So, there was a bit of a running gag in the Home duology -
Oh dear. On that thought, I hadn't lived long enough to know what the third one would be like, not even so much as a glimpse at the title. I hated Far From Home, I did, second only to Civil War, but, not gonna lie, that was a rocking, banging motherlover of a cliffhanger. Easily the best in all the MCU.
You could argue Infinity War, sure, but then it was spoiled because Marvel got over-excited and announced future phases and movies for the characters that died in Infinity War. So...we all knew how Endgame was going to happen - just not the minutiae. That it was epic despite that unfortunate detail spoke for the sheer skill of the entire cast and crew.
Spider-Man though? We didn't know jack. That was the best part. Too bad I missed out.
You might ask, if I was on that unfinished building, waiting to jump to my death all over again, would I do it? Maybe. Maybe not. It wasn't like I knew I'd just be alived again. Maybe I would do it. That old life just wasn't worth living anymore. But that didn't matter. It wasn't something I was in any position to do it again.
Suicide was fine. Murder, not so much.
The point had been running away from me here...
Right. Point was, there was a bit of a running gag in the Home duology. So, at the end of each movie, when May walked in on Peter taking off his Spider-Man mask, or when that asshat J. Jonah Jameson blew Peter's identity wide open, not knowing or caring that the "menace" in person was technically a freaking minor, either of them let off an expletive, but - y'know, because Disney, they never quite got around to finishing theirs.
So, apparently, that little gag? It appeared to have a bit more weight in reality - this reality - than I'd considered. Because while I wasn't smacked with flashy closing credits, I was definitely smacked with moving pictures. Those, and sensations. Those, and words, lessons, good times, bad times. Memories.
So many memories. They just straight-up knocked me out. I was gonna be nursing a headache for a week, probably.
It got worse. Oh, did it get worse.
So, quick CliffsNotes: in my old life, I had hearing issues. Tinnitus, APD, my ears closing up now and then so everything just sounded like a muted bass, absolutely no perception of higher-pitched sounds or beeps, the whole lot. I wish I was being a hypochondriac, but I wasn't that lucky.
Damn, it does make sense that I reincarnated into Peter, now. We have stupid luck.
It was practically at the point where I'd need hearing aids, except I couldn't afford those, so I got on by warning as many people as I could that hearing was a challenge for me. For most, unfortunately, hearing issues weren't known to them as a spectrum - you were either capable of hearing, or deaf, no in-betweens.
So, going from that to being able to hear various conversations all the way down on street-level up to an entire block away...
I was lucky I only found out through opening the window sometime after I woke up, and not because I stepped out onto the street. New York City was the loudest freakin' thing I had ever encountered in both lifetimes. And the smell...it wasn't really bad (it kinda was), just...wildly different. Being used to it and also not being used to it was confusing.
And even with the windows and my - Peter's - bedroom door closed, I could still hear footsteps from outside the apartment, with voices mumbling and someone - Fred, most likely - blasting Wig Wam on a Bluetooth speaker while heading off to his own apartment.
(So that was part of the reason he'd been wearing earphones for a while, I realized - the earphones easily found on the bed. He couldn't just buy noise-cancelling headphones, not without a bit of saving up, but the earphones were fine in a pinch, especially if he played music to offset the background noise. Good thing I learned the easy way.)
So, back to memories.
I remembered everything about Peter Parker's life. Everything that Marvel hadn't told us, maybe couldn't tell us, or even everything that whichever sick bastard that dropped me here decided to tell that probably wasn't 'canon' to Marvel's own version.
Alright, let's do this one last time. My name?
Johnn...uh. No, Peter.
...No, wait...I...
...Damn.
Well...that might be problematic.
I'll let you know when I figure it out.
A-anyway, the name associated with this body would be Peter Parker. Lost his parents at four, taken in by his aunt and uncle right after, saved by Iron Man from a Hammeroid at eight, got bitten by a radioactive spider not five and a half months ago, and for the past five months, has been the one and only Spider-Man.
You should know the rest.
You don't.
He didn't have what you might call an Uncle Ben moment. Yes, he died, and they did have a spat before he died, but Uncle Ben...man was exceptional (also a bit of a cape nerd since Iron Man saved my young reckless ass, and a huge fan of Worm, which made it even more painful for me because he'd been meaning to introduce Peter, and I was a huge fan too). He knew how to talk Peter down, and decided to treat the both of them to some number fives from Delmar's, Peter's with pickles, smushed flat, just the way he liked it.
