I - Somethin' Somethin' Boutta Hard Knock Life
(Peter's POV)
I can't breath.
My head is swimming, it's so bright-no, it's dark isn't it?-and so cold and I just can't breath.
Where am I? Where did I go? Where could I have gone? Wasn't I just-no. Can't think about that, not now. I-I have to get myself together, to think. I'm good at thinking, that's what got me my reputation as high school wallflower.
Where was I last-Bryant Park, 6 PM, got a call from MJ about some freak turning the park into his own personal smashing grounds. Three died. Right, my arm was broken, he grabbed me while I was trying to tell a stupid joke and-and smashed me into some café like I was a wet paper towel. God that hurt, I don't think Rhino's ever launched me near as hard.
Okay, after that-got up, couldn't react fast enough, Spider-Sense was blaring like mad. Before I know it I'm punched through the next wall and I'm fairly certain my ribs are broken, all of them. Right. Ow. What about after tha-
Oh.
Oh God, no. I'm on my back on tiled concrete, people are screaming and running around us, some even stopping to take pictures. Arm's broken, mask is ripped up-MJ's gonna complain about having to sew it all up.
"WHO ARE YOU?!" I yell in anger, rage, fear. The tall man in the long trench coat with horrible yellow eyes just chuckles and says the things that'll haunt my worst of nightmares for years to come.
"It's always the same question. I am Morlun, Peter. You know, in all the times I've killed you, I've never had one so young, so...fresh."
Before I know it his hands are gripping the sides of my head. God, it's like he's crushing my skull.
"I wonder if you taste any better?!"
Before it happens I can hear it and feel it. The bones in my neck snapping out of place and making a noise that made me want to vomit. It's like slow motion, I can hear every crack. Suddenly my vision veers left and my arms are limp. It hurts.
I can just barely feel his teeth sinking into my neck.
(He is Peter Parker, 15, Spider-Man for eight months, killed by an Inheritor, Morlun before any of the other Spider-Men could save him.
Otto Octavius, the Superior Spider-Man of Earth-616 will later find his body, surrounded by screaming cameramen and reporters, the worried looks of curious onlookers and the crying face of Mary Jane Watson. It was a pity. Another dead Spider-Man. Another dead hero.)
Oh God, I'm dead.
No, this-this can't happen. This couldn't happen. I don't want to die, I'm-I'm too young to die. What about all my potential? The chance to stand with the Avengers, j-just like Fury said. I'd grow up and be one of the greats, not-not die in some park in the middle of Manhattan wondering how some giant freak knew my real name!
I don't want to die, not yet, please not yet. Who's going to stop Norman from making himself even more of a monster or-or his son from following in his footsteps? I haven't found Eddie, he's-he's still out there, hurting people, feeding. Will he ever be stopped? Kingpin, after all I did, after what he did to Daredevil I-I can't let him roam free, the way he is. It can't end this way, it can't end this way, it just can't!
Aunt May, please God let her be alright. She already lost Uncle Ben, what's she going to do if she finds out I'm dead? How will she go on? How's she gonna-
NO! C'mon Peter, you can get up! You've survived a fight with the Hulk for God's sake just-just wake up! WAKE UP!
He's beyond surprised when he does.
It's not the sight he expects upon waking up, however. When his senses come back to him and he could feel his own body again, noticing he still has his costume on, the same red's and blue's with an chaotically uncoordinated and spastic pattern of black webbing trailing around the red parts of it, with two large white lenses on his mask. It's still a beat up, he notices the tears all around, one more easily noticeable across his jawline, the mask now barely covering his mouth and chin.
The sky is blue, bright and nearly cloudless, cut by two jutting structures jutting into the sky next to him-he was in an alleyway.
It's not as cold as...whatever that was, but it's still chilly, plus, he's been punched into concrete enough to know when he's laying down on it. He sits up and examines himself first, staring at his hands and body (thank God he still has those), and he begins to notice that something feels different. Off. It's almost like a tone shift in a film scene, or a subtle change in someone's behavior. It's still the same thing, but when you've become so used to how it used to be you really notice the changes.
