A really quick and unexpected idea that occurred to me. I enjoyed it so much I had to put it down, because Marisa Tomei is hot.
Synopsis: A different Spider-Man winds up in the world of one teenaged Peter Parker. He's kind of a dick.
Warnings: (not) incest, MCU and Marvel Adventures crossover. Rated for mention of adult activities and language.
"You had sex with Aunt Mei?!"
The young Peter Parker's voice echoed throughout the entire expensive, well furnished apartment. It was something he would regret later. For now though, as he stared up into the blithe eyes of the reflection of his reflection, his eyes were wide and shocked, disgusted. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"
The other man, around twenty-four years of age, blinked. Then, he raised a finger. "Well, she isn't my Aunt May," he said, shrugging. "And she doesn't look like her either, so that helps a lot."
Peter's hands went to his hair. Despite super strength and the ability to rip pavement from the ground with his fingertips, he couldn't quite manage to rip his hair from his scalp. It was not for a lack of trying. Maybe his durability extended to the smallest cellular makeup of him as well?
Hardly the time to geek out. Time to hate himself now.
His voice screeched, the sound of someone's face sliding down a glass window, something he desperately wanted to do to the older man, and he floundered, "I-How could you-what- why?!"
"Your voice is going to get hoarse, one," the other man started, counting off his fingers and annoying the young Peter to no end, "two, I could because she wanted to, and as to why… well, I haven't had sex in nearly a month. Thanks for that, by the way."
Peter Parker cursed the day he ever saved his alternate universe counterpart.
Well, cursed was a strong word. It was kind of cool. 'Saved him' was also a stretch. Truthfully, he had been saved by the oddly succinctly dressed man claiming to be Spider-Man.
His costume was a lot more polished than Peter's himself, and a lot more frightening. Red and black with a large, gangly spider that fit the man's size, small, emotionless black eyes… Peter didn't believe him at first. He'd been shocked and had attacked, an abysmal side effect of being a teenager without the enviable skill of foresight.
All protestations ceased when the other Spider-Man had taken off his mask.
The other Peter Parker was similar to him, but not quite. There were little differences. A slightly different shade to his hair, which was a darker brown than Peter's, and he lacked the beauty mark Peter himself had, as well as the fact that he was much taller and much more heavy and muscular than himself, literally. He was a reflection of Peter's reflection, is the closest way to describe it. Looking at him Peter could see the similarities, understand that he was looking at himself, but there was an insurmountable disconnect that stopped him from truly identifying him as himself.
The similarities seemingly ended there, too. The other Peter Parker was a killer.
And now he had a killer version of him, living with him and Mei Reilly Parker. Which one of them had truly gone insane?
"How is that my fault?!" Peter screeched, pushing against the older version of him, and loathing that the mountain of a man did not move. "You landed in my city, not the other way around!"
"Because either way, I'd have to take care of you," the other Peter sighed as though he were talking to a child. Despite the nine year difference between them, he did seem a lot older. His eyes lacked that spark that Peter's did, and it was replaced with the too familiar look Peter had seen in his father's pictures when Richard Parker wasn't holding his beloved son. The look of someone who had seen things. Someone… experienced.
Peter had had enough time to consider these things and wouldn't get distracted, not again. That's how it always started. For the last month his counterpart had proven to be a genius at misdirection and annoyances. God help the criminal underbelly of Manhattan if he allowed this one to go out and play.
No, really, God help them because he'd be the first thing they'd see when they opened their eyes. If they were lucky.
"I can take care of myself," Peter scowled, and was annoyed that it sounded like a pout. He was sixteen years old, dang it. He could lift a uhaul truck one-handed, with some effort. Would it kill for him to have some baritone to his voice?
The other Peter smirked. A small curl of his lips that looked more patronizing than amused. "Yes you can, but you don't have to," he said, and smiled wider. "At the very least you need to get a better fashion sense. I've been to a lot of worlds, but I have never run into a thrift store Spider-Man."
Peter twitched. "It's not a thrift store costume," he grumbled for the hundredth time. "It is cost effective and incognito."
"Primary colors are the antithesis to incognito, Peter," the other him chuckled. "I've been to one where every week we had to switch into a dollar store adult sized costume, but never one where we got the materials from the back of a closet."
"They were presents!" Peter defended.
"From who, Good Will?"
That was it, Peter fumed. He charged, lashing out with his strength that would have put his fist through concrete as if it were a paper wall.
Only to have it meet the stone-like hand of his counterpart, whose gaze had softened. It would have killed a normal person, but his counterpart handled it like nothing. Peter knew this witheringly. It was something that the older Parker had insisted he take advantage of. With his strength, he couldn't afford to get complacent. There wasn't anyone around to take what he could deal… until now.