(Can confirm, absolutely delicious.)
(Can also confirm, Delmar's daughter is hot. Looks like Isabela Merced - you might know her as Isabela Moner - smart, great company, sadly did not go to Midtown, also thought Peter was a huge dork, which, fair.)
Plus, Peter was a big ol' softy. He wasn't really the confrontational type, this was really the first (and so far, last) time it'd happened, teenage mood swings, you know the deal.
May was supposed to treat Peter to an announcement about surprise driving lessons when they got home, but so far it just hadn't come up.
Ben Parker died right after - typically American jerk of a truck driver ran a red light, going way too fast, at about 6 in the evening and killed him right as he was jumping out of the way, broken body and sandwiches flying everywhere. He was crossing the street, going for that old Volvo May had in Far From Home, but it looked different. Peter was in that Volvo, not a week after the science bug bite, and he saw everything.
I remember how he burst out of the car, screaming Ben's name. The desperate sprint, so fast it would've blown his newly formed identity as an Enhanced and he didn't give a shit about that, cradling his broken body in his arms and begging him to stay.
Man.
I was incredibly fortunate not to have experienced suffering like that. I'd lost family too, but never in my arms, not like that.
"Ben, please stay," I - he - begged. "I'm here, let's just call 911, get you to a hospital, right? C'mon, wake up. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please don't - please don't go. You can't. You can't. Ben. Uncle Ben?! Wake up! Please! Somebody help! Please, please help! Some -! Ben? Come on! You can't go, you can't - you can't leave May. I'm here. Come on. Come on! Ben? Ben?! Wake up! Stay with me! Please! You can't -"
May hadn't driven that car since, other than taking it home and starting it every now and then to keep the battery functional.
It wasn't like the movies, or the comics, or the cartoons, or the games. No last words, no dying advice, no last moments to share, not even so much as a faint utterance or breath, nothing. Just the uncaring sound of his heartbeat slowing, slowing, slowing, and stopping with a gut-wrenching finality. That sound would form a huge part of Peter's nightmares for the next three months.
The paramedics took too long, pronounced him dead on arrival.
That was why Peter made the webs, and rigorously practiced web-slinging while carrying a person (read: an old, duct-taped punching back he'd filled with sand and stones to make it as heavy and uncomfortable as possible), always at least twice a week. He kept blaming himself, if he'd decided to be a hero earlier, or made the webs earlier, or did anything with his power earlier...
Pretty obvious what inspired him to take up the mantle.
Well, that, and the fact that he did a nice job when he was eight years old. When you have superpowers, in a world of heroes and villains, that tends to be something that's on your mind for a long time. He probably didn't know it, but he was born for the job.
It was (kinda) like he said when he met Tony - you got the power, you got the responsibility.
Side fact - while he was doing the whole Friendly Neighborhood gig, helping old ladies cross the street, giving directions, helping cats off trees, retrieving lost balloons, the lot - he'd had more of a tendency to stop accidents. Saving kids from running after their ball onto the street recklessly, getting people out of the way whenever there was an accident where the cars risked hitting pedestrians - and just last week, he straight-up took the blow of a car going at 40 an hour and successfully stopped it from hitting the bus, that incident that got Tony Stark's interest. Just thinking about that made the arms twinge a little. Thank God for the healing factor - whatever little bruising I'd - he'd - sustained went away in two days, but the price for that was a bit of ravenous hunger. Man damn near cleaned the fridge out; he'd copped words from Aunt May too.
So, Uncle Ben, while not changing his worldview forever, did give him a bit of a nudge in the right direction.
Great power, great responsibility.
But that begged the question, really.
Did I want that responsibility?
No, that wasn't it.
Did I have a choice?
"Well, I dunno, Clive, let's look at it this way," I said sarcastically, mostly to get used to the fact that I now had an entirely different voice, sitting on my haunches and sticking to the wall - and yes, I was going to abuse the crap out of my newly found wall-crawling ability. "It's been just about five months since I started being Spider-Man. I'm known by more than a few faces around this 'hood. I've done a lot of public appearances and saves, and yesterday, Peter stopped his first freakin' mugging!"
I sighed, starting to feel the strain of holding myself up on the wall this way. It was fun and good exercise - benefits!
