I leave to various future times, but not to all, my garden of forking paths.

(See notes at bottom of this chapter)

Chapter 1: The World Begins Again

The worst week of Peter Parker's life came in December of 2012. Aunt May had told him to ignore what people said about ancient Mayan prophecies and the end of the world, that it was just superstition, that nothing bad would happen no matter what those long ago people had proclaimed.

And then in the week before Christmas, both of Peter's heroes died.

First was Tony Stark. It had happened live on television while May was in the kitchen cooking and Ben was not yet home from work. Peter's habit had been to build Legos before dinner for the last year, and he always did so watching TV and chattering along to the commercials. But his show was interrupted by "breaking news."

"Aunt May! Aunt May, look!" he'd shouted from the living room.

May wiped her hands on a towel and entered the room in time to see a second missile fired from a helicopter into a house perched on cliffs above a blue sea. For a moment, she wondered what movie Peter was watching — then she saw the news headline along the bottom.

"Tony Stark Issues Challenge to the Mandarin."

"Aunt May, that's Mister Stark's house!" Peter cried, Legos forgotten before him.

May ran to him and reached for the remote to turn the TV off, but Peter pulled it away. His brown eyes met hers and, amidst the big tears threatening to fall, May saw a spark of stubbornness and something older and wiser.

"We have to watch him!" he declared. "He always fights better when we're watching him!"

May shook her head as the house on the screen began to crack and fall. "Honey…"

Peter turned back to the image as the destruction rained into the ocean.

"He'll fly out and fight them. You'll see!"

And they watched. They watched the house fall. They watched the helicopter that shot the missiles veer away, chased by other aircraft, while the announcer babbled in the background. They were still watching when Ben came in, having heard of the attack on the radio, and he simply knelt and drew Peter into his arms, even though Peter didn't look away from the TV. They watched until the cameras finally cut away to people in suits in a news studio.

No one saw Iron Man emerge from the wreckage.

Two days later, all the news could talk about was Pepper Potts taking a temporary leave of absence from SI, and the fact that no one had seen nor heard from Tony Stark since the attack, in spite of significant rescue and retrieval operations. Peter got into a shouting match with Flash Thompson at school that earned him a call home from his teacher.

"He said Iron Man was dead, Uncle Ben," Peter sniffled against his shoulder. "But he can't be!"

Two more days passed. The news had nothing to report, except that the official comment from Stark Industries was "no comment" and no one could seem to reach Pepper Potts. A clip of Steve Rogers taken the day after the attack made it into every broadcast when he was asked if he had heard from Iron Man at all.

"I don't have anything to tell you," he said, eyes sad as he looked into the camera. "If I could talk to him, I'd tell him to hang in there, and that he has friends if he needs them. But I don't know any more than the rest of you. I just hope...he's okay."

A week after the attack, James Rhodes appeared at a press conference.

"I am only here to make a statement. I will not be taking any questions," he said. The news would speculate for days about the look on his face as he drew in a breath. "At this time, it is in the interest of public disclosure for me to announce that the designation for Iron Man is being suspended. While I will continue to act as the Iron Patriot, there will be no independent individuals, civilian or military, fulfilling a similar function. We are working with our allies both at home and abroad to ensure that the former security provided by Iron Man continues seamlessly. The public has nothing to fear. Even in a world where there is no more Iron Man, there are many heroes, including thousands of dedicated, honorable soldiers, ready to step up and continue what Iron Man began. Thank you."

Every clip of the speech included a pause where the nearest camera-person zoomed in on Colonel Rhodes' face when he said "in a world where there is no more Iron Man" and spotted tears in his eyes.

The headlines the next day all said the same thing.

"Iron Man is Dead."

Ben and May kept Peter home from school that day. They made him his favorite treats and wrapped him in blankets and held him, assuring him that he was okay, that they loved him, that the world would be safe. But none of it could soothe the tears of an eleven year old boy whose hero had died.

That night, after dinner, Ben tugged Peter into the hallway and handed him his coat.

"We're going out," he said.

"Why?"

