided to cope."

Silence fell over the group as Araneae concluded its message as they all pondered the ramifications of continued abuse throughout childhood. Mayflower took it as her opportunity to express herself, hesitantly tapping, "All of that to say that we're a part of this together; we might as well cooperate."

Weaver raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't that have been easier to say?"

"Mayflower's mute," Rose replied curtly. "Whether that's selective or genuine I don't actually know; she's only talked to me through tapping or ASL."

Peter let out a breath, before cupping his head in his palms. "Anything else I should know out of this... new development?"

"Well... we haven't really tested the limits of this condition, have we?" Araneae mused. "You're out front pretty much constantly, but it makes me wonder... could the rest of us switch out with you?"

Weaver's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You're on about this again?" He growled, before realizing he hadn't brought up the context. "After saying there were others, Araneae asked the same thing to me and wanted to see if I'd help them out with it. I refused, of course. I don't trust anyone but you handling that crap outside, after all."

"That's... an interesting proposition, though," Peter said, staring at his hands as he folded them in his lap. "How far does this go? I mean, earlier, Weaver and Araneae wouldn't shut up and it became distracting, which meant I could hear whatever you guys said in the Mind Prison while conscious. Would it be possible to purposefully stay here and let one of you guys see about trying to move our body?"

"The only way to find out would be to try it," Rose concluded. "It also makes me wonder if this place could look any different. Last I saw of this place, it wasn't nearly as... open."

"I can see I'm going to be outmatched on this decision," Weaver muttered, before sighing. "I'll try it out, then. Just to test the waters and make sure none of you guys mess this up."

"Your faith in us is astounding," Araneae remarked dryly.

As Weaver stood up, Peter watched the bleeding figure hobble off towards a small circle of light that had appeared nearby. He then gave a sigh and a shrug. "Well... what's the worst that could happen?"

As it turned out, a lot worse could happen. It was early morning by the time Weaver was out and about, blinking curiously to adjust to having control of the body. Upon the success of the operation, the others began discussing other possibilities, which Weaver promptly ignored with a roll of his eyes. They were all too trusting of... whatever was going on, and the mask didn't like it one bit. Still, the opportunity presented itself to explore on his own whim; something he didn't think he'd have much opportunity to do, and the urge to wander of his own volition was too much for him to ignore.

At first, Weaver had tried to be careful and avoid areas he knew from their collective memory would be crowded. However, as the excursion kept going off without a hitch, he became bolder to peruse the Compound in its entirety, which led to him entering the nearby vent system. This decision was met with some apprehension that Weaver elected to discard. Things were going so well; how was moving through the vents a bad thing?

Following that thought, he moved across an unstable grate and promptly fell through it. Thankfully, he was able to catch himself well enough, clinging to the ceiling by the tips of his fingers. What he wasn't ready for were the stares that followed suit from the Avengers. Weaver returned their gaze, coming to the realization he'd ended up in the kitchen and of course they would be out at this time of morning to eat breakfast before starting their day. With a barely repressed sigh, he slackened his grip and allowed himself to fall to the ground, where he laid on his back and stared at the ceiling with contempt.

The grate really betrayed your trust, didn't it? Rose remarked sarcastically.

I don't think we took the others we live with into consideration when considering this idea, Peter frowned nervously. What should we do?

Act natural, maybe they won't notice the difference, Araneae suggested.

"You okay, kid?" Tony frowned, offering a hand up.

"You've gotta be more careful of the grates, man. They're bastards that'll betray you on a whim," Clint empathized, having done his own fair share of adventuring in the duct system.

Taking the hand up, Weaver let out a breath. "Clearly," he stared at the offending grate laying on the ground nearby and wrinkled his nose. "Why was it loose, anyways?"

"Clint sometimes likes to pop through the vents and try to scare us," Natasha remarked as she sat on the nearby couch, flipping through a book. She paused to sip her coffee, before adding, "Grates all around the Compound are loose because of that, so you're aware for future reference, маленький паук."

"Is there a reason you were in the vents this morning?" Steve asked from the counter, where he'd set his newspaper down.

...How exactly would you respond to this, Peter? Weaver asked internally, doing his best to ignore the stares still fixed on him.

I'm just as bad as coming up with excuses as you are, Peter groaned.

Say you were adventuring! Ben supplied.

"I was... adventuring," Weaver relayed. He then furrowed his brows as Scott and Wanda snickered, and tilted his head curiously. "Why is that so funny?"

"Sorry, I just wasn't expecting you to do a pun," Wanda smiled.

"Adventuring," Scott chimed in, accentuating 'vent' in the word. "Because you were in a vent, and adventuring has that word."

"It's less funny if you have to explain it," Sam pointed out as he finished muting the television.

Bucky gave a shrug. "That's one of the things we're gonna have to explain, though. Steve and I didn't understand until Shuri explained to us what puns were."

"The conversation was quite amusing," T'Challa piped up. "Though I myself was taken aback when my sister pulled up an entire presentation dedicated to the topic."

Pepper made her way over, brushing a stray bang out of her face. "Just be careful. I wouldn't want you getting hurt around the house."

"I wouldn't really feel it anyways," Weaver muttered, before wincing as he realized how that shouldn't exactly be a normal thing to fall twelve feet to the ground, land on the back, and not notice any damage. "Because, uh..."

That's... difficult to explain, isn't it? Araneae mused with a frown.

Yeah, it isn't exactly a pleasant thing to mention that our body's already gone through so much pain that feeling it is second-nature, Rose replied dryly.

