Am I (Not) a Hero?

Is anyone familiar with the sensation of falling into a dream? If so, have you ever landed?

As usual, I had to wake up just a moment before colliding with the ground.

At that same moment, I wanted nothing more than to actually become a lifeless mess of flesh.

The waking world greeted me with a piercing headache and shades of blood as soon as I slightly opened my eyes.

After what felt like several too-long minutes, it all ended as abruptly as it had begun, but a fading pain remained and stirred up unpleasant memories.

The crackling of the fire and smoking clothes burned my skin, and my lungs filled with carbon monoxide...

I can't move my legs... I can't feel them at all, and the collapsed ceiling must have broken my spine.

I'm desperately clawing at the softened carpet, trying to pull myself out from under the rubble... but my vision is starting to fade...

The smell of burning and a nasty residue builds up in my throat... and my breathing becomes harder and harder...

The last moments of my life...

Did I suffocate or burn alive back then?

However, I felt nothing right now because I could breathe freely, and my legs responded without issue.

The problem was that the room didn't resemble a hospital ward... and this was definitely not my cozy bed.

It's been a long time since I woke up at someone else's place.

"Was it all just a dream?"

I found an old red Nokia phone on the unfamiliar bedside table. I had one just like it, but blue fifteen years ago.

I grabbed my phone, and a soapy screensaver appeared on the tiny screen.

The problem wasn't the compressed pixels but my own eyes, and I saw glasses with thick round lenses conveniently lying on the table.

I couldn't help but notice how sluggishly I perceived reality and how my thoughts clung to useless little details, leading me to question myself.

There were more important issues at hand.

The bed I woke up in was unfamiliar to me, as was the entire room… But that wasn't inexplicable.

What was strange were the hands I clearly saw in the moonlight because I'm sure they weren't mine!

There are no scars on the fingers, no ring hiding one of my most unpleasant marks.

The phone displayed the beginning of yet another typical Wednesday at work.

The month and day were perfectly aligned, but the year… it was far in the past.

Nevertheless, I had to get out of bed, look out the window, and see an identical first-floor window of a typical private house.

However, the scenery was nothing like the familiar houses of my home country… Where am I?

I instinctively pressed my hands against my throbbing temples, but another flash of memories struck me right up until the fire… and my tragic end.

This couldn't have been a dream. In dreams, it's never this painful…

I tried to pinch my face and bit my hand hard.

'Not a dream.'

I concluded, rubbing the sore imprint of teeth on my wrist.

'And I've never had lucid dreams before. A body swap? But why me?"

I thought as I choked on nervous laughter.

Had I ever dreamed of "getting isekai'd"?

Of course.

In dreams, it's easy to be clever, quick-witted, and imaginative... but in real life, we just helplessly die during a workplace accident.

I didn't even have time to figure out where to run or who was to blame before the burning building collapsed on top of us.

I should rush to a mirror and immediately recognize the person whose place I took, but... there's no mirror in the room.

I'm too on edge to start looking for a bathroom right now.

'Oh, right.'

I awkwardly scratched my chin.

'I killed someone who lived in this weak and blind body. Don't blame me, man... Blame whoever gave me a second chance.'

"Shit…"

I muttered in a teenage voice, far from my usual deep bass, but again, I won't mourn the loss of it too much.

I don't have much time to feel sorry for myself, and it's time to act. I can't scare off my new relatives because I might end up in a mental institution.

"Come on, get it together... Despite everything, you're still alive."

I sighed heavily.

I felt like a deeply lost person, and not one of the hundreds of trashy novels or fanfics I'd read about people being transported to another world could serve as a guide for what to do next.

Since the phone was literally in my hand, it was worth checking the contacts.

There were embarrassingly few with Aunt May, Uncle Ben, Harry, and a few unnamed numbers.

These names don't mean anything to me, and my mind was drawing a complete blank... I checked the text messages, but they also didn't reveal much.

There are just short messages from the parents, but it would be more accurate to call them guardians, and equally short replies.