"There's a vigil at the church. The neighbors want to come out to honor Iron Man and thank him for everything." Ben had met Peter's eyes and held them. "I know how sad you are, kiddo. I am, too. And sometimes, when this happens, it helps to know you're not alone."

Peter could only nod and put his coat on.

The walk to the nearby church was cold, and the sidewalks were icy thanks to the late December rain that froze after the sun went down. Peter held onto Ben's hand tightly, even though he was way too old for that. But tonight it felt okay. He didn't have the words to explain himself, but he felt an inky pit of fear and grief in his chest that he remembered all too well from years prior after the deaths of his parents.

The church filled up until there wasn't even room for people to fit inside, so Ben and Peter ended up sitting on the stone sign outside. Someone gave them each a little candle to hold. They didn't know what was being said inside the church, but outside, the crowd began singing songs like "Blackbird" and "Bridge Over Troubled Water."

When they started "Candle in the Wind," some lit their candles, and people passed the flames from one to the next. Ben helped Peter keep his steady even as the boy's face rained tears. The words "Goodbye, Tony Stark" made Peter hiccup, but he sang every word he knew with all the heart he could muster.

And I would have liked to have known you
But I was just a kid
Your candle burned out long before
Your legend ever did

Then someone started shouting the lyrics to "Shoot to Thrill" and the gathered masses screamed the words as loudly as humanly possible. Peter didn't know those words as well, but he handed Ben his candle and started clapping the beat. Others around him followed, clapping or stomping, while those who thought they knew the song or could get it to play on their phones led them as best they could. By the time the church's doors opened, the singing and shouting and clapping had turned almost riotous.

Peter understood then why Ben had brought him. It wasn't like the funeral for his parents he only sort of remembered. That had made him feel isolated, strange, adrift. This, though, this reminded him of the good parts of the Stark Expo when Tony Stark descended upon the stage in his suit with a tuxedo underneath. This reminded him of standing in a crowded line with Ben waiting for the store to open so they could buy the newest Iron Man posters.

Peter thought that maybe this was what Mister Stark would have liked, anyway. He was always bright and noisy and smiling, not sad and solemn. So Peter tried to be bright and noisy, too.

Finally, the crowd began to disperse. Peter tucked his burnt out candle into his pocket to keep forever, following Ben down the streets in the dark. Cars came to life all around them from people who had driven in, and the sidewalks and streets were more slippery than before, but Ben and Peter were old hands at winter walking.

"Feeling better?" Ben asked.

Peter nodded. "Still sad. But yeah. It did help."

"I'm glad." Ben wrapped an arm around Peter's narrow shoulders and pulled him in tight.

Suddenly a car came spinning around the corner, tires making a screeching sound on the ice.

Peter felt himself launched sideways and crashed to the ground as a crunching noise echoed nearby, the frozen grasses poking his hands through his gloves and his legs through his jeans. He pushed himself up to see the wheels of the car only inches from his feet. The car had barreled up the curb, only stopped when it hit a stalwart tree in someone's front yard.

Then Peter saw Ben.

His Uncle had pushed him away, and now laid bent over the hood of the car, pinned against the tree.

Peter scrambled to his feet. "Uncle Ben!"

Somewhere behind him, Peter heard someone shouting about "so sorry" and "accident" and "call 911." But none of that mattered. He used the car to balance himself as he tried to get to his uncle's side.

"Peter." The lights in the house were coming on, throwing a yellow glow across the yard. Enough for Peter to see blood leaking out of Ben's mouth.

"Uncle Ben!"

"P-Peter."

Peter got in front of the car and tried to push it away, tried to make it back up so his uncle wouldn't be crushed anymore.

"Uncle Ben! It's stuck!" He pushed harder. "I can't move it!"

"Peter, stop."

"I can't move it!" Peter's breathing was too fast and he was crying again. "It's stuck!"

"Peter." Uncle Ben's voice was soft and calm. "Come here, Peter."

Peter stopped pushing on the car and turned. He couldn't see much of his uncle where the car and the tree met. But he could see his face, and the hand that was reaching out to him.

"Uncle Ben!" Peter grabbed the hand. "Please be okay!"