And so for the last twenty-seven days, he had been training. Being trained by the killer version of yourself who knew just about every fancy martial arts wasn't as fun as it sounded. Peter couldn't even come close to hitting the man, much less hurting him.
He had, however, found a few tidbits that proved useful. He possessed an accelerated healing factor that allowed him to heal nearly broken bones and sprains and bruises within a single day. That was nice. Except it wasn't, because it meant that he'd have to train just as hard the following day.
Then there was his spider-sense, which hadn't made a single lick of progress. His counterpart's spider-sense had evolved into full on clairvoyance, as evidenced by the way he could tell what was going to happen in the nearby vicinity for hours on end, and perfectly predict and cut of what Peter would say. It made him absolutely untouchable, and Peter was a little jealous.
It wasn't all it was cracked up to be, his counterpart said, doing a poor job to make him feel better. Sometimes knowing what would happen got extremely annoying, and conversations terrifyingly redundant. It had made Peter, the other one, into a bit of a recluse. He had moved to Russia, or so he said, and lived in a forest.
A forest. In a mansion. With a hot blonde that enjoyed having sex with him on the ceiling and sharing him with other women.
Fuck my life, Peter had groaned. Screw me, him, whatever.
"You have a lot of work to do," his older self said, smiling. "That's what I'm here for. To help you, kid. So you don't make the same mistakes I did."
Peter wrenched his fist away, but got the feeling that if he wanted to, his counterpart could have kept it where it was. He rubbed his knuckles slightly, feeling the skin a bit raw from an early morning training session. "Don't call me kid," he groused. "It's Spider-Man."
He grit his teeth. What type of mistakes could the other him have made when he knew the future implicitly? Peter supposed he hadn't always been that way. Maybe he'd been like him, instead? Alone.
What type of mistakes had he made? The question frightened Peter to a surprising degree. What type of life had he led to land him where he was? In an entirely different universe, an apparently seasoned killer? From the stories he'd been told, a mercenary, an assassin, and not the "Nothing is true, everything is permitted," variety.
Though the gun thing was pretty awesome.
"Of course it is," the older Peter chuckled dryly, clapping him on the shoulder with a lead, calloused hand. "You go get some rest. You're going to need it. Come five o'clock we're going to lift."
Peter frowned. The downside of having super-strength was that if he wanted to get any stronger, he had to lift exponentially more than normal. This meant a pair of SUVs… for now. At least getting faster was easier, or so he had been told. Kinesiology and practice, visualization and constantly pushing his limits.
His muscles still hadn't completely healed from the previous day, and that had been a warmup. The older Peter had taken him to an abandoned lot and worked him over. Legs, arms, back, everything, completely testing the younger Spider-Man's limits. And now came the time to exceed them, if only by a little. It was an oft repeated schedule that had become the norm for the last month. Peter sighed. At least he'd get a couple of days off to completely rest after today.
"Fine," he waved, shoulders slumping. "I'm gonna go read."
The older Peter snorted. He was still pleasantly surprised that any kid liked to read books nowadays. Of course, if was going to be anyone it was going to be Peter Parker. The nuclear family throwback child.
The younger Peter walked on slightly dead feet to his room. When he reached the doorway, he stopped. Then, turning around slowly, the older Peter saw something just beneath murder in his eyes, glazed with extreme annoyance. It was just as amusing as the former, though.
"You did it again," he whispered, disgusted and disbelieving. "I can't believe it, you did it again!"
He had! Somehow, he had distracted him again! "You had sex with my Aunt!" God, he hated himself sometimes!
Peter charged, but found nothing there. The door was already open, and the sound of feet treading up to the roof was only audible thanks to his enhanced hearing. He gave chase with a manic look in his eye.
Maybe living with your older self wasn't so bad. At least it wouldn't be if he didn't shack up with your Aunt.
The apartment had been paid for, bought, even, because he had the good habit of keeping a good deal of money with him wherever he went. There was never any telling how much he might need or what currency. Except there was, his spider-sense seemed to say. He'd always know, for months into the future.
Except he didn't want to. Clairvoyance made life a little… boring. I was almost like cheating, and sometimes he saw things he didn't want to. They were easy enough to stop because he was himself, but it was quite the spoiler ten out of ten times.
Which is why he enjoyed ending up here, in a completely different Earth. He hadn't seen that one coming.
To avoid the increasingly humdrum of a life with no surprises, he had taken to occasionally turning off his spider-sense. Not always, and not completely, but ignoring it. He couldn't be caught by surprised, was so fast that no human could ever hope to catch him off-guard unless they were a speedster, and strong enough that lifting a bus was child's play. Turning off his spider-sense was a way to spice up his life, every once in a while, keep it fresh.
