The Spider With Prep-Time

Chapter 2

Gasp!

I shot awake, my chest heaving as I gasped for air, the feeling of cold sweat trailing down my face. The room around me was bathed in the early morning light, casting shadows over the walls. My hands gripped the bed sheets tightly as fragments of memory flickered before my eyes—Darkseid, the battle, my death. The weight of it all pressed down on me, and I knew, deep down, that I had died. I had felt it.

But I wasn't in the afterlife. This wasn't the void where I had faced the Specter. This wasn't the place where I had accepted my fate. My surroundings were wrong—too ordinary. I felt... different. My body felt lighter, leaner, not the familiar weight I had once carried as Bruce Wayne.

I glanced around the room—books, clothes scattered haphazardly. A teenager's room, cluttered and far removed from Gotham's darkness. This was not my world.

I sat up slowly, the ache in my muscles pulling at me in ways I hadn't expected. I had fought gods, monsters—Darkseid himself—and yet this body felt foreign. Before I could analyze it any further, an excruciating pain shot through my skull, forcing me to grab my head.

"Gah—!" The headache knocked me back, blinding me momentarily as my vision darkened. I could feel the strain in my mind, as if something was trying to merge. I collapsed back onto the bed, the world slipping away into blackness.

When I opened my eyes again, the pain had lessened, but something else had shifted. My mind felt clearer, but it wasn't just my own thoughts swirling within. Memories—new, foreign memories—seeped into my consciousness. They weren't mine.

I pushed myself up again, slower this time, as I sifted through the flood of images. The life they belonged to was familiar, yet alien. A teenager. Peter Parker.

The name resonated, and the memories that followed confirmed what I already feared. Peter Parker's life flashed through my mind—his childhood, his struggles, his time at school, and the warmth of his family. The boy had been awkward, bullied, but full of potential. A world where hope had been robbed too soon.

And then it hit me.

Peter Parker was gone.

Just as I had died, so had he. The memories I inherited were all that was left of him. There was no split consciousness, no shared existence. I was the only one left.

I sat in silence for a long moment, my mind racing to grasp the implications. I had taken his place, not just physically but in every sense. His memories, his emotions—they lingered, but he was gone. It was as if fate had brought me here to take over his path.

Slowly, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my movements unsteady as I stood. I needed to understand this new reality. I wasn't Bruce Wayne anymore. I wasn't the man who fought from the shadows of Gotham. Now, I was living as Peter Parker.

I stumbled toward the small bathroom, flicking on the light. The mirror reflected the truth I hadn't fully accepted. Peter's face stared back at me—young, unfamiliar, yet now intertwined with my soul. His hair, his eyes, his features. This wasn't my body, but it was mine now.

I ran a hand across my face, tracing the edges of his jawline, the unfamiliar contours. In his memories, Peter had been thin, frail. But as I looked closer, I saw the subtle changes—the muscle definition, the strength beneath the surface. Something had altered his body.

But I wasn't sure what yet. Not completely. The answers weren't clear.

For now, all I knew was that I had to accept this. I was Peter Parker now. His life, his responsibilities—they were mine to bear. The Specter had offered me this choice, and now I had to make sense of the consequences.