"Peter." Ben's eyes fluttered and more blood ran down his chin. "It's going to be okay."

"No! No, Uncle Ben!" Peter got as close to Ben as he could between the broad tree and the car. "No, please." He coughed, the cold air burning his lungs. "Not you too."

"I love you, Peter. That will never change. Even long after I'm g-gone. I'll always be proud of you." He gave a hacking cough. "Don't...don't be afraid. You're s-so much stronger...than you know."

"Uncle Ben, please!"

"I love you…"

Peter saw the light fade in his uncle's eyes. Felt the hand in his go slack.

He never really saw the bustle around him as neighbors called for help, as the police and fire rescue and ambulance came. He never felt the blanket that was tucked around him, nor heard the pronouncements from the medics when they arrived. He never even knew when May arrived, coatless, her boots unlaced and tears already on her face.

Peter's world shrank to the emptiness in his Uncle Ben's eyes, the coldness of his hand, and the candle, stained red, poking out of his jacket pocket.

In one week, Peter Parker lost both of his heroes.

-==OOO==-

"Come on, Peter! We can do this! One more flight!"

Peter gulped and pulled with all his might. The table wasn't that heavy, at least on his end, but it was big and awkward and he really didn't want to let it fall into Aunt May and knock her down the stairs. They'd already had enough of a near miss with the TV.

Peter hauled as best he could, willing his body to breathe like a regular kid and not the mess of asthmatic lungs he normally was — May needed his help and he would not let her down. Just when he was sure he couldn't take an instant more, his feet hit the seventh floor.

"We did it!" He meant to yell it with triumph, but it came out a pained wheeze.

"Great job, baby!" At the other end of the table, May gave a shove, which Peter just barely evaded, and all four legs made it onto the carpet. She leaned on it for a second, catching her own breath, before she looked up and grinned at him.

"My hero," she said.

Peter coughed a little. "I can get the door."

"Good plan."

Peter ran ahead to open the door of the new apartment while May pushed the table down the hall. He propped the door until she got the first corner through, then darted ahead to pull a few boxes out of the way. He had just rescued one of his bags of clothes from the table's path when it slid across the linoleum with a squeak. May shoved it into the place she had marked with tape for it without quite banging her head on the light that would hang over it.

"Is that all of it, Aunt May?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, I think so." She wiped at the sweat on her brow; summer in the city was not the ideal time for moving. "Good thing those nice boys helped with the mattresses and the couch, or I think we might have been in trouble." She made a smile at him. "You can take a break if you want."

"What are you going to do?"

"After I catch my breath and return the moving truck, I want to get some of this unpacked tonight," she said, straightening up and tucking her hair back. "Then maybe the kitchen so we can cook tomorrow."

Peter flinched with as much drama as he could manage. "I mean, okay," he said, smiling.

May laughed. "None of that, now. How about you go start putting away your stuff in your room? Or, if you're feeling generous, you could put some sheets on our beds so we can sleep tonight."

"I can do that." Peter looked around the small apartment for the duffle bag they had set aside with what Aunt May called the 'essentials' — including toiletries, sheets, and a book for Peter. He dug out May's sheets, plain and yellow, and headed to the room that would be hers.

The bed was set up and the bare mattress waited on it. The rest of the room looked like her room had at the house this morning — furniture was jammed together against one wall and boxes, bags, and piles lay strewn on every surface and all over the floor.

Peter swallowed. The room was smaller than the one that had been May and Ben's back at the house, and it only had one window in the wrong place. His own room was smaller, too, but he cared less about that. Everything was smaller in an apartment than a house, after all. That was the point of "downsizing," as May called it.

Peter knew it was really that, without Uncle Ben's income, even his life insurance wouldn't support them for long. May had gotten the hospital to take her on full-time instead of as a part-time alternate, meaning Peter hadn't seen much of her for the last few months, but in the end, she still sat him down and told him they were selling the house.

"Ben wouldn't want us holding onto this place and having to deal with the mortgage if it hurt us, Peter," she'd told him. "He wasn't sentimental about things. He would want us taken care of. And I love Forest Hills as much as you, but there are other places in Queens that won't cost as much where we can be okay."