Just look on the bright side, old boy, look on the bright side. You're gonna need it.
"Do you really think you're not gonna have to start getting used to being Spider-Man? The choice is out of your hands. You're done. You're fu -"
"Peter?" May called, opening the door. "I'm back. Are we g -"
Oh, no! Those were her footsteps! I thought that was just the enhanced hearing!
She froze at the sight of me sticking to the wall, and a hugely awkward silence enveloped the room like the smell of weed - one I broke by facepalming, sheepishly blowing out air and getting off the wall.
I completely forgot. 7:30, that was the time she said she'd be back. To be fair, Peter had been Doc Ock-ed and the idiot wearing his flesh was still coming to grips with the whole thing!
Great! Not even five minutes into this life and I've already fudged it up! Imagine thinking I'm cut out to be Spider-Man!
"Hey, May," I sighed, going to my wardrobe to find something to wear over my shirt. I grabbed a blue flannel shirt, putting up a pretense of casualness - I was screaming at myself for my own idiocy - and she hadn't started complementing my internal screaming yet.
Oh yeah, by the way, she totally did look as young as the MCU said she did, exactly like Marisa Tomei. But she was in her early fifties. Good life we lived and everything.
Well, I was about to give her proper gray hairs.
"Wait, wait, wait, wait." May held a hand up. "Peter, ma che cazzo?!"
A lot of gray hairs.
A minute later, we were at the living room, things on TV happening in the background.
"So..." May said slowly, clearly having trouble processing the whole thing, "...You're that Spider-Guy from YouTube?"
"I prefer Spider-Man, but yeah." I sighed. "Figured I'd have to tell you sometime."
"Was that going to be today or next year?" she asked, a little acidly. "Because from the look on your face, it didn't appear that today would be the day."
"I was going for a dramatic reveal, but you were too early."
"Oh, believe me, it was dramatic anyway," she huffed. "Almost had a stroke."
"I'm sorry."
"That explains...so much," she said faintly. "The sneaking out, the-the limp last month, that time you really overworked yourself and..."
I sighed at the very thought of that memory.
Yeah. All those Fics where Peter overworked himself and forgot to eat and fainted like a stupid, vulnerable little puppy had a little basis in this reality. Peter was smarter than most people from my old world gave him credit for - he only made that mistake once, that was three months ago.
Flash just wouldn't shut up about it for a week. Ugh. Flash. High school bullies. Ugh.
Even worse - high school drama. Ughhhh. I'm too old for this crap.
"Yeah. I-I'm sorry I kept it quiet for so long."
"What caused the limp?"
"Web-slinging. I whipped a corner too fast, and my knee clipped the wall a little."
"A little?"
"It wasn't much more painful than stepping on a Lego, to be honest."
"You were limping, Peter."
"Yeah, but it was on my way back, just a couple blocks, and it went away the next day."
"Peter," she groaned. "Do you - Peter, come on. Do you know how dangerous this is?"
"I know -"
"What if you get seriously hurt, or - or you overwork yourself again or...how much do you even sleep?"
"I don't work at night, especially school nights," I clarified. "So -"
"Wait! That video from last week, when you got hit by that car!" she gasped. "You did get hurt!"
"It's okay," I tried, "it's okay. I have a -"
"It's not okay!" she worried. "How fast was that car going -"
"It didn't hurt me -"
"It was going fast enough that when it -"
"May -"
"- When it hit you, it must've -"
"May -"
"Were you hurt? Any bruises -"
"May!" I raised my voice, finally putting an end to this tete-a-tete. "No bruises. No broken bones."
"Peter, if you're lying -"
"I have a healing factor," I blurted out. That got her attention. Good God. "It's nothing major, but bruises go pretty fast -"
"You were bruised?!"
Oh, man. I'm totally messing this up.
"You didn't tell me you were -!"
"They're gone!" I pulled up the sleeves of my flannel shirt, showing clean and clear arms. "They're long gone. See?"
"But can you heal from a broken -!" She cut herself off and forced herself to calm down. "Okay, stop." May took her glasses off and massaged the bridge of her nose. "This is a lot. This is - this is just a lot to take in, alright?"
"I know," I nodded solemnly. "I-I'm sorry."
"Just tell me one thing," she said. "Why?"
I sighed and looked away. This was gonna hurt her. It really was.
Man, I really messed up.