I didn't get much out of this and clicked my tongue in frustration as I got out of bed.

It was still the middle of the night, and everyone was still asleep.

The floorboards didn't creak, and I silently thanked God for that. The search for any information continued.

I immediately noticed a packed backpack when I turned on the desk lamp.

"What a diligent boy."

I snorted.

"Unfortunately, like all normal people, I pack at the last minute."

The bag has a notebook with Peter Parker on it.

I took off my glasses, wiped them carefully with my shirt, and put them back on.

The name didn't disappear, no matter how much I wished it would... I even pulled out the other notebooks.

However, it's the same result.

With a sigh, I shoved them back inside and zipped up the backpack.

I felt the urge to press my face into the pillow and scream, but I couldn't deny myself that.

The only thing worse would've been ending up in a completely unfamiliar, grimdark universe like Warhammer.

Marvel... Freaking Marvel.

I didn't remember much, but I watched maybe five to ten movies, a few comics, and maybe a few Spider-Man games.

I tried to shoot webbing from my hand, but that failed. Then I remembered that most versions of Spider-Man used mechanical web-shooters.

I tried to lift the bed, and I managed to raise it, but not without difficulty on this skinny body. Another test proved that my hands didn't stick to walls either.

"So, the glasses-wearing kid hasn't been bitten yet. When's the field trip to Oscorp? Maybe it's written in the school diary?"

However, nothing like that was marked, and this proves nothing.

This dropped me into a silence of deep thought.

Firstly, I'm far from a genius compared to the original Peter.

Even building web-shooters from instructions would be an impossible task for me, and coming up with the web formula from scratch…

That's way too much for an ordinary person.

What now? Should I just dig myself a hole and lie down in it?

What awaited me?

The Green Goblin, the Lizard, Doctor Octopus, Venom, and Carnage. The rest of the Sinister Six. Ultron, I think. And Thanos... no words for that.

It would be a miracle if I even survived until then.

'Let someone else get bitten by the spider. There are plenty of main characters in these parallel universes; let someone else take the hit. I'm not a hero. I couldn't even save myself, let alone others.'

However, what should I do?

Can I continue living as things are?

Run away?

But where... Without money, with my distinctly average English, I have a degree from my previous life.

Who would want someone smart like me without a diploma here?

McDonald's?

Let's not forget the underage body and all the baggage that comes with it.

'Should I just go with the plot? Or avoid the spider altogether? Let it bite Gwen Stacy... if this is even the reality where she's in school with him. Didn't they meet in college? Damn, my head's a mess.'

I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose.

The toxic thoughts, fueled by panic, continued to poison my mind.

If I remember correctly, New York really needs Spider-Man.

He fills a unique role for the city.

After all, who else would take up the mantle of a super-strong fool who gets beaten up in the name of 'Great Responsibility'?

However, what does that have to do with me?

I'm not Peter.

This is his world, his city. I didn't live here, and his relatives and friends were not mine.

'And I'm definitely not suffering from the kind of psychological trauma that would push me to save people. Becoming a hero while the media slanders you for all your achievements? Definitely not for free...'

I thought as I began to drift off into the world of dreams.

There was the option of "not becoming Spider-Man."

But without him, New York would likely turn into ruins in some places.

He's one of Marvel's first and main heroes, and the story will revolve around him one way or another.

Then again… maybe I'm not assessing the situation quite right.

It's not surprising, considering how scared I am.

Truly scared.

I've already died once.

Did I want to try it again?

No!

It hurts… and it's dark.

There's nothing else in that darkness.

On the other hand, a "second chance" doesn't come to everyone.

Even if I mess up in absolutely everything… I just can't force myself to live a pathetic, cowardly life among the background characters again.

If there's really nothing left to lose… maybe I should seize the power in such a dangerous world, the one that's practically about to fall into my hands?

It certainly won't be boring.

"Or maybe all of this will vanish soon, like a bad dream in the morning."

The pillow was soft, my head was still buzzing, and I couldn't do anything about the situation.

So, all I could do was helplessly surrender to sleep.