Disclaimer: All recognized characters, events, objects, etc.; are property and trademark of Marvel Comics unless otherwise specified.

SPIDER-MAN: 1995

BY HOWTYPIKAL

Chapter 1: Runaway Mutie

'Rain sucks. Not as much as getting shoved into lockers, but it still sucks.' Young Peter Parker thought to himself walking down the flooded streets of Brooklyn. In many ways, it represented the current state of his life. Gone were the bright and sunny days of having a loving family, and into the darkness.

You see, Peter Parker used to be a happy kid. Despite his parents perishing when he was young, he found a home with his loving Aunt May and kind Uncle Ben. For about ten years everything was normal. That is until Peter made the discovery that he's a mutant; the worst possible thing in this day in age. Now he lives life as a runaway in the streets. An outcast living homelessly. He never said a word to his Aunt or Uncle before taking off.

'Every day, I wonder if they would still accept me.' Peter had seen it so many times. Friends with seemingly loving families being thrown away due to a genetic difference. He was scared because of that. He was scared that the people who raised him would turn him away, labeling him a freak. Not even being an X-Man could heal that would.

The cold beamed down his back as the rain slowed. Peter found the place which he now called home. A rundown and unoccupied apartment. This would be where he resided for the foreseeable future, at least until he makes enough money in his ventures as a wrestler. It was the last thing Peter Parker ever expected, but he figured that it'd be pointless to not use his abilities in a way to help himself. He took the ring name of Spider-Man in reference to his abilities: wall-crawling specifically. Silly yes, but it worked and he quickly became a local legend.

'Let's just hope nobody sees me.' Peter quickly crawled up the side of the building and into the open apartment window. There, he crashed onto the bed to be consumed by a much-needed sleep.

"Peter, why don't you go play in the other room for a little bit? Daddy and I have to talk about something important." A woman, who Peter recognized as his mother said to him. He was young again. Young and careless aboard a private with his parents. He looked to see a man sitting next to her. Not his father, but his stepfather.

'Wait. I had a stepfather?' He thought in the memory. All of this had been blocked from his mind. For what reason he was not sure. Despite this, he still felt a great amount of joy seeing them after so long.

Taking his mother's word, Peter exited into another room. It was small; perfect for a child his age, but he noticed something. A glowing light in the corner. So shiny and so alluring. He inched towards it, reaching out his arm and feeling protected by it, not aware of how the jet was going down in flames.

"PETER!" He heard his mother scream out in terror before everything went black.

Peter awoke, startled and sweating. It was the dead middle of the night and his room was pitch black.

'God, what the hell was that?' He made his way to the bathroom and looked into the mirror. Despite the fact that there was no electricity, Peter could still slightly see the reflection of his face, and most noticeably, his scar. A scar over his right eye that he's had for as long as he can remember. He had no idea how it'd got there, at least until he began to think.

'Did that have something to do with this? How did I survive? Who was my stepfather.' All rushed into his head at the same time. The screams of his mother repeated in his mind, haunting him. His uncombed, almost dreadlocked brown hair dangled in his eyes as tears began to stream. In anger, he punched the mirror in front of him, glass flying out over his bare hands. Peter looked down, the skin of his knuckles not even being cut.

'What exactly was that light?'

"AND HE IS DOWN!" the ring announcer called out as another punk fell victim to the web-slinger. His powers made this all easy money. That is if easy money is getting constantly ripped off by the fight promoter.

"AND YOUR WINNER….. THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN!" the packed audience roared as the referee raised his hand in victory. The 5'3, 130 lbs teenager stood tall over a literal roid monkey. If you told Peter that he'd be capable of such feats 3 months ago, he'd ignore you as he worked on a science project.

"See what I told ya, Fisk? This guy's a talent." a man in the crowd turned to the crime boss sitting next to him.

"We came here for other reasons Chameleon. We didn't drive all the way down here just to watch a kid in spandex who doesn't know what a script is." the large man turned to him. Wilson Fisk, the biggest crime boss in New York, had come to watch the third rematch between Spider-Man and Crusher Hogan.

"However, he does intrigue me." the large man said as he stroked his chin.

"This is the fifth match I've won in a row. Can you actually give me the money you guaranteed me!?"

"How many times do I have to explain this to you? The ad said 'potentially' $2,000 dollars. I didn't guarantee anything. Now get out of my office before I have you arrested."

"You're gonna arrest me? Do you even watch any of your shows?"

"Just get out kid."

"Scumbag," he muttered under his breath as he took his $100 and exited the office. As he made his way to the elevator, he noticed an entourage of people approaching the office. He quickly recognized the large man they surrounded.

'Wilson Fisk?' As a shock to Peter's young mind, he was now staring at the man nicknamed the Kingpin. He had researched him many times before, leading him to know the various crimes he's excused himself from with money.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Fisk? The answer is no."

"Why are you so close-minded Mr. Campbell? I'm offering you a deal that you won't find anyplace else."

"My father built this place. He would slap me if he knew that I sold it off to some scum like you!"

"You better watch your mouth. If you won't play ball then we'll make you play ball in time." Peter hastily made his way to the elevator right as Fisk exited. He was only 16 and standing within 100 feet of one of the most dangerous people alive today. Not many things scared him with what he's been through, but this was an exception.

'Man. As much as I hate him for ripping me off, I kinda wanna help him. But how? How could I ever stand up to the Kingpin of crime?' He pondered as the elevator lowered. Thoughts of just forgetting it and going on with the day surfaced, but he just couldn't shake his head of feeling that he had to do something. A moral obligation just like his uncle always told him.

'What was that word he'd always use again?'

From the trees, he observed the home he grew up in. The backstreets of Queens, where he previously lived with his Aunt May and Uncle Ben. It took a lot of gut for him to even come near here. It had almost been 3 months to the day he left, yet they still seemed to be on the lookout for him. Missing person reports for him scattered the trees around the property. Too bad for them, he looked unrecognizable from the way he used to.

There were no signs of life in the house, evident by the lack of light at only 7.00 pm, however, he already knew where they went. Next door was inhabited by Anna Watson, and her daughter Mary Jane Watson. They had been friends with the Watsons ever since they moved into this neighborhood, and he had gotten particularly close with MJ before he left. Part of him always wonders what would have happened between them had he stayed. He had never had a girlfriend before, but he felt there was something there between them. Either that or he was just being led on.

"Thank you guys so much." The familiar voice of his aunt called out as the Watsons door swung open. He looked down and finally saw them after all this time. His aunt with her long brown hair, and his uncle looking scruffier than usual. He felt so caught up in the moment that he couldn't see them inching their eyes towards his position.

"Who are you?" His aunt called out. With that, he snapped out of his state and ran off. May turned to look at her husband.

"What the hell was that?" She whispered to him. They had never seen anything so strange. Well, at least not in this neighborhood.

"I don't know May. Some kid is probably playing around." He said as they made their way back home, not looking back.

'I'm sorry. You guys can't ever know." Parker sat atop a nearby building, watching them before running off into the night.

"EVERYBODY BACK!" Peter had made his way to the arena that night, only to be met by an ongoing crime scene. A man lied motionless on the concrete of an alleyway, attended by various officers and medical personnel. He couldn't see who the man was, being that a crowd of people blocked his view. However, he quickly noticed him as he made his way through. The fight promoter, bloody and unconscious, with a red rose placed by him.

"Oh my God!"

Next Chapter: Hells Kitchen