He hadn't let her see him cry that night, or any night after as he packed up his life (again) and prepared to start over in a new bedroom in a new part of the city.

The Astoria neighborhood was all the way on the western edge of Queens, and it was already as different from Forest Hills as possible. Forest Hills had been full of trees and houses and churches; Astoria felt more like the "city parts" of Queens with taller buildings, apartment towers, and a lot more traffic. It meant a new school in September, Peter knew, one where he wouldn't have Ned at his side — though at least he wouldn't have to deal with Flash Thompson, either.

But Astoria was closer to May's hospital, and it wasn't that much farther from Ned's, either — and Peter was determined to make May happy. He didn't know if she was sad when she filled boxes to donate, sold furniture online, and meticulously measured out the new space to see what she could keep, but he thought she must be. He was sad, after all.

With care, Peter spread her sheets on her bed, folding the corners under just as Ben had taught him and even fluffing the pillows. He looked at the clothes on hangers with plastic bags protecting them and peeked in her closet. The bar wasn't as high as the one in the house — maybe he could hang them for her?

He managed to force the first bundle's hangers onto the rail and was just lifting the second when he heard a shout from the kitchen.

"Aunt May?" Peter was running before he realized it, bursting back into the main part of the apartment.

May stood over the sink, soaked, while water sprayed from the faucet in every direction but down.

"Just a little water adventure," she called. Ducking to the side, she shut off the tap.

Peter detoured back to their bag of essentials for May's towel and brought it to her.

"Oh, thank you." She wiped at her face, sighing at her dripping shirt. "Well, guess I don't need a shower tonight."

"I think we need a sink, though," Peter put in. "Do you know how to do plumbing stuff?"

"Sorry." She shook her head. "Not my area. But those boys said there's a maintenance man around here somewhere."

"I could go find him," Peter offered at once, deliberately not thinking about the fact that May didn't know plumbing because Ben had always taken care of that. He hated that he hadn't paid more attention so he could help now.

"Okay. They said he has a shop out back where the garage is, I think. If you can't find him right away, come back and we'll go together." She paused and looked down at him. "You'll be okay?"

"Yep." Peter made himself smile at her. "I'm ready to go exploring anyway."

May nodded. "Thanks, Peter. I can always count on you."

That made pride burn in his chest. Peter grabbed one of the building keys from where May had dumped them on the counter and tucked it in his pocket. "Back in a minute!" he called.

Out in the hall, Peter headed for the stairwell where he had spent most of his day, not looking forward to having to climb the flights yet another time. At the bottom, he pushed through the access door to the parking area behind the building. The moving van sat where they had left it, locked and ready to be returned, and the small lot contained a few other cars showing a spectrum of beat-up to nearly decrepit. There was a proper garage, too, but it cost more to rent a space in there, Peter knew.

Nervous but not scared, Peter crossed the lot to the garage. It was bigger than he'd thought it would be, probably meant to be shared between his building and the ones to either side. He didn't have a key for it, but he figured a maintenance shed probably needed to be where people could reach it so he started rounding the building. On the back, facing some big storage buildings and warehouses, he found a small door marked "Fix It Stuff."

The screen on the door had a few small tears, but it was still pretty dim inside. Peter knocked politely on the door. "Hello?"

"Yeah, come on in."

Peter heard a chime go off as he opened the door. At once he was met with the thick smell of oil, of metal and rust, and maybe of something burning. The area just past the door was filled with metal shelves, all loaded with odd bits and pieces and parts. Peter spotted half of a toaster and most of the innards of an old-style TV, as well as buckets of nails, screws, and wire.

"Um."

"Back here," came the voice. "Don't touch anything unless you've had your tetanus shots."

"I've had them," Peter said automatically. He weaved between the stacks of junk to where there was a clear area. A metal table took up most of the space under a very bright light. An air conditioner unit was half assembled, but there were other things on the table mixed in with the parts — a few circuit boards, a heavy battery pack, even a handful of spark plugs.

