Chapter 9

The name 'Inheritor' was a misattribution. And he wasn't sure when, exactly, it was attributed to… them, his family, but it had stuck like an old stain to a dish, and never seemed to wash out.

They were an old family. One of the oldest. In fact, he couldn't remember being anything but a family. Back when their children were only children, rather than bickering facsimiles of adults… he remembered huddling around a light with them and their mother in the dark, keeping them safe. All of them had been his world, and he did not, and could not, remember what it was like to not have them.

They were his duty. His… responsibility. And they were so hungry. So, he had gone out to hunt. He was their father. Their patriarch. That was his responsibility as the one who brought them… here, into this world.

It had been him, right? Surely him, and not some kind of stork… Heavens knew he'd been the only one to convince their mother to drop the dead fish act every once in a while and spread those legs of hers… She loved him, even if she had been too stuck up to admit it. He always got that out of her, though.

Their roles were simple. She would tend to them, and he would provide for them– simplicity at its finest. They had been a team, and were quite good at it, too. He was always good at his responsibility; venturing out into the dark, where they did not know where their next meal would come from, and returning to them in the light with his body scarred and ragged with trophies of his hunt, casting their sustenance down by the fire so the little ones could eat. And they would feast, and they would be well.

In his younger days – and wasn't that so, so long ago? – it was difficult, at times. It had been easier to provide for just himself, he thought, but there were times when he had gotten cocky, and in over his head. Things had changed when he made his family. For his family he had found new reasons to survive, to thrive. For his family, he had reason to return, and so, he had brought home the bacon all those long, long years until they could do so themselves.

They always came back to him. He was their center, that which they had originated from. And like the one, lone light in the dark they'd once cowered around, hungry and desperate like drifting planets in a vast and dark solar system, he had found his name, though it was quite ironic:

Solus.

He had been proud of the name, once. At the time, it seemed very, very profound, and clever. Of course, things usually do when you're young. As he grew older, the novelty wore off.

He was old, now. And things were coming to an end. He could feel it in his bones, his very cells. And the young ones- sadly they didn't understand or appreciatethe responsibility of sacrifice. The honor of it. That was his fault, of course… he had spoiled them, just because he could. Especially after their mother had… departed.

It was their nature to be outside of the web of things that kept existence together, and he could see it falling apart in a way that they simply couldn't. And he did not know where, or if, their food would come from when that happened. He would be gone by then, of course, and it would be their problem.

As any loving father, he had decided to have one last family event, for them all. Call it a picnic, a cookout, or food drive… or even a buffet. But something to ensure their supply for the next several dozen centuries or more.

However, his children required a certain kind of food. They couldn't stop by the local grocery store, or even the local gym for the succulent protein supply inside… though sweet pastries were always a nice treat. No, they required something hardier, something… larger, stronger, and singular than that. Fresh prey, seasoned by the gifts bestowed upon it, the stand-outs and exemplars. Those who were truly… amazing and above the rest.

And that was why 'Inheritor' was a misattribution. Solus was not an 'Inheritor', his family were not 'The Inheritors'. That was simply an ignorant nickname that had fallen into their lap. He and his family were merely grateful hunters and he, the loving father unto whom the responsibility of their well-being fell.

No, It was their prey that were the true Inheritors, for they inherited the gifts, the power, and the responsibility of sacrifice. And their prey of choice just happened to be spiders.

Truly, in matters of taste there could be no disputes.

Ashley Barton Parker woke up with a stiff reminder that she didn't have her shit together nearly as well as she thought she did, and it came in the form of a fist sized lump on the back of her head like something out of an old cartoon. She was lucky to be alive.

She woke up in an infirmary tent– one of the barely put together triage units in the Convention that had been set up when she'd first been brought into this primary colored circus show. Only now, it was a completely outfitted med area when. A needle was in her arm, an IV bag next to and over her bed, and tight bandage around her head that made her lump feel less cartoony and more manageable, while a fancy machine beeped across from her.

The rest of the world came to in a muddled mix of noise and lights. It only took her a few moments of listening to the din of eerily similar voices to remember where she was, and where she wasn't.

That was all it took for her to try and get out of bed before her body could adjust. The pain in her head floored her back down. She thought she was used to pain, that she could try and fight against it- she was Ashley Barton Parker, for fuck's sake, she should have been able to take a punch… but before she could, someone guided her back to bed.

In her blurred vision, all she could see was the Old Man carting her and junior Gramp's sorry asses back to safety like they had been useless. No, they had been useless. She had been.

She strained like a child in the bed against an invisible force. She wanted to yell, to get up and go crawling back into the fight after the Old Man, after the screaming cries of her aunt May that only now jumped back into her memory, but she couldn't. She wasn't strong enough, and the spots in her vision were heavy, inky blankets that weighed her down and made the world dip back into darkness, and put her butt to bed like a child.