Tony frowned curiously, but simply shook his head. "You don't need to answer if you don't want to," He glanced towards the counter, where some pancakes were waiting. "You hungry? Want a bite to eat?"

Weaver shook his head. "I'm... not really hungry," He frowned at that thought, though, knowing how bad their metabolism could get if not constantly fed. He supposed he'd just grown numb to the feeling of hunger. As he walked over to the counter, he asked, "Where are the others?"

"Vision wanted to do some training, so he's still out at the training grounds. Bruce is gone at a medical conference, and Rhodey was called in to verify with the military HYDRA base locations," Steve replied, picking up his paper again.

Weaver flinched at the mention of the organization he despised, but took a calming breath as he sat at the counter. "That's... good to know."

You are truly the pinnacle of socializing, Rose snickered.

You try being social when you've had no reason to interact with anyone for years, Weaver shot back. Closing his eyes, he added, I think I'll see about handing this stuff back to you, Peter. Leaving would be rude and I have no idea how to talk to any of them.

I'm... not exactly sure how to do that, Peter frowned, before spotting the same light he'd seen before. You walked into that light before, right? So if I just...

There was a jolt of pain as Peter stepped into the light, and he hissed through his teeth as his head pounded. Unprepared, Weaver let go of his grip on the light and fell back into their inner world, leaving Peter as the person in front once more. Peter pressed a hand to his temple with a grimace, eye twitching in response to the sudden influx of pain.

What was... that about? Weaver asked, concerned.

A better question would be why a headache happened after you guys swapped? Rose added.

"Woah, you alright, kid?" Tony asked, placing a hand on Peter's shoulder.

"I just had a really bad headache," the mutant responded, rubbing his forehead. "I was caught off-guard by it is all."

"A headache?" Sam asked, getting up from his chair to approach the former asset. "Where does it hurt?"

Everywhere, Araneae muttered, squinting its eyes. This is awful.

Peter gestured to his head. "Feels like it's coming from everywhere."

Sam frowned at that, glancing at Tony, before a curious look crossed his features. "Do you think it could be from the chips?"

"What?" Pepper asked, concerned. "Why are you asking?"

"Well, according to the files and the scan Tony did, he's got ten chips implanted among his brain tissue," Sam brought up. "I'm not exactly a medical expert- that would be Bruce's department more than mine- but from what I remember with working with war veterans is that most metal-based implants, depending on what they're made of, can erode."

The room fell silent at that, before Wanda stood and walked over. She gestured a glowing red hand to Peter. "May I check if it's the chips?"

She can look into our mind, Weaver worried. What'll she see if she gets in?

She did it before and didn't notice us, Rose pointed out. If she's just checking on the chips I doubt she'll see us.

Peter frowned at that conversation, before slowly releasing a breath. "Go ahead."

Wanda's eyes glowed red as she rested her hand on the assassin's head. Her brows furrowed and a curious frowned crossed her face, though she seemed to have found what she was looking for and pulled her hand away, the glow dying down. "There does seem to be chip corrosion; though seeing as they're buried in brain tissue, removing them through conventional means is too risky."

"So... what can we do, then?" Bucky asked.

Wanda frowned, perusing her own abilities. "While I could in theory extract them, I'm not well-versed in anatomy to safely remove them, and while Vision could look up basic anatomy, it wouldn't be enough."

"Could Cho do it, or at least know someone who could?" Scott asked. "I mean, you said normal surgeons probably couldn't do it, but you never know when you'll come across someone magical."

Tony tilted his head. "We encountered someone magical yesterday," He gave his charge a nod. "While we were on our way back, Peter asked if we could stop the car, and found some pompous wizard looking dude."

"Do you remember where he was when you saw him?" Steve asked. "Because while he might not be what we need, he might help point us to someone we do."

"Yeah, it was this really weird building downtown. It had a fancy pattern in the top window and almost looked like a museum," The billionaire paused as he recalled the conversation surrounding the encounter. "Actually, checking the guy out would be great anyways. He had a stone like Vision's."

The team perked up at that, and Natasha remarked, "If he had a stone like Vision's, then he's definitely someone we need to investigate. Those stones are powerful; what a wizard is doing with such a stone is something worth looking into. We could kill two birds with one stone."

"Ironic phrasing," Clint mused. "Should we give it a try later? Unfortunately, most of us already have plans for the day; it'd be best if most of us went in case things go south."

"That'd be for the best," Steve nodded. "We'll do it Friday; most of us should be available then."

"What do you want me to do?" Peter asked, lowering his hand from his temple.

Tony and Steve exchanged a look, before Tony said, "It'd probably be best if you let us handle it," He then looked at Pepper and gave her an indiscreet nod in his ward's direction.

Taking the queue, Pepper said, "Look... why don't we go exploring on Friday instead? There's so many things in New York to do; we could even go shopping and see if there's something you'd like."

Such a subtle way of letting us down, Rose muttered.

Just because of these dumb chips we can't even help out on their mission? Weaver asked incredulously. That hurts.

Peter bit his lower lip, before sighing. "Yeah. That... sounds good."

With the conversation's end, they went back to what they were doing before; but Peter couldn't help the empty feeling that followed the notion that his services weren't needed to deal with his own problems. He was so used to handling his own predicaments, with no assistance ever being offered or given, that being told to stand to the side while others handled it felt wrong. And yet, he couldn't really find a point to argue; if those headaches became more frequent, he'd be useless to resolve it himself. Besides... he had other things to figure out.

Like what exactly happened to his mind that resulted in five other presences existing.