Waking up was oddly mundane. Despite all the recent upheaval, I found myself, contrary to habit, waking an hour before the alarm.
Which, by the way, always dragged me from sleep at the very last possible moment anyway. What can I say—I liked sleeping in and being late for school, even though I always justified it with the excuse of "sleepless nights in the lab." Though, honestly, a modest stash of chemical reagents and a few random tools hardly qualified as a "lab." Still, I liked the sound of it.
After getting out of bed, I trudged to the bathroom to make myself look presentable. Yeah, I'd never been much of a groomer before—but there's a new sheriff in town. I grabbed a comb and ran it through my shaggy hair. A haircut was definitely in order.
When I finished bathing and dressing, I took a deep breath, gathering my courage, and began the slow descent downstairs. I knew what awaited me… it had to happen sooner or later. The kitchen scene was almost idyllic, so perfectly Parker-like it hurt. Ben Parker sat at the table, reading the morning paper. All he needed to complete the look of a 1950s gentleman was a pipe in his mouth. May Parker moved gracefully around the stove, embodying every bit the seasoned housewife.
You'd never guess that this woman organized a book club for the neighborhood ladies of lower Queens, worked in an office, and went bowling every Sunday. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, both their heads turned toward me.
"Good morning, Peter. How did you sleep?" Uncle Ben greeted me warmly.
"Darling, I made your favorite pancakes. I'm glad you woke up early enough to eat them while they're still warm," Aunt May said with a bright smile. And I stood there, speechless.
My mind swirled with overlapping memories—two timelines colliding. Do time travelers often feel this way? There's my old life, and then there's his biography—the one I'd read, played through, and watched countless times. It's unreal. Completely fictional. But then… Why does this strong, kind old man look at me with the same warmth my grandfather once did? Why does this woman radiate love so genuine it feels like standing beside my mother—or my grandmother?
"Good morning. Glad to see you," I finally said, stepping forward to hug them both tightly, one after the other. My family. Now they were all I had, and I'd be damned if I didn't cherish them with everything I had.
"Wow, champ. What's gotten into you?" Ben asked, surprised.
"Just feeling a little all over the place," I said with a small smile, careful not to arouse suspicion.
"Ah, well, that's normal at your age. Eat your breakfast, or you'll be late for school." I nodded and sat down to enjoy the pancakes May had made.
Everything seemed to have gone smoothly.I thought about this as I finished getting ready for school. Honestly, I wasn't too worried—during breakfast, Uncle Ben had mentioned today's field trip to the Oscorp lab. Right. That trip. So, after finishing my meal quickly, I dashed upstairs, threw on jeans and a blue sweatshirt, shoved my things into a backpack, and made for the door.
"Pete, should I pick you up after the excursion?" Ben asked.
"No thanks, Uncle. I want to walk home," I replied.
"That's your call. Just don't be late."
"No problem," I said, already reaching for the doorknob.
"Don't forget your lunch, Peter," May called, handing me a neatly packed bag.
"Thank you, Aunt May! You're the best!" Waving goodbye, I flew out the door. When I reached the bus stop, I realized I'd arrived far too early. At least it gave me time to think. So, what do I have going for me here? On the plus side, I've landed right at the beginning—the origin point.
The canon hasn't unfolded yet. Many bonds remain unmade; alliances, unfounded; choices, unwritten. Why am I so hung up on this? Probably because I've always reflected too much on the ideas of good, evil, and the shades between. And who hasn't, really? So… if—and that's a big IF—I'm destined to become Spider-Man, which path do I take? I'm not exactly Peter Parker.
His innocent idealism has been blurred by the perspective of another guy—someone who's seen different things, maybe darker ones. On many moral questions, my stance is far less pure. Well, whatever else, I'm not going to become a supervillain.
That's not profitable, and honestly, it's just stupid. I'm an ordinary guy, not a cackling madman.But seriously—I told you, I'm not like Parker. Maybe not quite as good-hearted. More selfish. Hot-tempered. A bit darker. My flaws show. But to choose a path, you have to know the road you want to walk—and then follow it, unwavering.
Only a steady course brings success. My thoughts were interrupted by the screech of a horn from a familiar yellow school bus. I got up and climbed aboard. The scene felt ripped straight out of a Raimi movie—kids closing ranks, turning away, all part of the ritual. Oops, a foot in the aisle. I sidestepped neatly, brushed it off, and made my way to the last row while the culprit muttered a curse under his breath. Mission accomplished.
School. That word alone dredged up a flood of unpleasant memories. The guy whom I was before had it rough—but Parker's story was worse. His mind saved him; his grades and brilliance carried him. But socially? It was barely survival, not life. Constant bullying from Flash Thompson since first grade, no real friends, jealous classmates—basically the perfect formula for a quiet, self-conscious nerd.
Well, that's going to change. When the bus arrived at Midtown High, I waited until everyone else had filed out before heading in. I tried to sneak quietly into the building, but of course—"Parker!"
Damn it. Of course. I turned around and saw him: Eugene "Flash" Thompson, my perpetual headache since third grade, surrounded by his goons and a group of cheerleaders.
"What, skipping your morning beating?" the blond smirked, cracking his knuckles.
"Sorry, tough guy, but I had a big breakfast today. You can save it for someone else. Bye-bye." I waved lightly and turned to bolt. Yeah, running isn't very heroic—but until I get better, retreating is the smarter option. Once I get there, maybe we'll settle the score. I made it to class relatively unscathed. Say what you will, but before getting his powers, Parker was a resilient kid, if physically weak. I found my desk near the window in the front row. Physics. Perfect. I'm damn good at that, thanks to natural talent and a lifetime of curiosity. Eventually, the classroom filled, chatter rising until the teacher walked in, followed by a girl.
"Before we begin class, I'd like to introduce our new student," the teacher said. A pretty blonde of average height stepped inside, composed but friendly. "Please introduce yourself."
"I'm Gwen Stacy. I hope we can be friends," she said with a sweet smile. And that's when things became really interesting.
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