When they cleared, she knew she'd fallen asleep. Her hands felt cotton-y and numb, and Ashley realized a woman was in the tent with her, watching her. Blonde and blue eyed and in a white outfit with a chemical string around it…

On reflexes born from life on her Earth, she made to fire a webline from her one webshooter, the one small reassurance she had being that its old, rusted weight still clung heavy on her wrist.

The woman raised her hands, but was looking more at them than her, as if she weren't very worried. "Please don't do that," she said. "You'll make a mess."

Ashley glared at her. "Who the fuck are you?"

The woman looked up from a device floating above her hand. Some kind of fancy electronic notepad. Ashley had seen enough new-old tech to know her own world had lost the tech lottery after the villains took over. Looking her over with a brief frown of disapproval, the woman said, "Well you definitely don't get your mouth from your grandfather…"

"How the fuck do you know my-" Ashley winced, grabbing the back of her head. The word made her head hurt. She didn't want to think about it or hear it.

The woman's hardlight hologram floated above her wrist. She gave it a couple of flicks with one hand, and Ashley saw her eyes darting across it as she read with full comprehension. She saw the scant white in the woman's hair, and the lines on her face. Despite that, they didn't make her look old, and she actually looked older than Ashley's own mother. Then again, Tonya Parker had racked up a few city miles anyway. Ashley hadn't made it easy on the woman.

Ashley didn't want to think about her, either.

"Ashley Barton," the woman said, looking at her. "E-807128. How are you feeling?"

"It's Parker," Ashley snapped, but it ended up sounding like a whine. "Ashley Barton Parker, get the name right you old bimbo."

An invisible force suddenly knocked her back into bed. Playfully, like she was just a child. Ashley didn't like that.

"What the fuck?"

"Show some respect to your elders, young lady," the woman chastised, looking annoyed. "…and I'm not that old. I'm barely in my fifties. You definitely don't get that attitude from your grandfather, you know that?"

Ashely sneered at her while her head started to hurt again. She wasn't surprised that the woman knew her grandfather; there were enough versions of him around that it would be hard to find someone who wasn't him or who didn't know of him. Even on her world, he was still whispered about in hushed tones.

But not one of them were old enough the kids around these parts were old enough to be even her father, much less her grandfather. Most were younger than her.

"Got my attitude in the trash where that outfit of yours should be," she spat. "Seriously, a black and white onsie?"

"Twosie, actually," the woman said, looking at herself. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's just… cheap," Ashley said, looking at her. "And boring. You look like someone thought dressing up in an old newspaper was a good idea."

"On second thought," the woman said with a playful frown, "you do seem to take after your grandfather."

That meant more to Ashley than the woman knew. She grimaced as the world started to swim again. The woman moved to steady her, but she tried shooing her away. "Did I ask you to help me?"

"So stubborn," the woman said, clicking her tongue. "Your grandfather would want me to."

"Well, he's fucking dead, and I don't need a lecture right now," Ashley said, and tried to get up once more. The woman watched her try, fail, and crossed her arms as she fell back into bed in a heap. "Don't say a fucking word. Not one."

Blondie didn't, but she did smile. She looked so… familiar. Ashley knew she'd never seen the woman before in her life personally, but somewhere. Like in an old book, or a magazine. She was honestly beautiful, and that was rare on her world; it was also dangerous, and never lasted long. If not for her inherited powers, Ashley would have been just as much a target herself.

But the lady's long blonde hair, her kind face… She aged softly, something that didn't happen on Ashley's Earth. Laugh lines were a thing of the past, but… where had she seen her?

Ashley muttered, "Said you knew my granddaddy, Blondie?"

"Yes. In a manner of speaking," the woman waving her hand.

"Well, I got about Six-hundred and sixteen granddaddies around, lady. Grab a number and hook him up with a nice black girl from Queens who doesn't mind going bareback on the first date, okay? I need to secure my place in time before it's too late. Hell, she can even be white- or jewish- I don't care at this point."

"How progressive of you."

"Watch your fucking mouth," Ashley scoffed.

When she tried to get up again, Ashley let the woman help her, but only barely. This time was enough for her to sit up without tipping over like a lopsided teakettle. The woman looked at her sadly.

"…I'm sorry we weren't able to get here sooner," the woman said, looking genuine. "On my world it's been… busy. It's been busy everywhere, in most worlds, I think. AndI think they know that," she said, referring to The Inheritors.

Ashley squinted at her. "Yeah. Sure it has... If we compare notes, I bet my world would still make yours look like a cakewalk."

"It's not a competition," the woman said. "But probably."

"Who's this we you're talking about?"

Blondie sighed. "…Everyone." Ashley stared at her to continue. "Everyone who should have been there for him- for your grandfather. Everyone who called him a friend, everyone who he helped. He was always there for us but- we were always too late for him."

