Chapter Text
Okay, let’s do this one more time.
My name is—
…was Peter Parker.
Key word: WAS.
God, this is complicated. Let's see… Lost my parents at three, got bit by a spider at fourteen, gained superpowers, lost my uncle, became Spider-Man, met Tony, became an Avenger, fought the Avengers, fought Vulture and missed prom, went to space, fought Thanos—DIED—came back, beat Thanos, watched Tony die… You still keeping up?
Then came Mysterio, public doxxing, and a desperate visit to Dr. Strange. You know how that ended.
God, I'm such an idiot. Why did I think magic would solve my problem? I'm supposed to be a man of science!
I should’ve known better. I should’ve thought of another way. But I didn’t. And because of that mistake, I lost Aunt May… and then I lost everything.
The last thing I remember as Peter Parker? Kissing MJ goodbye before Strange’s spell erased me from the world.
I promised her. I promised Ned. I’ll find you again.
…But maybe that was just wishful thinking.
It was fast. Almost instantaneous.
One moment, I was fading into nothing. The next, I was gasping for air, clutching my chest, a splitting headache cracking through my skull.
But it wasn’t just a headache.
It was memories.
Memories that weren’t mine.
A loving family of four—blond-haired, blue-eyed. A mother, a father, two kids. Sitting at the dinner table. The girl, early twenties. Morgan.
Morgan? Why do I know that name?
The other kid—boy, my age, maybe younger. Looks like them. Handsome, bright eyes.
That’s me.
Wait. No. That’s not me. That’s—
What the hell?!
My stomach twists as more memories surge forward. I know these people. But I don’t.
They’re my family. But they’re not.
My name—
Ben Reilly.
I stumble out of bed, heart pounding, and force myself toward the mirror.
The reflection isn’t mine.
Blond hair. Piercing blue eyes. The same panic I feel mirrored right back at me.
I touch my cheek. It mimics.
Run a hand through my hair. It mimics.
Stick out my tongue—wait, is that a piercing?!
Why? Just… why?
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to ground myself, but the memories keep pressing in. They don’t hurt anymore. They just are.
Ben Reilly. Sixteen. Gotham Academy student. 4.0 GPA. Gym rat. Lives in a city called Gotham—the most crime-infested hellhole in the country. And worst of all… it’s in New Jersey. Ew.
Wait. Gotham? That wasn’t real. Blüdhaven, Metropolis, Central City—none of those were real.
And Wakanda? Gone.
A pit forms in my stomach.
This isn’t my world.
I barely make it back to the bed before my legs give out.
Tears hit my lap before I even realize I’m crying.
Gone.
My world. My friends. My home.
Everyone I ever knew doesn’t exist anymore.
I squeeze the bedsheets in my fists, trying to make sense of it. Was this Strange’s spell failing? Some kind of divine punishment for messing with the multiverse?
No answers come. Just more memories.
Ben Reilly was a Meta.
…Wait. What?
The word surfaces in my mind like an instinct. Metahuman. Superpowered.
I dig through the memories.
Show me something. Anything.
A rooftop. Moonlight. The sensation of air rushing past me. I—no, he—leaps. A solid thirty feet. The thrill. The fear. The exhilaration.
Hands gripping a brick wall. A vertical climb, as easy as walking up stairs.
Strength. Speed. Reflexes. Not exactly the same as mine before, but… close.
Ben had powers.
He kept them hidden, even from his family. He didn’t know what to do with them. Had no mentor, no guidance. Just instincts and a gut feeling that he should keep his secret secret.
Then another memory slams into me, and this one—
This one hurts.
A faint bitter taste.
Lying in bed. A slow, creeping numbness. Heavy eyelids.
The world fades.
And then—
Nothing.
I bolt upright, stomach lurching.
No. No, no, no, no—
Ben died.
He didn’t know. He didn’t know mint was toxic to spiders. He thought it was just another cup of tea.
A peaceful death. Quiet. Painless.
But I’m here now.
And that means—
Oh God.
I’m in his body.
A shudder runs through me. I curl my arms around myself, squeezing tight.
It’s not my fault. I know it’s not my fault. But the guilt still digs its claws in.
This should’ve been his life. His home. His family.
And now? Now I’ve stolen it.
I bury my face in my hands, forcing deep, shaky breaths.
Too much. It’s too much.
But sleep still takes me, pulling me under before I can fight it.