(Spiderman) The Amazing Story of Altered Fates: Chapter 1 – Open your eyes in a new world (Patreon)

Chapter 1 – Open your eyes in a new world

The last thing Peter remembered was having Peter 2 leaning on him while both smiled at Peter 1. Then, he was glowing gold like all the magic around him, and that was all.

It’s nice to know that he wasn’t alone out there. It’s bittersweet knowing he is not the only one who struggles with his life as Spiderman. Both Peters put his problems in different perspectives.

Peter started to feel a headache manifest. But this headache was unlike any other he had felt before. It was like two sides were fighting inside his head, each trying to push to the front of his mind. But Peter ignored the pain, trying to return to his previous train of thought.

Peter 2 showed him that even if Gwen survived, the love life of a hero is never easy, and there is no guarantee that they would have worked out.

An image of himself and Gwen at the altar flashed in front of him. They were surrounded by her family, and Gwen looked so happy and radiant. It wasn’t unusual for Peter’s dream to go in this direction, but this image felt like more than a dream. It felt like he was there. But it couldn’t be—Gwen was dead long before they could marry. The headache returned with a vengeance, but Peter forced it away.

Peter had wondered for many years if their relationship could have survived in London. New York was his home, and he doubted anything could ever change that.

The headache was persistent and growing. This time a different image flashed through his mind. He was on his knee, holding a ring to a smirking Gwen. He himself looked sheepish, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing. In the background, the Big Ben tower dominated the horizon. Peter felt slightly embarrassed and immensely happy looking at this mental picture.

And Peter 1… Oh, Peter 1, the poor boy. He is still so young, and he has already lost so much. Now he is all alone. He remembered Peter 1 explaining how this new spell that sends them home would erase him from everyone’s mind.

This image from his memory caused the headache to double. It was as if, until now, the fight was one-sided, but suddenly the opposite side attacked in return.

Both Peters have now lost their girlfriends for good, but Peter wonders who had it worse. On one side, at least Peter 1 gets to see his girlfriend around, but on the other hand, he has to watch her move on, having her own life without ever recognizing the man who loved her enough to sacrifice everything for her.

Another burst of headache and another image—this one concerned Peter a little. It was him and Gwen on what was obviously a date, but he couldn’t recognize the background. Shouldn’t he only be able to dream about places he had been? What the hell does it mean, and what was going on with that annoying headache?

They also share the loss of a best friend. But this time, Peter will claim the shorter end of the stick with no hesitation. At least Ned just forgot his best friend from childhood. Harry lost his mind and killed Gwen. Peter 1 still loves Ned and probably always will. But he hated Harry with every fiber of his being. Some days, even on his better ones, Peter wished he had killed him that night at the tower. But Uncle Ben and Aunt May taught him better than that.

As he expected, a now familiar headache flared, but the image that he saw almost caused him to bolt upright. It was Harry, exactly the way he remembered him before he dropped Gwen down the watch tower. He even saw the watch tower beneath him. But what shocked him was that instead of Gwen, Harry was holding Aunt May! This crossed both memories and dreams straight into a horrific nightmare.

Peter tried to shake himself awake—he had to see Aunt May—but his body wouldn’t react, and the harder he fought to push this terrible image away, the stronger the headache became.

Aunt May. The name brought both calmness and great sadness to him. Because no matter what he had to go through—Uncle Ben, Captain Stacy, staying away from Gwen, finding the truth about his parents and Gwen—he could always lean on Aunt May. And Peter 2 said the same thing. Poor Peter 1 had to watch his Aunt May die, had to fight through his grief for her. And now he will have to face everything that will come alone, without even an Aunt May at his side.

Peter could hear himself groan in pain as the headaches doubled, and images began to flow in his mind again. Him crying while holding a crying Gwen as well. But as soon as this image materialized, it was replaced with a familiar one of him standing in front of her grave, tears leaking down his face. Then an image of him beating a criminal bloody—a too reoccurring thing in the last few years—appeared, only to be replaced a few moments later by an image of him slinging over an unfamiliar horizon.

Peter just couldn’t understand any of it. The headaches only grew worse every moment. The images seemed as if they were trying to compete with each other, but thankfully the images he could recognize from his memories so far remained the dominant ones.

Peter decided to concentrate on what he was thinking when all of this started. He wished he could bring Peter 1 with him to this world. They could both use the support of each other.

Peter remembered saving Peter 1’s MJ. For a moment, all he could see as she was falling was Gwen’s face. He could hear himself yelling inside his head, ‘I will catch her, I will catch her.’ A moment before he caught her, the world seemed to stop. He could smell the rusty metal of the gear wheels from the watch tower, could hear the ‘thud’ of heavy bodies hitting the concrete beneath.