I looked her in the eye, and said, "Ben."
I didn't have to say anything more. Everything just fell into place for her.
She pulled me into a hug - the first hug I'd gotten in years - and we sat there together for several minutes. I hugged her almost as hard as I could, until she moaned in discomfort - and I remembered that 'as hard as I could' was well beyond human limits.
Again, I was really glad I was learning at least some of these things the easy way.
Bloody enhanced strength, how did I forget about that?!
"I should ground you, you know," she said, sometime later. We, uh, may or may not have spent more time reminiscing about Ben than we thought. I know everyone didn't want the same old song and dance of his origin story, but...Uncle Ben was genuinely something we all missed out on. So badly. He was amazing. "I really should."
"I wouldn't blame you," I agreed.
"But I know you." She sighed, putting her head on her hands. "You're even more stubborn that Ben on his worst days. And this? No, there's no talking you out of this."
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry I'm so stubborn."
"Oh, forget it," she waved a hand dismissively. "But - and I know you teenagers have a thing about this kind of thing - but there have to be rules."
"Yeah," I nodded eagerly. "Agreed."
"We'll talk about it tomorrow. I just..."
"Need to wrap your head around everything."
"Exactly."
"Alright, no pro - no problem." I nodded, pointedly ignoring the way my voice cracked for a moment. Nope, I'd rather put that problem away for later too. "Take your time. I get it. So, are we still..." I pointed at the door.
"Going...to? Oh, no, no, no, it's late." May shook her head. "We'll eat out tomorrow. You didn't raid the entire kitchen again?"
I rolled my eyes. "You're not dropping that one anytime soon, are you?"
She let out a laugh. "In your dreams!"
"PBJ it is." I got up and went off to prepare our supper.
"I'll join you in a sec," she promised.
Honestly, though? She'd taken things a bit more calmly than I expected. Then again, it kind of did make sense. I hadn't fought the Avengers, or gotten the Monument blown up, or split a ferry in half, or nearly gotten killed by Adrian Toomes, or flown a plane from the outside. Everything Peter had done so far was straight low-key, with the highlights being that car stop and the one mugging prevention I was never telling her about.
She had a point though. She needed time to wrap her head around everything.
I needed time to wrap my head around everything, since I spent most of it being knocked out by this body's memories.
Civil War is on its way. That stupid, stupid effing mess.
I have to make a plan. Plans. Plot.
Civil War. Toomes. Possibly Mac Gargan. That idiot Beck.
Thanos. Thanos, right. Okay, so there's the benefit of my foresight...or hindsight...whatever.
But it's not gonna be easy. I'm gonna be herding cats while juggling three roaring chainsaws. And I've never owned a cat, so odds might be that they're not overly fond of the din of three roaring chainsaws. Also, I have to learn how to juggle, never mind the chainsaws. I'm gonna be juggling two motorballs and a chainsaw when Tony Stark comes knocking on my door.
Fine. I grinned as I racked my memories - Peter's memories - for the placements of the Parker Family kitchen utensils. I've always wanted to be a Spider anyway. Universal chew toy benefits notwithstanding.
Here we go...wait! Shit!
I breathed in sharply in the middle of laying down some butter, my mind finally deciding to remind me what Peter was about to do before I body-jacked him and wasted precious hours. Because here I was, thinking 'hey! I'm gonna be Spider-Man, time to start thinking about Saving The World like Mike Allen!' while in reality - this was nothing new for me or Peter - the universe was waiting with its tongue out to slap me with an iron poker like Tom the Cat!
You are Spider-Man, but you are also Peter Parker! I yelled at myself. You have mundane problems! You have double the lives! Double the lives, double the problems, double the Parker Luck!
It's almost 8:30! I have Chemistry homework! And Math homework! And Literature! All due tomorrow on Monday! And I don't know if I'll be able to write like Peter or if I'll end up with my stupid chicken scrawl! Why didn't Peter do this yesterday?! Oh, that mugging. Right, right. He was freaking out and forgot and really had to keep from giving it away to Ned and he just forgot and went to sleep. And then he was Spider-Manning today and this idiot still forgot!
I have to fix my handwriting and do homework that's due tomorrow morning! I facepalmed - with both hands, because one was not enough for this. I started pulling at my hair in frustration, only to reconsider that it might be too easy to tear it out. Why was being Peter Parker so frustrating!? Argh!