Chapter 1

I sighed as I looked in the mirror. It had been almost a year since I came clean to Uncle Ben and Aunt May. It was rough to say the least. They were very concerned that their nephew was suicidal or something. I don't recall how that conversation went or why I left that impression, but somehow the message didn't quite make it across. That, or they simply did not believe me.

It had not occurred to me that they were just as conflicted as I was. They had faith in Peter's intelligence and hearing such things from their six-year-old nephew’s mouth unnerved them greatly. So of course, I went to see Psychologists. I even told them quite a lot. I always made it a point to say that I believed I was from another universe, one where a lot of people - including myself - were characters of fiction. Initially, they took it in stride. They seemed to appreciate that I was not acting out.

Eventually, though they all grew frustrated with my childish fantasies. I still believe they simply did not like the fact that they were completely inconsequential in my, supposedly, made up world. I must have run into some bad eggs because I knew for a fact that my ‘delusions’ weren’t all that unheard of.

Patients who believe they are separate from the world, or the only real person, or even strangers in their bodies are all well documented psychoses. It should not have been so hard to be my ‘therapist’, but then again, I made it a point to recount only the most ridiculous stories. A matter I will not deny being immature about.

The few who had the patience to stick around, did admittedly help me - talking about my old world was cathartic - regardless of whether they believed me or not.

Meanwhile, I carried on with my life as well as I could. I could see this...conflict was hard on May. She was anaemic and it seemed to be acting up a lot lately. Throwing myself into making her feel better was natural and I did everything I could to keep things intact. I still went to school, still helped May around the house, still watched ball with Uncle Ben. But there was always a conversation hanging over our heads, an elephant in the room.

Receiving their affection now came with a fresh dose of guilt for me and a dollop of worry for them. But despite this… they were the best parents I could ever ask for. Their sole motivation for making me see psychologists was to try and understand what I was failing to communicate to them. They kept believing that I was either speaking in riddles or PTSD had somehow hurt my mind in some way. Either way, they accepted it. All they wanted was to know how they could make things better.

It was bittersweet and frustrating as hell. Facts had not worked; the psychologists did not help either. It would be easy to say that telling them was a mistake, but I know I did the right thing. Eventually I will figure out how to show them the truth and when that happens at least they will know I had stopped deceiving them as soon as I wizened up. Whatever little comfort that may give me.

I sighed again as I looked back at the 'facade' in the mirror. It would have been easier if Peter did not look so much like the old me. Peter Parker had the same brown windswept hair as I had, even our facial features were eerily similar. In fact, a non-biased observer may even say that Peter and my old body looked exactly the same. But somehow Peter's face looked more angled to me. His hazel eyes, more vivid than my own.

I sighed again as I struggled with my tie.

"Do you need some help with that young man," said Aunt May from the doorway. A faint smile graced her face. She was wearing a yellow sun-dress covered by a thick kitchen apron. Despite the crow’s feet beginning to appear by her eyes and her often sickly disposition, Aunt May always surprised me with her vibrancy.

Her thick brown hair was seemingly ageless, and her diminutive form did nothing to stop her from demanding the attention of a room by sheer force of competence. I could not imagine a stronger role model for Peter Parker, arguably the world’s greatest superhero.

"You're a lifesaver aunt May, I'll get this down...someday," I muttered as she pulled the two ends of the necktie and got to work. She was done impossibly quickly.

"Thanks Aunt May, you're the best." I give her a hug and cherish it for a moment before I decide I've had enough guilty pleasure and let go.

"Are you ready, young man?"

"You still haven't told me who this new Doc is May. If it helps, I prefer Matt Smith" I rolled my eyes at her cheekily through the mirror.

Nobody in the Parker household watched Doctor Who, but a good reference was a good reference, regardless if anybody caught it.

As it often does in homes with obstacles like physical or mental impediments (my little sister was not a problem in my old life, thank you very much). We had become a little bit blasé with the topic of my ongoing therapy. The fact that I needed a psychologist was definitely something we all hated and worried about, but humour is how the Parker household has learnt to deal with problems all our lives. This was no exception.

