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All Ben remembers is pain. A faint, familiar voice pleads to him, begging him to stay. But he can’t. The darkness consumes him.
Coming to is rough. He barely notices he’s being touched. A firm hand grasps his shoulder, shaking him.
“…Benji? Hey, wake up.”
The voice isn’t the same as the desperate pleading he remembers before going under, but it is just as familiar. Grief and longing overtake him at the nickname. Benji. Only one person called him that.
Slowly, he’s able to open his eyes. He stares up at a dark and drab sky. He can’t tell if it’s clouds or smog obscuring the day, but by the stench he’d say the latter.
Suddenly, a face obscures his vision. It’s young. For a moment, Ben thinks it’s Peter. But no, it’s younger. And-
Black, curling hair. Piercing blue eyes. A mischievous grin that just spells trouble.
“Richie?” Ben rasps, not believing his eyes.
“The one and only,” Richard declares, grin getting even wider. He shifts above Ben. The older tilts his head to see Richie kneeling beside him, taking him in. “Looking good, old man. That face cream is doing wonders for your looks.”
Furrowing his brow, Ben looks down at himself. He stills, immediately knowing something’s wrong. He’s dressed in clothes he hasn’t worn in years. He raises a hand, smaller and no longer roughed up from years of work.
Adrenaline shooting through his systems, Ben jerks up. He’s surprised by the lack of aches. His hands slap up to his face. His stubble is gone, replaced with smooth skin. His sharp jaw line has softened. His hair is a mop of shaggy black hair. He hasn’t worn it this long is a while. Not to mention he’d been starting to gray.
“Am I dead?” Ben exclaims, breath leaving his lungs. A fog seems to settle over his mind. He tries to shake it clear, but if anything it makes it worse.
A youthful laugh rings out, snapping Ben’s attention toward his companion. He jerks his mouth closed and can’t help but get choked up at the sight before him.
His little brother, Richie Parker, sits before him. He looks just like he did over two decades ago as a 14 year old. However, his image is marred with skin discoloration and scars. A lot of scars.
Ben is assaulted with visions of the last time he’d seen Richie. He never got to say goodbye. Not really. Richie died terribly, far away from home. All Ben got was a video, streamed live to the whole world. His brother’s last, miserable moments. Ben never knew what even happened to his body.
The patchwork of scars don’t leave a good image. Some of it Ben queasingly remembered Hydra inflicting, but others…
“Not yet!” Richie beams before pausing. “At least,” he looks down at the past damage inflicted to himself, “I don’t think so. If so, heaven sucks. I want a refund.”
Ben can’t help but snort, fighting a smile.
Richie just grins wider. He was always trying to get a rise out of Ben’s more stoic nature. It became a game to him.
Ben didn’t realize how much he anticipated it until Richie was gone.
Suddenly, a piercing scream rang out through the city, making the two brothers freeze.
Immediately, Richie moves. He stands and jumps in front of Ben’s sprawled form. SHIELD training taking hold as he gets into a defensive stance.
Ben manages to follow unsteadily. He looks around the dark alleyway they’re in. From what little of the structures he can see, Ben is unsure what area they’re in. He’s lived in New York his whole life, and this isn’t the beloved city he remembers.
The screams pick up. Voices rambling. Ben gets in front of Richie, big brother instincts setting in.
“Benji,” Richie calls out, uncertain.
Ben looks back at his younger brother, trying to give a reassuring smile. “It’s fine; we’re fine.”
Richie makes an unconvinced noise but follows.
They both reach the mouth of the alley and look out.
The street definitely doesn’t belong to New York. The buildings are surprisingly gothic. Some even have gargoyles and grotesques sitting on crevices or sides of roofs. Most are damaged, with chips or whole limbs missing. The rest of the buildings don’t fare any better.
Besides the amazing view, Ben is more taken aback by the stench. Sewage, trash, and blood fill the air. If he wasn’t used to the rancid smells New York could conjure, Ben might have gagged. However, he’s able to maintain his composure, doesn’t mean it’s pleasant.
What puts Ben on edge is the lack of any sign of life. No person or pigeon in sight. It’s not natural for a city to be this vacant and silent.
Just as Ben thinks that, another scream rings out accompanied by a gunshot. Richie doesn’t react well, flinching hard and taking a step away. Ben immediately steps toward him, pulling his younger brother to his chest.
His breath hitches as he holds Richie’s shivering but warm body. His brother is alive. Alive and with him, after nearly a decade of being tortured and killed by Hydra.
Ben can’t help it as he turns Richie around and properly hugs him. He squeezes as tight as he dares, trying to avoid any of Richie’s trauma responses. His younger brother doesn’t act for a moment. But Ben feels his arms wrap around him eventually.
‘He’s so small.’ Ben thinks, tucking his chin over Richie’s head. Richie’s always been smaller, even once he got his growth spurt. Always short, lean, and so Thor-damned flexible. Peter definitely inherited that from his dad.
Once again, a scream pierces the air. Ben looks around before ushering Richie back into the alley. Whatever is going on in this strange gothic city, it won’t do them well to be out in the open.
“I’m getting the feeling,” Richie murmurs into Ben’s shoulder, “that something weirdly significant is happening.”
Ben scoffs, “Really?” But he swallows uneasily.
The fog over his mind is clearing. Memories were sharpening. His hand absently goes to his stomach. He swears he can feel the scar tissue that’s there.
The last thing he remembers is Peter rushing out of the house after a disastrous argument. Ben followed. He remembers tracking him down and then-
A gunshot. Pain. Darkness. Peter crying.
He’d died.
And now he hugs his dead brother, both de-aged back to teenagers.
Yes, something “significant” definitely happened.