It had helped. It brought back that excitement of being in a life or death situation where he had no idea what would happen. Doing it enough had enabled him to downgrade his spider-sense, much like he had learned to upgrade it. Bring it back to its former capabilities, to roll it back. It was easily brought back to its current limit, but that was still growing, or so Nebo had said.
But this… the former vigilante hadn't seen this coming, and hadn't been ignoring his spider-sense at the time. He'd been in the heat of battle, the first exciting one in a while. That wasn't saying much though, since something about the thing he'd been fighting seemed to weaken him, make him weaker, frailer, slower. All he had was his spider-sense, which needed to be downgraded just so he could avoid the sheer annoyance of it when he urged him to run. He wouldn't run, didn't need to,but without his rigorously trained speed it was only barely keeping him alive.
Then, he saw a flash of red, from the man's pitchfork weapon, and blue, from the Shi'Ar generator he had fooled him into overloading he had fallen through… something. Some sort of gash in space time, a yawning black chasm that was both warm and cold, and eternal and short.
He had landed back in New York.
His spider-sense was silent and 'toned down' for the moment, but he felt back into sorts, just as good as ever. Then, with the weakest ring possible to identify something that could barely be identified as a threat, he noticed a car coming to him head on at somewhere above seventy miles per hour.
And it was a getaway car. With a hostage. Peter rolled his eyes. Some things never changed.
To his surprise, before he could even move, something had moved him. Something that sounded so familiar.
Thwip.
Peter looked up, the world slow to his superhuman senses, and took a few seconds to bask in the bemusement of seeing… himself.
Ah. But it wasn't him. He'd never be so shabbily dressed. So either he was back in New York due to some sort of wormhole, which he doubted, because New York didn't have a Spider-Man, or he was in another universe, again.
Going from the young sounding, muffled voice that traded some sort of anxious, not at all calm banter to him, he was willing to bet the farm on the latter.
What followed was loathsomely typical. He was still suited up, and the difference between him and the other Spider-Man was as stark as possible. Where he was tall, the other was short. Where he was more muscled than a male gymnast, the other was as lithe as he'd been in his first days as Spider-Man, though… his fashion sense had never been that bad, had it? He hoped not.
While his younger self was trying to pick his jaw off the floor, he went and stopped the getaway car, came back, and found him just attempting to leave. It couldn't have been more than a minute. He knew New York like the back of his hand, and alternate universe though it may be, this New York looked similar enough to make traveling through it a piece of cake.
Fast-forward a month later, Peter felt he made a distinct improvement to his younger self's life. Using the money he had on hand, stored in a hammerspace type suitcase of his own design, he had bought a new apartment handily for him to live in, as well as his Aunt Mei.
And, oh boy, his Aunt Mei.
She was not his Aunt May.
She was too young, too… beautiful. Sexy was the right word, but that lacked the sheer amount of… oomph. She looked nothing like the matronly old woman that raised him and thought the worst of Spider-Man. She couldn't have been a day over thirty-five.
He had acted before he realized, long learned skills of seduction and confidence in his career as an assassin and mercenary coming up like second nature. They wined, they dined, got to know each other, and…
Well, his younger self wasn't pleased. He'd get over it. There wasn't even a blood relation, at least between himself and Mei. It wasn't like she was his mother's sister.
In the time he'd been on this earth he'd gotten to know it quite well. The criminals were still just as dumb, the drug dealers and gangsters still just as predictable, but… it wasn't as developed as his. The super-hero scene that he'd left behind years ago was next to none existent. There had been an alien invasion only a year and some change prior, and Captain America had just recently been de-iced. The Avengers were in their infancy, and mutants seemed to be next to nonexistent. Either that, or they hadn't resurfaced, yet.
The first step was to make his younger self's life easier. That meant stopping him from hiding things from his Aunt, the only family he knew of. Peter would have given it second thought, as his own Aunt loathed Spider-Man, but the perks of being in an entirely different dimension was that certain things were different. Aunt Mei, for example, was not only a sexy, slightly goofy young woman, but she was also a big fan of Spider-Man.
A very big fan.
It was a good thing she kept that a better kept secret than his younger self kept his identity secret, or he would have lost so much sleep.
Then came the task of revealing himself to her. The Spider-Man of a different earth was a lot easier to say after the icebreaker, "Your nephew is a superhero." Surprisingly and unsurprisingly, she had taken it quite well. She passed out.
But Mei Reilly Parker was far more accepting than his Aunt had been. She snorted, a goofy sound with an equally goofy, charming grin, and threw her hands up in the air. "Sure, you're Spider-Man from an alternate universe! And you're also my… nephew?"
