The end becomes then Beginning
Peter Parker was once just a regular kid—struggling with asthma and losing himself in the wonders of science. But then everything went to hell. His world, his life—shattered in an instant. He became stronger, faster, and more capable than any kid from Queens had the right to be. With great power came great responsibility, a constant refrain in his mind as he fought to protect the city. Great power. Soon, he found himself alongside legends—Iron Man, Captain America, Hulk, Thor, and Black Widow—fighting the battles that changed the world. He was good. But then, everything went to hell again.
First, his mentor was torn away, sacrificing himself to save the world. Peter remained, trying to pick up the pieces, but even he couldn’t save what was already lost. And then his aunt, the woman who had been his anchor in the storm, was gone too.
Now, standing before Doctor Strange, Peter is faced with a question that could change everything: How do you fix what you’ve broken? He never wanted this. He only wanted to save everyone. But now he’s left with the weight of a destroyed world on his shoulders, and the clock is ticking. What can be done?
“There’s gotta be something we can do! Can’t you just cast the spell again? But the original way, before I screwed it up?” Peter called the Strange.
“We’re too late for that. They’re here! They’re here because of you.” Strange said, looking to the large amounts of villains coming through in this universe.
“What if everyone forgot who I was?” Peter stood next to him, looking at them all, seeing the destruction beginning.
“What?!”
“They’re coming here because of me, right? Because I’m Peter Parker? So cast a new spell, but this time make everyone forget who Peter Parker is.” He pauses, looking at Strange once more. “Make everyone forget... me.”
“ No.”
“But it would work, right?” Peter asked.
“Yeah, it would work. But you gotta understand that would mean that everyone who knows and loves you, we…” His voice cracks, the idea of casting the spell hurting him. “We’d have no memory of you. It would be as though you never existed.”
“...I know.” He stops, wondering if he’s doing what's right and using his power correctly. “Do it.”
“You better go and say your goodbyes. You don’t have long.” Strange says sadly, his arms beginning to turn, the light flickering around them.
“Thank you, sir,” Peter responds, his arm swinging away.
“Call me Stephen.” Strange answer, his spell continuing to turn.
“Thank you, Stephen.”
“Yeah... it still feels weird.” Stephen whispered under his breath, making Parker laugh slightly.
“I’ll see you around.” The kid called back to him as if going on a walk, and he began to swing away.
“So long, kid.” was all he could say before the spell continued.
Parker said his final goodbyes to those he loved: his girlfriend MJ, his best friend Ned, and the other Spider-Mans across the multiverse. Each goodbye was a quiet, heavy moment, full of words that didn’t quite capture the depth of his feelings.
To MJ, he whispered the words he never wanted to say: "I’m sorry. I wish I could stay with you, but I can’t. Just... promise me you’ll be happy, no matter what. You deserve everything, MJ."
To Ned, his voice broke with the weight of it all. "You’ve been more than a best friend, Ned. You’ve been my brother. I’ll never forget everything we’ve been through, and no matter what happens, you’ll always be a part of me. And even though you’ll forget me, you’ll always be my best friend."
And to the other Spider-Mans, his fellow versions of himself from different worlds, he simply nodded. They all understood. They were all him, and yet, not him. The pain of leaving them, too, was something he couldn’t quite process.
As he walked away, Peter knew he would try his hardest to forget these moments—the pain, the goodbyes—but a part of him knew that no matter how hard he tried, he never would. As he walked away, he could feel the spell taking hold; it felt different from what he expected; it was as if something was pulling him away, pulling at his mind. Then the pull became stronger, his mind becoming cloudly, his head reeling with pain. He fell to his knees, his hand on the ground, the pain unimaginable; it felt as if his body was being thrown through space while still feeling his hands on the ground. What is happening…
The pain dulled, but his mind remained cloudy. He opened his eyes; he was no longer where he was. The sky was no longer visible. Instead, he was in an alleyway, three men in front of him. One had a baseball bat, and the others had knives.
“Jim! It's just a kid! Let's get out of here before we're spotted,” The tallest of the group calls out—the one in the middle grunts.
“Nah… let's see what he has on him, so what if he’s a kid!” The smallest answers. Peter stands up, looking down at his hands, which look different, smaller, bloody…
“Looks like he’s got fight in him!” The short one says, cackling. “Come now, little boy, show us your pockets and open your bag.”