The moment he had her in his arms and he flipped to land on the ground, the world seemed to take a breath, as well as him. He could hear nothing but himself calling Gwen’s name, but this time it felt like she was there, looking and smiling at him.

The headache flared again, and the image from the tower was replaced by Peter standing on a hotel’s balcony in his Spiderman suit, holding Gwen Stacy, who was wearing a white dress, in a bridal style. Both were smiling happily at each other.

Peter felt himself flinch from the pain, but a knock on the door finally managed to bring him to wake himself up.

When Peter opened his eyes slowly, the light caused him to wince harshly, only worsening his headache. Peter pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and almost immediately pulled it back.

He was burning, and he was sweating. He hadn’t felt this bad since right after the spider bite.

He opened his eyes again when he heard the door opening and closing somewhere on the floor below him.

He looked around the familiar room. Well, it was familiar, but at the same time, it was very different. He looked out the window only to recognize the view.

The sun was high in the sky and washed over all the other houses in the neighborhood you could see from the second-floor window of the parent unit. This was Aunt May’s room!

He raised his head from the pillow and looked around. Yes, it was definitely May’s room in their house. He had spent many days and nights here. When he was a kid and had a bad day or night after Uncle Ben died, and they both needed each other’s support. After Gwen died, Peter wasn’t sure what he was doing with himself anymore.

But the room was arranged differently now, and it had different furniture.

When did May have the time to remodel? Did this Strange guy send him forward in time too? And why was he in May’s room and not his own?

There was a picture frame he had never noticed before on the bedside, but when he tried to focus his eyes on the picture inside, his headache became blindingly painful. After a moment, he gave up and looked away. He was glad when the headache diminished to bearable as well.

“Peter? Are you awake?” He heard a familiar yet different voice calling to him as the sound of footsteps grew louder each moment.

Peter groaned as he forced his body to move into a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

The moment he sat down, the headache eased a little, but he still let his head drop into his palms. While doing so, he noticed the web shooters attached to his wrists. That is probably the least strange thing he noticed in the past few minutes. Since he invented them, Peter always made sure they were on him in case of emergency.

The door to the bedroom opened, and Peter spoke first, not wanting to worry who he assumed was Aunt May—after all, who else would enter the house like they owned it. “I’m sorry, May. Didn’t mean to fall asleep here, just don’t feel so good.”

“Peter…” responded a very concerned voice. But it wasn’t May’s.

No, it was definitely a male voice, still one he was sure he had heard before. Peter began looking up slowly as the voice spoke again, still very concerned, “Gwen told me you were feeling off when she couldn’t wake you for the appointment, but I think it may be worse than she thought. I think I should take you to Curtis, son.”

Peter could feel all the color leave his face. His head began to spin, and he could feel his jaw moving without any sound coming out. Not that Peter was sure what he would say even if he could.

In front of him, with a distressed look, stood Captain George Stacy, healthy and, more importantly, alive! The man looked older than what Peter remembered. His blond hair had already started turning grey, the bags under his eyes were more permanent, as well as other feature lines. His voice had changed slightly as well, growing deeper.

The man moved freely. It didn’t look like he had ever suffered a fatal wound, far less died from one. Peter’s world was spinning; he wasn’t sure what was happening.

The older man looked even paler than a moment before, and he took a step toward Peter, calling gently, “Peter…”

With years of battle instincts to rely on, he jumped from the bed into a fighting stance, ignoring his current health conditions. The older man froze in his step, eyes wide. Peter narrowed his eyes at him and demanded, “Who the hell are you?”

The man looked confused for a moment before he went right back to being worried and tried to reach his hand toward Peter.

Peter reacted in the only way he knew how—he raised the same hand and shot a web at the man in front of him.

The pretender was yanked a few steps backward until his hand was attached to the window behind him. The web prevented him from moving away again.

The old man looked shocked from his webbed hand to Peter.

Peter glared at the man and growled, “The next time you go for a weapon, it will be a punch. Now tell me who you are.”

The pretender looked shocked and confused. He raised his arm to show he had no weapon and spoke calmly in a way that a cop would talk a perp down, Peter realized in the back of his head. “I’m Commissioner George Stacy. Your fat…”

But Peter’s anger got the better of him, and he screamed, “You are lying! George Stacy was a Captain, and he is dead! So stop lying and tell me the truth before I lose control.”