He hugged his own body and pinched, making sure this was all real.
He gasps as it all comes back to him, the sudden ambush, the ensuing battle, the collateral damage, feeling the bones in his arms turn into dust under the grip of the man in the long coat, hearing the sound of his neck snapping, feeling it all wash away.
But then how was he here, alive, wherever it is he is? He could breath, he could see and smell and touch, he was human. Now don't misunderstand, he was ecstatic, and he hoped he'd never have to experience something like that again, but it just didn't add up.
Before he tried to find answers, he first had to know where he was. He stood up slowly, his body feeling much heavier than it usually does, and observed his surroundings. It's an average alleyway, tall chain link fences on both exits, garbage bins filled to the brim with people's discarded trash, fire escapes leading up and down the sides of buildings-it's fairly ordinary. He noticed something particularly odd as he observed the street through the fence, gazing upon the morning commuters and nearby storefronts. Everything looked weird, like Xavier's School for the Gifted weird. Occasionally someone would pass by with some strange, inhuman feature. Blue skin or a bony protrusion popping out of their head, and no one seemed to bat an eye.
Alright, weird. Don't seem to be anywhere...normal he thinks, scratching his head. He took to the rooftops, leaping from wall to wall like Megaman. Upon landing he surveyed the street and surmised that this was not, in fact, New York, or any place he immediately recognized. The strange people were everywhere, in stores and on the streets, driving cars and waiting for public transport.
There were billboards in the distance, large and flamboyant Japanese text that he couldn't read alongside the image of someone dressed in a strange costume, not unlike the heroes of New York. It looked like it was advertising them.
"Right, not even in the continent of America. I gotta find a way back home if I-," he was stopped by the sound of screams, a lot of them. He's immediately on the move, faster than any normal human can move. Figuring this all out can wait for a moment, he couldn't ignore someone in need.
He's dashing across rooftops towards the scene, following the sounds of yelling and panic. The buildings are smaller than Manhattan, he thinks.
He hears another yell, less scared and more threatening. Whoever it is speaks Japanese, at least, Peter assumes it is. It's loud and powerful and just asking for a fight, not unlike the kind of yell he'd hear from someone like the Rhino.
He's on the scene in seconds, and there's a crater in the ground surrounded by worried onlookers, most of them running for the hills. In this crater stood a man with sharp, brown stones protruding from all around his body is stood. He's large and burly. Looks like a discount Thing, Peter thinks as he falls to the ground, landing on the middle of the street in a spider-like crouched position, a goofy smile visible through the cut in his mask.
"Say, you don't happen to be called Ben? I know a guy who looks reeeeal alike-now that's not me being racist, sorry, rockcist, but you're kinda-woah!" He's in the middle of telling one of his jokes when the rock man tries to smash him while yelling something else in japanese. The fist impacts the ground, creating a small crater, Peter lands on a light pole, performing an impressive acrobatic flip through the air and gripping onto the metal like a lifeline.
"Right, language barrier. Think I'll just do this the ol' fashioned way." As he's speaking the man grabs a low-hanging street sign, ripping it off the storefront and tossed it at the costumed teenager with all of his superhuman strength.
It wasn't an uncommon tactic that most baddies like this used, and this wasn't Spider-Man's first rodeo. He leaps towards it and presses down on on his wrists with his middle and ring finger, preparing to fire two weblines from his homemade, Parker approved web-shooters, though to his surprise, he heard a small 'fizz' noise, and small dribbles of dried up web fluid shot out of the nozzles in between the fabric of his costume and fell between his fingers.
Oh right, he forgot to fill up on web fluid before getting there.
He groans just before the sign hits him, whacking him away mid-air and sending him hurtling towards an apartment building. He slapped back-first into it, creating a large crack in the cement. "Alright, OW!" He got up, clutching his side as civilians scattered around him, clearing most of the street.