"My grand-" Ashley started hard, but faltered. "You know… They told me that on my world, Gramps died alone."

The woman looked down, as if it were her fault. Her responsibility. "I'm sorry, Ashley."

Ashley scoffed. "Don't be. No one had been there to help him but it took an entire city of freaks and murderers hunting him down more than two whole weeks to take him down. He went down swinging, lady," she said, her face set in a hard expression. "The Old Man, my gramps? He was amazing."

Ashley dared her to say otherwise. To her surprise, the woman just smiled. It was a nostalgic smile, the kind the old heads on her world would get remembering the Age of Heroes, as they called it. "Yeah, that… that sounds like him. I'm sorry- I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

Ashley reclined in the bed. "No difference to me," she lied. "Never knew the guy. His dumbass went and got killed before he could finish raising my mom- wait, what the fuck- You ain't my fuckin' therapist!"

"Technically speaking, I am a licensed doctor of several fields," the woman said. "I just haven't practiced in a long time. But I am a mother," she said, "And I know what it's like, needing someone to talk to. Your grandfather was that for all of us. On your world too, I'm sure of it. He was amazing."

Ashley looked her over again. Her outfit… the simple chemical string only had four points on it. Four… blonde hair Suddenly, the puzzle pieces she remembered the woman's face from history books made of scavenged photos on her world. And then, from bodies Ashley had seen in other worlds with dead men that had her grandfather's face and name.

"Wait," she said. "You're her. Sue Storm, from the Fantastic Four!"

That made the woman smile a slight smile. "It hasn't been called that in a long, long time on my Earth but… yes. One of them, at least. No points for originality, I'm afraid, but… It looks like I'm in good company," she said, looking over Ashley's own outfit. "What were you saying about outfits again?"

Ashley actually laughed. "Fuck you, lady."

Sue laughed too, but as she went to peer out of the tent, it faded. "I'm the only one here… "

"What?"

"I'm the only… me, here. We- the Fantastic Four on my world- we're the first out of any of any of us to actually make contact?" It sounded like she was more confused than Ashley was. "Why…?"

"I don't know. Maybe none of you care about the old man as much as you think you do?" That made Sue flinch, but Ashley ignored it. If the shoe fit, you walked in it. That's what she had learned. "Fuckers are going after the younger ones," she continued, referring to the Inheritors. "Older ones all went down swinging like he did on my world. The younger ones barely know how to. Easy targets."

Sue frowned in thought. "So, these are younger versions of him who either haven't met us yet or isn't close enough with us…"

Ashley shrugged. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, lady."

Sue's face fell. "No- That has to be it! If we knew- if he bothered to tell us at all we would have been there to help him if we could," she stressed, and pinched her forehead. "One of us- any of us would be there. Oh, Peter was always like this, you know that? More stubborn than Ben-"

"-Who the fuck is Ben?"

"Benjamin Grimm. He's made out of actual rocks but at least knows how to ask for help," Sue said. "And your grandfather was far more stubborn than Ben could be on his worst day. Whenever he needed help- whenever we offered- he would just- try and solve it on his own. He's been like that since the very day I met him at fifteen."

It was obvious to Ashley that the older woman had history behind her words. Out of everyone she had meant by now, this was the first woman who actually seemed like she had the experience with one of the old men who shared her grandfather's name. That improved her in Ashley's eyes… more than a little bit.

"Take it easy, lady. You ain't the first to this party."

Sue, who was visibly cycling through her own thoughts, looked up. "What do you mean?"

"I've seen you before- younger and dressed in blue with short hair- a four on your chest, then a five later on. Didn't recognize you at first. It was on a world that we were too late to help. Found you along with the rest of your freaks all dead. Along with him."

Susan gasped, but Ashley went on.

"The way I see it, he probably knows you'd try to help. All of him that are out there probably do too. Even the young ones. That's why none of them askfor it. Because, from what I've seen? Fuckers after us just got his number is all and they go after him like catnip, likehe's some kind of delicacy. Not your fault Anyone trying to help him always ends up dead. Just like my…"

Just like her grandfather back on her world. And just like the Old Man.

A silence came up. Not wanting to think about either of them, Ashley broke it. "Where's Gramps?"

Sue gave her a well-meaning, if wry, smile. "Six-hundred and some of them around… gonna have to be more specific."

Ashley scowled and snapped her finger, as if the blonde should know. "Gramps, Gramps- lady- come on! He's different from all of them. Worst looking suit I've seen, even worse than yours."

"You really have no place to talk," Sue crossed her arms. "Did you get that costume out of a thrift store?"

Ashley ignored her. "He's got these sharp, tiny eyes on the mask, and suit looks it was made in home-Eck… blue spider on the back instead of red? There's black where the blue should be too! He just got his powers like… a month and change ago."

