Peter lay there in the dark basket. Waiting. His baby heart still beating too fast. He could hear city sounds around him. Cars in the distance. A dog barking somewhere. The hum of air conditioners.
Then he heard new footsteps. Slower ones. Coming toward the door from inside whatever building this was.
The door opened with a creak. "Who knocked?" a man's voice said. The voice sounded confused. Tired like he'd been woken up.
Peter heard footsteps on the concrete again. Then a pause. "What the..." the voice said quietly.
The blanket was pulled away. Light hit Peter's face. He blinked and tried to focus. Above him was a man's face. The man looked to be in his mid-forties. He had kind brown eyes and gray hair at his temples. His face was weathered but gentle. This was a man who worked with his hands but still believed in being good to people.
The man looked down at Peter with complete shock. His mouth hung open a little. "Oh my God," he whispered.
Peter looked up at him. Even as a baby, Peter could tell this man was good. Safe. There was something warm in his eyes. Something that reminded Peter of hot chocolate on cold days and bedtime stories and someone who would always come find you if you got lost.
The man reached down and picked up a piece of paper that had been sitting on top of the basket. Peter watched him read it. The man's face changed as he read. Shock turned to worry. Worry turned to sadness. Then sadness turned to something else. Something stronger. Like when people decide they're going to do the right thing no matter how hard it gets.
"This is from my brother," the man said quietly. His voice cracked a little. "Damn it, Richard. What happened over there?"
The man looked down at Peter again. This time his eyes were wet. But he smiled. A real smile that made his whole face warmer.
"Peter," he said softly. "Peter is his name." He reached down and gently lifted Peter out of the basket. His hands were careful. Protective. "I'm your Uncle Ben Parker. You probably don't understand me yet, but I promise you something right now. I'll take good care of you. Better than good care. I'll love you like you're my own son."
Peter felt something strange then. Safe. For the first time since the darkness and the falling and the fear, he felt safe. This man - Uncle Ben - he was going to be okay. Whatever had happened to him, wherever he was now, Uncle Ben would help him figure it out.
'Uncle Ben,' Peter thought. 'Wait. Uncle Ben Parker? Spider-Man's Uncle Ben?'
'Don't tell me... no it can't be right.'
He hesitated but then considering all the encounters that led to this moment his speculation felt almost certain.
The realization hit him like cold water. He wasn't just reincarnated as some random baby. He was Peter Parker. The Peter Parker. The one who would grow up to become Spider-Man.
'Holy shit,' Peter thought. Then he felt bad about swearing in a baby's mind. 'This is actually happening. I'm in the Marvel universe. I'm going to become Spider-Man.'
But that also meant... Uncle Ben was going to die. This good man who was holding him so gently right now. Who was already promising to love him. Uncle Ben was going to be killed by a criminal that Peter would fail to stop.
'Not if I can help it,' Peter decided. 'I know what's coming. I can change things. I can save him.'
His heart was like this, not necessarily a hero complex but...
'That's how I am I guess,' he thought.
"Ben?" A woman's voice called from inside the house. "What's the matter? Who was at the door?"
Uncle Ben looked toward the voice. His face got that warm smile again. "I'm coming, May," he called back. "We have a visitor. A permanent one."
He looked down at Peter one more time. "Come on, little guy," he whispered. "Let's go meet your Aunt May. She's going to love you just as much as I already do."
As Uncle Ben carried him toward the door, Peter saw a small flash of light in the corner of his vision. Like a computer screen turning on. Then words appeared. Floating in the air where only he could see them.
[SYSTEM LOADING...]
[ACTIVATION TIME LEFT: 3 Years, 364 Days, 23 Hours, 59 Minutes]
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