Sitting huddled over the table at the other side was a man with his face down and a tiny screwdriver in his hand, the kind Peter remembered Ben using to fix his glasses. The man's arms were dark with grease and oil almost to the elbows, though Peter couldn't see what he was working on around the casing for the air conditioner.

"What's broken?" the man asked.

"Oh, um, hi. I'm Peter. Um, Peter Parker. We just moved in."

"Yeah, seventh floor. What's broken?" The man had yet to look up.

"The kitchen sink faucet is spraying water everywhere."

"Do I look like a plumber to you?" The man huffed a laugh. "Sorry, just kidding." He looked up, revealing a thick, dark beard and piercing eyes. "Gimme a minute and I can come take a look."

"Oh. O-okay." Peter shifted his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly. It felt strange just to leave. Casting about, he spotted something in a corner. "Oh, wow."

"What's wow, kid?"

Peter edged around the table to where something big and heavy was tipped to one side.

"Is that...that's a fume hood! Like, a real one!"

"More like what's left of one," the man said, but he was looking at Peter now. "Wouldn't expect a kid like you to know that."

"I love chemistry," Peter said. "We did a tour of the chem labs at this really awesome high school in my old neighborhood and the science teachers showed us some stuff. I tried to replicate their experiments at home, but my Un-...uh, I made a lot of smoke and got in trouble because I couldn't ventilate my room." He shrugged. "I did have the window open."

The man laughed. "Well, if I get that one up and working, you want me to let you know?"

"Yeah!" Then Peter frowned. "What do you need a fume hood for? Is there, like, a lot of chemistry involved in fixing doors and sinks?"

"More than you might think," the man said, still smiling through the heavy beard. "Let me ask you something. You know what the periodic table is?"

"Of course I do!"

"Okay. What comes next in this sequence — two, ten, eighteen, thirty-six?"

"Fifty-four," Peter answered at once. "That's the atomic number of xenon."

"And what's the one after that?"

"Eighty-six, for radon."

"Okay, you know your noble gases. I assume you've got the whole thing memorized?"

"Yep."

"How old are you again?"

"Almost twelve."

The man nodded. "Not bad. What'd you say your name was?" He rose from behind the table and grabbed a towel, wiping off his hands and arms.

"Peter Parker."

"Well, Mister Parker, it's nice to meet somebody who knows their science." He held out a hand for Peter to shake. "Mario Carbonell, but you can call me Tony."

"I'm not sure I should, Mister Carbonell." Peter shook the hand firmly as Ben had taught him. "It's not polite."

"Well, I wouldn't want you to be impolite, Mister Parker, but I don't really mind, either."

"That's okay, Mister Carbonell." Peter smiled. "But you can call me Peter."

"Yeah, we're gonna have to work on that. You said you had a sink problem, right?" He moved past Peter to a rack of tools laid out in absolutely no order that Peter could discern. He plucked a few from the mess and dropped them in a bucket. "Lead the way, Mister Parker."

"Do you need me to carry anything?"

"Kid, you moved in today. I think you've done enough carrying, don't you?"

Peter grinned, relieved. "Yes, sir."

Mister Carbonell held the door for Peter, locking it behind himself. As they crossed the parking lot, entered the building, and headed for the stairs, Peter found himself filling up the silence.

"I've never lived in an apartment building before. We always had to fix all our own stuff or call somebody to help before. Do a lot of things break? Do you just fix stuff inside or do you do, like, roofing and siding? The siding on our house got ripped down in a storm once and the whole side had to come off and it took four guys to do it, so that seems like a lot. Do you fix cars? I used to help hold tools for my...for when we had to fix the car. And I'm good at lying underneath to see if I can see the flashlight."

Suddenly he missed a step and started to pitch forward. Almost as quickly, he felt a hand with a grip like iron wrap around his arm, catching him.

"Easy there, Underoos," Mister Carbonell said. "Don't want you cracking your skull open."

Peter took in a relieved breath, then looked up with false sympathy. "Do you have to clean up blood, too?"

Mister Carbonell laughed. "No. Definitely not. You good now?"

"Yes, thank you." Peter was more careful with his steps after that.