I heard a deep chuckle behind Aunt May. "Let's go squirt. We have an appointment to keep." I loved how Uncle Ben would show his appreciation for a joke, even if he didn’t quite have the same interests.

May stroked the back of my head and half-answered my question mysteriously, "Don't worry I'm sure you know of them."

We took Uncle Ben's truck straight downtown. It worried me because paying the bills for a psychologist in the middle of New York City would be incredibly hard for Ben and May. But I had learnt early on, not to get in their way when it comes to these decisions. They were single minded in their determination to help me and no amount of griping about money would stop them.

As we sat in the immaculate waiting room, Ben turned to me and asked, "So how's school champ?" He was sitting with a newspaper open and a cup of coffee, courtesy of the receptionist who greeted us moments before.

"Uncle Ben," I whined. "You know what I think about school. The teachers like me." I added noncommittally.

Uncle Ben folded the paper away and gave me a stern look, peering over his horn-rimmed glasses. He had the sort of face you would call ‘kind’; his short, white, and scruffy beard only enhanced that grandfatherly look.

“Peter,” he admonished. “If you don’t interact with the other kids then you’ll never even get the chance to find something in common.”

“Yes, yes, making connections is important,” I said more dismissively than I intended.

“It’s not just that Peter,” corrected Uncle Ben. “This is an important life skill. Forget about everything else. I want you to learn how to act in context. Years from now you will be working with groups of people no matter where you are. I simply have to make sure you can participate and communicate no matter where you are.”

He shifted in his seat. “I worry about you Peter. You seem to think the problems with your…current mindset will simply go away with time. But how can I be sure of that? As a parent, I worry.”

“Yes, Uncle Ben,” I sighed a blanket agreement as reassurance.

An early ‘trick’ the Parker household learnt from the more successful therapy sessions was to not challenge my claim. Dealing with delusions was a delicate process and oftentimes the strategy was to be open-minded. To discuss your view, that is, the rational view of the delusion and work together.

It worked wonders and I could clearly see where he was coming from. But school was boring the first time around and I didn’t really think that would change any time soon.

I could see why Peter Parker built his habit of note keeping. It started with simply doodling in class to pass the boredom. It wasn't long however, before I was noting down my own thoughts as often as Peter had.

It was in this time where I theorised about the things Peter had created to help him be Spider-Man. There was the web shooter, of course. And I'm sure he added a whole bunch of other interesting gadgets and features, but as a ten-year-old, I hardly had access to cutting edge R&D technology.

But what I could do, was basic chemistry. It would surprise you to know the number of chemical processes you can successfully accomplish with a basic chemistry set and some creativity.

De-fragmentation, distillation, a whole number of extraction techniques all for the cost of a simple excuse to Uncle Ben saying I wanted to be a scientist when I grew up. It didn’t make me too guilty, because technically I did.

It had taken some time, but I finally had a working prototype for the infamous web fluid. The key was in nylons and protein polymerisation chaining. It took a lot of experimentation on household products and chemicals, but I was able to isolate a number of compounds and come up with a passable process.

All I was missing was something to give it a boost to its tensile strength. It was still barely capable of lifting a few pounds.

I discovered that my formula allowed the web to absorb water molecules to strengthen itself, but even that wasn’t nearly enough. I had no idea whether this was how it was supposed to be or if I had unknowingly made an improvement to the formula. The discovery made me realise that I should test things extensively, even if I think they should work a certain way based on my past life's memories.

It felt strange to me that this web-fluid didn't exist in my old world – for more practical applications, of course. I mean it wasn't that hard to come up with the shear-thinning liquid.

But what if the laws of physics or the properties of materials were somehow different in this universe? I was nowhere near knowledgeable enough in my old world to compare the two to find the truth. But it was a humbling thought. I mean, the very fabric of existence had probably changed, and I could barely tell the difference.

Sure, I had been studying quite hard to make myself worthy of Peter’s brains. But Peter Parker, Reed Richards and Tony Stark put together couldn’t possibly learn enough about both worlds to know the minute differences between the two that made all this possible.