He denied that vehemently, assuming the identity of Benjamin Reilly Parker. A hiccup in the family tree, a change in the past, had made things turn out a bit differently. He had, so he said, not been named Peter, he'd been named Ben, after his father's deceased brother, who had never married. Technically true, for the first part, and as to the latter… he wasn't her nephew.
Her eyes had glossed over with uncontrollable fondness at the name.
His Aunt May had looked nothing like Mei in her heyday. It would be the cause of much postulation of constants. Was Mei an entirely different version of his Aunt, or had there been some sort of hiccup in the past that changed things? There were enough differences between him and his younger counterpart to justify this, but the reasons could stretch back infinitely, so he decided to ignore them. Alternate universe, hot Aunt.
They got to know each other, and then know each other after he had paid for a couple of nights in the fanciest hotel in New York. Peter had felt guilty for a moment, laying with Uncle Ben's wife, but… it wasn't his Uncle Ben, and if he was anything like him, he'd want her to move on. Till death do us part, after all. Mei had been lonely, stressed from the experience of raising a young man by her lonesome, and needed it. Peter needed to lose the blueish discoloration in his testicles. The walls had rattled and the other denizens of the building lost hours of sleep. It had been a casual, and repeated hookup, but much needed on both sides.
It was going fine until his younger self found out. Looking down at the building where they now lived, a neat, clean looking apartment building that put their old one to shame, Peter winced. He didn't need his spider-sense to tell him that it was probably best to avoid being there for a bit. His younger self wasn't a threat to him, more of a rambunctious little brother he had never asked for, but he didn't him to miss anymore sleep than was necessary.
That had been another thing he insisted upon. No more late night patrols, missing sleep and school. "The city is well enough that you don't need to sacrifice more than what's necessary," he had told the young Peter.
Unfortunately, a seemingly universal constant was that this Peter was just as stubborn as he had been in his younger days, at that age. Just as driven by guilt. "With great power comes great responsibility!" He had said, as if it was the perfect defense and justified everything.
Peter crossed his arms and nodded in understanding. Then, he slapped him upside the head, knocking him out.
The younger Peter was well on his way to stunting his growth, something Peter himself had done and only defeated thanks to vitamins and such given to him by Nebo during his training. He was failing in school, as Peter had. He was wasting away, unable to keep the strict diet that someone of his stature needed. Passed simply eating enough to keep his metabolism sated, he needed to eat the right things in order to not remain as gangly as he was now. At sixteen years old Peter was only 5'6 and light as a feather, a paltry height compared to his older counterpart's 6'4. Of course, this wasn't indicative of his strength, he could still heft around and above ten tons before he started to strain, but it didn't have to be just that.
Without a surefire way to get home, and without the existence of geniuses life Reed Richards or mystics like Doctor Strange, and unwilling to seek out the aid of the fledgling Avengers, Peter had laid low and stayed with his new 'family', his responsibility. He'd get back home, he knew that without a doubt. The man attacking him had been uninterested in anyone else but him, as well.
For now, he'd do his best to ensure that his younger counterpart wasn't as uptight and unwound as he had been. That he wasn't alone, had someone to teach him. Peter hadn't had that, but this Peter would, if he had anything to say about it.
In his younger self's place, he had assumed the identity of one costumed vigilante. As it turned out, his design skills far outweighed the other Peter, due to experience. The costume he made for himself was simple and uniform, while not eye catching. Perfect for stealth. One of the first things he had to teach to his counterpart was that attention was not needed, nor should it be encouraged. Spider-Man didn't need to attract attention to himself save the day. At the very least, considering human psychology, he wouldn't be called an attention seeker either.
For a moment, Peter shuddered. Goggles. Goggles! What was the younger him thinking? At fifteen he had been able to make his costume out of theatre club materials, complete with one way lenses that hadn't impeded his enhanced sight or allowed it to overwhelm him.
But that was exactly why he was here. Or why he decided to stay. Peter Parker, Spider-Man, wouldn't have to face the world alone. Not again.
Spiders needed to stick together.
The familiar ring of a siren sounded. And Peter took a mighty leap off of the building, covering a sixty foot distance with ease before he eased into a freefall. His durability made the impact into a rooftop as easy as hopping, and he kept running to the emergency, having decided to not use any webbing. That was Spider-Man's trademark, and he didn't want to step on his toes.
Dusk was on the scene, now. For added excitement, he toned down his spider-sense. Maybe he'd even see this earth's version of Jean DeWolffe again? The night was young.
It occurred to me that Assassin's spider-sense might make him as dispassionate as, say, Saitama from One Punch Man, so I ran with that. Hope you enjoyed!