"In answer to your babble of questions, I fix easy stuff outside but I don't do siding. And I can fix cars, but only for people I actually like."

"Hmm." But Peter had mostly forgotten about his previous questions already. "You have, like, super fast reflexes, Mister Carbonell."

"Any good handyman knows how to catch stuff before it falls. Otherwise we end up on ladders with our hammers on the ground."

"Oh, that's not good! If you ever need help holding stuff, you can always ask me. I don't drop things most of the time."

"Most of the time, huh? That's really very encouraging. But I've seen worse references."

They had reached the hallway, so Peter darted ahead to their door. "Aunt May! I found him!"

"Oh, good," came her voice. "Turns out it's not just the kitchen. All the sinks are like that."

Peter frowned. "How does that even happen?"

"Famous Parker luck working true to form," May said.

"No, that's sabotage," Mister Carbonell said as he stepped in. "Those damn punks." Suddenly he looked at Peter. "Sorry. Darn punks."

May emerged from the direction of the bathroom. She was wearing a new shirt but her hair was still slicked with water. "Thanks for coming. I'm May Parker."

"Mario Carbonell. Sorry about the sinks. The set of guys who lived here before were jerks and kind of trashed the place as a farewell present. I thought I'd gotten everything handled already."

"No problem." The beeper on May's watch went off and she jumped. "Oh, that's my reminder about the truck. I have to return it or pay for another day." She shook her head. "Is it okay if I leave you on your own?"

"As long as you're comfortable, I don't mind. That way there's no chance of you getting drenched again."

May laughed. "Okay. Come on, Peter. Let's go turn the truck in and get our car back."

"I could stay here, Aunt May," Peter said, glancing at Mister Carbonell. "I don't want him to be lonely."

"Oh, but you want me to be lonely, huh?" She put her hands on her hips and regarded him. "What's this about?"

"Aunt May, he knows chemistry."

"Oh, dear." She shook her head. "Sorry. Looks like you might have a little fan now."

"It's fine. I don't care if he hangs around. He can hand me tools."

A look passed between the adults that Peter couldn't quite understand, but in the end, May nodded. "I guess it's okay. Peter, come walk me to the door."

Peter was confused, but he did as May asked, following her into the hall.

She bent to meet his eyes. "Are you sure you're okay with him? He's a stranger and we just met him."

"Yeah." Peter smiled. "He passes the gut check, Aunt May."

She smiled back at that. It was something Ben had always claimed about the people he met before he knew anything about them. May had always trusted Ben's gut, and Ben swore that Peter's was just as reliable.

May also recognized that something about this maintenance man made Peter smile, and he hadn't smiled for real very often in the last six and a half months. She owed Mario Carbonell a debt for bringing a little light back into the boy's eyes.

And he was almost twelve years old. He was old enough to start deserving her trust, too.

"All right. He passes my gut check, too. But if anything weird happens, you come outside and you sit on the steps and wait for me, okay? I'll be back in twenty minutes."

"Okay. Have fun!" Peter waved.

By the time May returned, there was no sign of Peter outside. In the apartment, she found two sets of legs sticking out from under the kitchen sink.

"Wrench?"

"Here it is!"

"You take the light. Hold it...yep, just like that."

"I got it!"

May smiled and knocked on the counter above them. "Everything okay down there?"

"We're fixing it!" Peter called.

Mario Carbonell propped himself up on an elbow so he could see her from under the counter. "Seems your pipes were a lot more broken than it looked, but I'll have things leak-free tonight, especially with my expert apprentice over here. Give me an hour and I'll be out of your hair, Missus Parker."

"I'll make you a deal," she said, eyeing Peter's flushed, happy face. "I was going to order pizza anyway. If you can get our sinks fixed tonight, you're welcome to join us." She paused, then added, "And call me May, please, Mister Carbonell."

"Oh, god, there's two of you." He rolled his eyes. "I already told the kid to call me Tony, so you better do the same. Maybe he'll listen if you set a good example."

"I forgot to ask you why you go by Tony if your name is Mario, Mister Carbonell," Peter piped up. "Is it a nickname? My best friend's name is really Edward but he likes Ned."