Parker looked into his eyes, anger filling him. The short man stepped closer, grabbing his shirt collar. “Come on now…” The man's hand moves to Peters's pocket, pulling out nothing. “Nothing? Abe open his backpack.”
Peter looks to his side, a black bag on the ground. The grumbly man grunts again before heading for it. Opening it, he finds nothing but a small toy, a granola bar, and a shirt with a number printed on it, S-444. He grunts again, grabbing the toy and shaking it back and forth.
“Aww… got a little friend? Aren’t you cute…” He drops Peter to the ground, his knees hitting with a thud. He stands back up, the man walking away with his bag. He jumps on the one with his bag, throwing him over his shoulder and into the dumpster, grabbing his toy and bag and placing them on his back. “Oh… We got a Meta on our hands…” He smiled brightly. “Get HIM!” The tall man grabs him; Peter kicks him in his gut and climbs the side of the building, getting to the roof and running as fast as he can.
He doesn't stop until he finds an abandoned warehouse; he climbs into the rafters and curls up, checking himself over. He is smaller, a lot smaller, but his power remains; his mouth hurts, his arms too, and his knees and hands are bloody. He is wearing a gray shirt and black pants; he lifts the shirt, a large burn on his chest reads S-444.
His mind filled with pain again, this time as if something was pushing, pushing into his brain. He rests his head back on the metal, the cold not doing anything to help. Then it hit him: memories… they weren’t his, but they felt real—the memories of his body, the memories of a boy who died in that alley. He had a hard life; he was a meta, his mother sold him as a baby, and he was experimented on with all the other children… So many other children. They all died; he had held onto the ceiling as the men shot and killed the children; he had hidden as he watched the children he grew up with die. What could he have done? He wasn’t strong enough to take on ten men with guns, not when he was only 6. He was 6? No wonder he was small. He got away when they all left, leaving the bodies behind for someone else to find.
My body is tried… So tired of running… I’m going to sleep…
I woke to a loud noise in the warehouse, my spider senses on full alert; it was dark outside, and men hurriedly moved boxes into the building. So much for abandoned.
I looked over the edge, watching them work, not moving for fear of getting caught. They were clearly doing something illegal… he should stop them… but with the pain in his arms and no wed fluids, what could he do? He could take out the first two, but they all have guns. They would manage to stop him, and he’d be dead; he can’t let this child die again. The window to his right busts open as a man comes flying in, all in blue and black. Who is he? A smaller boy follows the same height but a lot skinnier, wearing black and red. They started beating the crap out of all the guards, and soon all the men were on the floor unconscious. They’re pretty good. The older one starts talking, “Oracle, we took care of the shipment. Has B and Robin gotten to where the kids were being kept?” Silence, then with my super hearing, I hear, “Yeah… they were too late, the police are counting the bodies now…” Silence. The tall man throws something and yells, anger seeping into his tone. The one in Red one steps closer, whispering, “Dick…”
The man, Dick? He turns to him, his head hanging low. “Fuck… how did we miss this? This project…”
The red one answers, “Hey, we are stopping it. No more kids will get hurt.” His face holds the same pain, but he looks for the bright side.
“There were a hundred and fifty kids in that facility…” He looks to red, then speaks to Oracle again. “Oracle… how many bodies were there?”
Silence.
“149 so far…” The voice answers.
“So one’s still missing?” the man answers hopefully. There is a pause. “Can we check the files we found? Check the numbers of the kids and find out who's missing? " There is more of a pause.
“It will take some time… most of the… bodies were damaged.” Pause. “Stay there; grab the serums from the boxes; police are en route.” The men stood still momentarily, the blue one moving first, collecting a few serums from each box. I lean over the edge, watching; they work hard to grab a tube or two from each. Each box holds a different colour.
Blue, Green, Pink, Blue, and Red… Red… that's what they injected into me. I heard the noise from the police, the red boy leaving with their collection, the blue one staying.
It was almost a day now. The sun was rising, and the police had turned the situation into a crime scene, tape and all. The blue man left after giving his statement. My stomach was growling. I should get out of here… I crawl along the ceiling, creeping out the broken window, jumping to the building nearby, and running along the roofs.