"Let's see…" Sue referenced the hardlight pad again. "Peter Parker, E… 616," she said, and smiled reassuringly at Ashley. She was damned good at it, the girl had to admit. "Don't worry, he's okay. His powers haven't fully matured yet, so he's still healing, like you."

Ashley let out a relieved breath. She didn't even bother trying to hide it as her shoulders drooped. Finally, some good fucking news. "What about my aunt May? What about her? Grandpa Flyboy is going to throw a fit if anything happened to her- what are you smiling at?"

Sue shook her head. "Aunt May- it's just… nothing," she said, and made a quicker glance at the hardlight, more to confirm than to check. "Mayday Parker, E-982. She's okay."

Ashley was surprised. But then again, she really wasn't. The Old Man had saved all of them… of course he did, because that's what he did. They used to call him Spectacular and a bunch of other things, back on her world for a reason. And even though he'd been the oldest she'd ever seen… he'd thrown down how she always imagined he would.

But just like on her world, he'd gone and played hero… andleft his family behind. Again.

Sue continued. "Your aunt April- do you have an Aunt April? Peter used to tell me his aunt had a sister named-"

Ashely looked up. "Aunt April? She's alive?"

Susan nodded. "April Parker, E… 982. Ooh." As she read, her hardlight started to beep. She grimaced. "Temporal anomaly… that'll be a bit of a headache to sort… nothing too major though. Just displacement. Haven't dealt with that in a while." She sighed. "She arrived just a bit after I did. I didn't get a chance to meet them, being busy here."

Ashley had no idea what she was talking about. She was barely hearing her. Mayday and April Parker… Her Aunt May's skin was a little too light to be the exact one from her world, but… what the fuck did that matter? That one had died along with her twin before Ashley was even born. They had, save for her mother, followed after their father, making this the only instance, much like Ashley herself,she'd seen either of them exist.

Her momma only ever talked about them when she got deep enough in her cups. Mayday was always the golden girl, she'd said – their second mom, miss mature, miss smart and miss responsibility. April had been the troublemaker and Tonya Parker had been their baby sister, born and barely raised just in time to know the world as she knew it was ending with the death of their daddy, The Spectacular Spider-Man.

Ashley swallowed. If April and May were alive, and Gramps too… She couldn't bring herself to ask, already knowing the answer. She'd seen so many dead bodies with his face and name, barely a fraction of them old enough to be her father, much less her grandpappy. The ones with backup ended up just like the ones on their own, and the older ones ended up just like the younger ones. It didn't matter, none of it did.

The Old Man had been the oldest of them all that she'd ever seen… and he was alone, too. Had given them the boot and locked them out. There was just no possible way.

Sue put a hand on her shoulder, not knowing what she was thinking, but seeing the emotions fly across the girl's face. "They're okay, Ashley. He did manage to save you. All of you. And he'd be happy, knowing that."

Ashley grunted. Her eyes started to feel wet, but if Sue saw anything, she didn't mention it. She only said, "Just in case another version of me pops up… and I really hope they do, I sent a message out before coming here… to avoid confusion I'm Susan Storm E-7023… well whatever, just call me Sue. I call dibs on that."

Ashley nodded stiffly.

"Once we found out what happened, I came as quick as I could. Reed, Ben and Johnny are busy with the cleanup and investigating back on our world, trying to round up help, I heard the X-Men wanted to help, but… by the time we arrived it was already too late. He was already gone."

A bitter hope swelled in Ashley's chest. "Wait, what are you talking about? You keep saying 'him'. Which 'him' are you talking about lady? There's hundreds of him around!"

Sue tilted her head, looking surprised, as if they had been talking about the same subject up to now. "The Peter Parker from… my world. The world you were on when you were attacked."

Ashley nodded, this time angrily. "I fucking knew it…" she scowled. For just a second, she'd dared to hope it was some other version of The Old Man that had gone and died. She wanted to punch herself in the face. "Yeah, and he's fucking dead too, ain't he? Just like the fucking rest-"

Realizing what Ashley was upset about, Sue schooled her own reaction something entirely mild as she hid her smile. "I certainly hope not," she said. "I still have to yell at him for never bothering to answer his damn phone."

She then checked the hardlight right before Ashley's eyes, once again to confirm, not to check. "Peter Parker E-7023… " she rolled her eyes. "Well, he's alive. I haven't seen him in person in nearly two decades and he doesn't know how to use the phone or write a letter to let people know, but he is alive."

All Ashley heard was that the Old Man was alive. He was A-fucking-Live.

Ashley asked her, "Where is he now?"

And Sue told her.

A/N: Gonna be honest, I no longer felt good enough about writing anymore. Still though, I try.

Happy Holidays.