"My middle name is Anthony," he said. "And Mario always makes people think they should be asking me if my princess is in another castle."

"Well, you are a plumber, Mister Carbonell," Peter pointed out.

May laughed. "Peter, if he says it's okay for you to call him Tony, it's okay with me."

But Peter shook his head, his hair rubbing the back of the counter where he remained perched at his post, flashlight at the ready. "Nope, not polite. Not until we've been friends for a long time."

May shrugged. "Congratulations, Tony. You've made friends with the most determined child in Queens."

Tony grinned. "At least he's honest. Okay, enough chatter. May, out. I'm trying not to get you sprayed for the third time here. Parker, get ready to hand me the other wrench if this goes badly."

"I'm ready!"

In the end, Mister Carbonell got the last sink fixed just before pizza arrived, but they had to wait for Peter to rinse all the grease out of his hair before they could eat anyway. Afterwards, while May helped Peter arrange own room for the night (removing the huge pile of Lego boxes he'd stored on his bed), Mister Carbonell set up their TV and internet for them, tinkered with the microwave, and got the light bulb in the hallway to stop flickering before he ducked out without saying goodbye.

"He's a nice man," May said as she perched on the edge of Peter's bed; it was part of their nighttime routine from the last few difficult months.

"I think he's lonely," Peter said.

"What makes you think that?"

He shrugged, hugging an old bear to his chest. He was mostly grown out of wanting it, but this was their first night in a new place, and May wasn't going to so much as blink at anything that made Peter feel safe and comfortable.

"He looks like you do sometimes, Aunt May. When you're thinking about Uncle Ben. Like...you've lost something. Really lost something, not like your keys. It's a sad look."

A lump invaded May's throat. She leaned over to kiss his head.

"I'll take your word for it, Peter." Then she stroked her hand through his hair. "And if you're right, then I'm glad you made friends with him."

"Why's that?"

"Because you always help me when I feel sad. Just by being you. If you think you can help somebody else, that's always a good thing."

"That's what heroes do," Peter whispered.

"Yes, honey. Everyone in the world can be an everyday hero if they try to help someone who needs it." She tried to keep her voice even, but her heart was looking at her nephew and seeing a similar light of kindness that reminded her so dearly of Ben.

Peter's face scrunched up in absolute, stubborn certainty.

"Then I'll be the best everyday hero ever. For you and Mister Carbonell. I promise."

And May believed him.

A/N:

Hello all!

Well, it's my first dive into the MCU, and it's a deep one. I started this journey last summer when I just wanted to find out if anyone had written a fluffy Karate Kid retelling about Tony Stark and Peter Parker. They hadn't that I could quickly find, and it started to unfold in my head. And then Covid and everything surrounding that got worse and I figured, "Hey, if I can't fix OUR timeline, I might as well fix the MCU!" And so, here we are.

This is a COMPLETE retelling of the MCU picking up after the end of Iron Man 3. Everything before that point happened as it is seen in the movies; everything afterwards is fair game. I'm changing lots of things in lots of ways, some because of the domino effect, some to make them work better or make sense in real world terms (I'm looking at you, UN Accords). By the time I'm finished, I'll have carried the story all the way past Endgame. With a very different end in mind.

This story is done and is the first of (probably) four in the series. I'll be putting up one chapter a week on Mondays. If you've followed me from other fandoms, you know that's how I roll. I actually have the first three stories in the series done, 68 chapters of content ready to go, and that's only through the end of Spider-Man: Homecoming. The rest is currently in progress still. So settle in for the long haul.

Two more notes for tonight –

First, each chapter's title is derived from a specific song. I'll give those in my notes each week. Today's is "Better Days" by the Goo Goo Dolls.

Second, the titles for the stories and the quotes in the description are all from Jorge Luis Borges' short story "The Garden of Forking Paths." You don't need to read it or be familiar with it for anything to do with this story, but it's a strong parallel to the themes of choice and chance and inevitability that crop up throughout the MCU. This series is, effectively, one forking path of all that might have been.

Thanks in advance for taking this journey with me!

Enjoy!