The tall rock man said something Peter couldn't understand and began to laugh. He took it as an insult. The eyes of his mask thinned and his fist tightened. "Alright pal," he began to step towards him before breaking into a full sprint at the villain, "let's see how ya'like a taste of-!" He reels his fist back as he closes in on the rock villain, who's preparing to throw a blow of his own. In a flash, Spider-Man suddenly, seemingly trips, pushing off the ground with his previously upraised hand and hurtling upwards towards the man, his foot primed to impact his jaw. The villain is taken off-guard, and the boy's strength overwhelmed him. Just like that, he's out like a light.
"Huh, that was surprisingly easy. And that, civilians, pedestrians and bystanders, is how you handle a bad guy." He gives the crowd a thumbs up as he spins on his heel, stood over the unconscious man. He receives strange looks and what he assumes are questions, with little cheer for his heroic act.
"Tough crowd, just like home…" He sighed, turning to the big ugly lug on the ground, "so what to do with you?" He's stopped when he feels a small, but noticeable ringing in his head, Spider-Sense, warning him of something.
He feels a hand on his shoulder and turns, not knowing how someone could've snuck up on him. He barely sees the expressions of the crowd change from those of scrutiny to wonder and awe.
Behind him are a trio he barely recognizes, a blonde woman with a purple and white outfit, a dude with what looked like a wooden bicycle helmet, and a man with white hair that defied gravity, and a blue shirt that was only sleees.
Spider-Man thought they all looked ridiculous, and he'd come face-to-face with Iron Fist for God's sake.
"So, say, you guys the clean-up crew 'round here, cause I'm pretty sure I just did your job for you." He puts his hands on his hips and smirks under his mask.
The one with white hair looks agitated.
This is gonna be a doozy.
End
EXTRA:
Months Earlier...
"Yeah, just stop here Uncle Ben." Peter Parker tapped the older man's arm frantically as he caught sight of the train station. He was mentally preparing himself for his first big day in showbiz. Spider-Man's astonishing wrestling debut was only the beginning.
Ben smiled as he pulled over by the stairway, putting a hand on Peter's shoulder, "Have fun at the concert son, just make sure to get home 'for curfew." The teenager smiled and nodded before looking back outside. He stared out the window for a moment, before turning back towards his uncle, a somber look on his face.
"Say...Uncle Ben, I just need to ask somethin'..." Peter rubbed his arm shyly as he spoke, as if he cooking up some sort of lie in his head, "if you had a-a talent, something you could do that no one else could...would it be a bad thing to, I dunno, cash in on that talent?"
The old man looked surprised for a moment, blinking, before speaking with a concerned tone. "Well, Peter, this all depends on just what kinda talents we're talking about, I mean-"
"Sorry, sorry it was a dumb question I'll just, head off." Peter rushes to undo his seatbelt, reaching for the door handle before he's stopped when a hand latches onto his forearm.
"Peter listen...your father, he had a philosophy. He believed that if there were things in the world, in your life that you had to offer, things that you did better than anyone else...things you could do to help people, well, your father believed that it wasn't just a good idea, or a split-second decision to do those things…"
The older man clasps his surrogate son's hand in both of his own, giving them it a tough shake, "it's your responsibility to do those things." He looked into Peter's wide blue eyes. "Don't try to be less, don't try to be someone else. Great things are coming for you kiddo, I believe that. And with that comes great responsibility. Dya' understand Peter? Great responsibility."
The boy thinks for a moment, before looking back outside, releasing his hand from the old man's grip. "Yeah I...I think I do. Thanks, Uncle Ben…" He's quiet and in deep thought as he exits the car, not turning back. He's stopped mid-step when he hears the old man speak again.
"Remember, back before curfew!"
"Yeah yeah, I gotcha Uncle Ben!" Peter smiles and waves at his uncle just before the car starts moving. Peter will remember that last smile on the old man's face as he's driving back home. With every near-death experience, the image will flash in his vision and give him the strength he needs to get back up, because knows that if he doesn't, he's failing him.
It's the last goodbye he'll ever give to his beloved Uncle Ben.
End.
Author's Note: Welp that's it for today. Had fun writing this. I may or may not do an extra every chapter featuring snippets of Peter's life before the events of the story, as well as other stuff. I know how the rest of this will play out up till a certain point, so ideas and recommendations are 100% accepted, as well as any critiques to my writing overall.
Adios.