The older man was completely pale now, and his face looked equally terrified and worried. But both those emotions weren’t for himself. No, they were directed at Peter. “Why do you think I’m dead, Peter?”

Peter could feel his body beginning to shake. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the memory or the headache that was still pounding his brain.

He narrowed his eyes at the webbed man and snapped, “I held Captain Stacy in my arms as he bled out because of the Lizard. I lived by his last words for years now, so you can’t come here and pretend to be him, expecting I will buy it.”

The man’s eyes widened, and it seemed like he reached some very important realization. He kept his not-trapped arm up and said gently, “I think I know what’s wrong, Peter. I can prove to you I am who I say, but I will need to make a phone call. Can I pull my phone out?”

Peter scanned the man’s face and saw no signs of deception. He gave the man a short nod and immediately winced in pain.

Peter watched carefully as the man’s hand went down toward his pocket. If he tried something, Peter was sure he could react faster and end it before it even began.

The man touched the screen a few times before pressing the phone to his ear. Tony noticed the ‘PI’ logo on the back of the phone and felt confused. He had never heard of this manufacturer, and he was a tech nerd. Maybe a clone or something.

After a short moment, the man spoke calmly into his phone, “Honey, I think we have a big problem with your husband.” He listened to the voice on the other line for a few moments before replying, “I’m not sure, honey. It will be better if you just handle it yourself, I think.” Another pause, and the man spoke again, this time his tone was amused, “You don’t have to worry about that. I’m pretty trapped here, and I have a feeling it will stay that way until you come home. See you soon.”

With that, the man hung up the phone and left it on the table next to him. He gave Peter a small smile and said, “My proof should come around here in about 15 minutes. I don’t suppose you are willing to let my arm go?” He used his free hand to point at the webbing.

Peter didn’t move or react to the man. Not sure if he even should wait for that proof to arrive. It could be just backup against Peter. But the man cut that line of thought off as he asked, “Didn’t think so. Say, I was wondering what the last words were I… he told you?”

Peter looked at the man deep in his blue eyes with his brown. After a moment, he answered, “He told me to stay away from his daughter. Said I will make many enemies, and the only way to keep her safe is to stay out of her life.”

The pretender looked troubled by that and asked quietly, “Did you listen to him?”

Peter could feel his body starting to shake all over again, the memories coming up but soon pushed out by weird mental pictures he couldn’t understand. It took him a long time to respond, “I did at first. But then she convinced me to ignore his advice because we loved each other. But he was right, and one of my enemies—my former best friend—killed her. I tried to save her, to catch her… But… But I wasn’t fast enough. Since that day, I lived by those words, not letting anyone get close to me.”

The man suddenly looked paler than before and began giving the entrance door a fearful look.

While they waited the remaining ten minutes, Peter began analyzing the phone call he just heard, but his mind kept going back to a single word: ‘Husband.’

Was this man talking about him? But he wasn’t married. And if he was talking about him, who was he talking to?

The longer he thought about it, the worse his headache became. Images of Gwen walking down an aisle, holding the arm of the man in front of him but younger. Actually, Peter just now noticed that Gwen looked older in those images than she did the last time he saw her, which should be impossible.

Peter raised his hand to rub his forehead. He was getting more confused with each passing moment. And he began to fight the images even harder, flinching from the pain that followed.

“How are those headaches, Peter?” asked the man, concern obvious in his voice.

Peter was startled by his voice, still couldn’t believe how familiar yet different it sounded. It had been a decade since the captain died, and after the last few years… things, especially good things, started to blur in Peter’s head.

He could barely remember Gwen’s smile anymore. Every time he thought about her, all he could see was her terrified face as she was falling or her limp expression with blood falling from her nose.

Another image tried to force itself to the front of his mind, but Peter managed to fight it off before the image became too clear. Not without the painful price Peter was coming to expect. Which reminded him. He glared at the man and demanded angrily, “How did you know about them? What do you know about them?”

The man took a long look at Peter before giving an apologetic smile, “Sorry, son. That’s less my department and more of your wife’s and friends’.”

Here it was again. Wife. What bloody wife?! Peter was starting to give up on the idea he would be able to understand what was going on around him.

They both heard the entrance door on the floor below opening and closing again before footsteps could be heard getting closer to where they were.

The trapped man gave a relieved sigh and said quietly, “And here she finally is.”

Peter was getting ready for a fight.

But then a woman stepped through the door and looked around the room.

Peter felt his knees buckle, his breaths were coming up short, and his headaches were forgotten now that his entire body was violently shaking.

In front of him stood Gwen Stacy, alive and well.