Despite my success with the web fluid, the web shooter's themselves on the other hand were another problem altogether. I was too young for certain power and electronic tools and I refrained from asking for them to avoid Ben's admonishments. So, putting together the shooters was just a series of janky hacks. The end result was not pretty to say the least.

I had taken the motor out of an ‘RC’ car, but it proved to be too weak and too big to really be functional. While the motor I had did not have the power to propel my web pellets very far, I made significant progress in the pellets themselves and added multiple modes to the shooters. The maximum distance for what I call a web bomb - the heaviest pellet in my arsenal - was a mere half meter. Thus, for now the slinger itself remained a novelty at best, a glorified pee shooter.

Thankfully, the doctor's receptionist interrupted the familiar silence induced by questions about my school life and we were on our way to meet the esteemed doctor.

"Welcome Messrs. Parker," said a cool voice in a distinctly British accent.

I looked at the source and blushed.

It was Dr. Frost. Fuck.

I had quite literally run into her a week ago. Or rather, she had run into me, I suppose. I was photographing a puppy outside the coffee shop Aunt May worked at, waiting for her to be done with her shift. The little Labrador runt had been leashed to the hydrant by the entrance just moments before. I had assured the jogger that I'd watch his dog while he grabbed his coffee.

I'd always wanted a dog, but it was impossible at the orphanage in my old life, and I couldn't add that responsibility to the shoulders of Ben and May. But dogs were the best.

Anyhoo.

She must have been on her phone as she exited the café because I was soon trampled and drenched in – thankfully – cold coffee. She apologised an appropriate amount and I found myself forgiving her quite easily despite her unsettlingly chilling blue eyes.

As she assured me that she would pay to launder my jacket she must have noticed the camera I was fiddling around with. It was an ancient thing. Kept together by sheer force of will. Uncle Ben gave me this thing a year after the accident and I have refused to allow it to die ever since. Why you may ask? Well, it was Richard Parker's old camera. I owed it to Peter to maintain it.

Being a near twenty-year-old in a pre-pubescent body was hard enough as it was. But with the onset of puberty and hormones, it was bound to get even more challenging. So, while I struggled with handling my worry for the camera and my hots for the blonde angel in front of me, she leaned down to me and handed me a business card.

"That camera looks important. I want you to call or email me if I have damaged it in any way, okay young man?" she says almost gently as I take the card. Still simply blinking dumbly. I thought I saw her hand twitch towards my face before she simply turned around and left.

I had, of course, not charged her for anything. I did however send her an email. I explained that I had fixed the camera myself and had attached pictures and explanations she probably didn't need or have the time to read. It was an email that I immediately regretted sending out of embarrassment.

So now I had to interact with a gorgeous woman who might even think I was faking a mental disorder to be her client. I sighed. Sometimes Aunt May and Uncle Ben just didn't think things through. Then again, jumping in half-cocked to save the day was the Parker way. And it sure as hell worked for Peter Parker.

"My name is Dr. Emma Frost," she started.

Double Fuck.

I won't lie. I had a little bit of a panic attack when I heard that name. This was the first time I had actually interacted with a person whose name I recognised. Granted, I didn’t know all that much about Emma Frost other than her telepathic abilities – which I guess would make her a good psychologist. But I had the impression that she was neither always good nor evil. She, like everyone else, was her own person. While the comics of my past had portrayed her on the wrong side of morality more often than not, it seemed she had yet to stray.

Besides, I had long since lost the ability to think of the people in this world in that way. The stories from my world were…inconsistent to say the least. Most characters are evil as often as they are good, and I refused to put myself in a box when I knew I would have to live with the consequences of my actions. Can you imagine engineering the death of Magneto only to realise Charles Xavier and Max never had a falling out in this world?

So, despite not being certain of her character or even her identity – though the blonde hair, blue eyes and enchanting face were points in favour of it – I decided quite easily to dive into this half-cocked. The Parker way.

Why? I guess the fact she was able to notice the importance of the camera and did what she could to help earned her some trust. Then again, she could have just read my mind.

Yep, I’m screwed.