It was a chilly day in November and Peter Parker was helping his aunt get ready. "Now did you take your pills?"

"All that I need for the next five hours, at any rate."

"Your purse is over there. Do you have any other errands planned for today?"

"Not really. The clinic is going to take the whole afternoon."

"Let's see if there's anything in this mail." Peter flipped through it. "So you're taking a leave of absence from your non-profit?"

"Pretty much have to. At least for the next couple of weeks." Just right then, Aunt May did not seem that different from her usual self.

"We'd better get moving if we want to catch that bus." The two started to leave.

"Just a moment," Aunt May said and reached for a cane.

(Two) Twenty minutes later a short, squat, middle-aged Korean-American female doctor smiled at the two. "Ah. It's good to see you Mrs. Parker-Jameson."

Preparations

(Three) Notwithstanding Aunt May's apparently benign situation today, the doctor made little effort to provide anything optimistic. "Now, you have started looking at the end-of-life counselling materials?" asked the Doctor.

"I have experience doing so," Aunt May replied a little coldly.

"Good. It's useful to save time."

An hour later: The doctor was explaining to Aunt May her new pain medication. "Now it's important that you follow this schedule very closely."

Peter thought to himself that it was mildly encouraging that her medication had increased by "only" sixty percent.

Another hour later: Aunt May was having a blood sample taken from her, while an orderly was bringing in some devices that would check her breathing.

Another two hours later: "Now you understand the new diet measures we've set up…" the doctor said when a nurse came in and handed her a folder.

"Are those the test results?" Peter asked.

"Not today's test results. They're the ones from a few days ago." She opened the folder and looked at them.

"Good news?"

The doctor looked up, with an unencouraging glance. "No. Not really."

(Four) Yet another two hours later: "So, just to be sure I've got this right," Peter recapped. "The experimental treatment you suggest is cumbersome, very time-consuming, very painful, and has little likelihood of actually succeeding."

"Yes," the doctor replied, not showing much interest in Peter's skepticism. "The actual work will not be here in Queens, but in one of the big hospitals in downtown Manhattan."

The doctor moved her laptop so that Peter and Aunt May could see the location more clearly, which was in fact very close to Wall Street.

"Now that does leave the question of who's paying for this treatment?"

"I am," said a gruff, strong, easily irritated voice behind them. Peter turned and saw J. Jonah Jameson enter the room. There wasn't a fourth chair, and Jameson's mien was enough for Peter to get up so the media mogul and former mayor could sit down.

"Now I want to make clear that nothing's too good for my father's widow," Jameson declared. Peter resisted the temptation to say that, historically, except for his cigars, most things in Jameson's life had been too good for him and for the people around him.

Another half an hour later: Jameson had been joined by a lawyer, not one Peter recognized. "Just to be clear, if either you, or the hospital, or the insurance company tries to soak me, I ensure you'll regret it."

"I understand that perfectly," the Doctor replied submissively.

"Is there anything else we need to do?" Aunt May asked. "It's been a long day."

"There isn't much more," the doctor said.

"Good," Jameson got up. "Peter could I speak to you privately?"

(Five) Soon they were in a corridor, tactfully away from anyone else. "Thanks, J.J. It's not as if we were on the verge of bankruptcy, but heaven knows it's not as if you can have too much insurance in our country."

"Never mind that. Have you told her yet?" There was a pause. "About your secret?"

"What? No, of course not."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because my aunt is on death's door, and her situation isn't going to be helped by risking a heart attack when she finds out what I've been hiding from her for nearly half my life."

"Oh, come on Peter. You know May has no hope left."

Peter was briefly agape. "Tactful as always Jonah."

"People like you think they're immortal. You need to bury more people to remove that illusion."

Peter successfully resisted the urge to smack his former boss. "He's twice widowed… he's twice widowed..." he thought. "Things are bad. But I'm not completely out of options."

(Six) Later that evening, the Wizard was grinning with triumph. "At last! After all these years, I've finally won!" He was standing in one of the Fantastic Four's labs in the Baxter building gloating at three prostrate members. Only the absent Thing was not trapped in transparent, vaguely plastic blobs whose blue tint matched the shade of their uniforms.

A few feet away from him Mr. Negative said nothing, affecting a stereotypical Oriental inscrutability while the Wizard continued gloating. "You never imagined Richards that I would turn your triumph against you. I have turned the unstable molecules of your costumes into handcuffs, preventing any of you from using your powers, while my new associate uses his power to further our dominion!"

He chortled again. "Yes, now the only thing left to consider is whether I have manipulated Mr. Negative into being my puppet, or whether all this time I have been his."

The Wizard abruptly stopped. "What an odd thing for me to say." He pondered the idea again. "Surely, this was all my idea."

Just then Susan Richards spoke up. "Not really. It's very easy to believe that you're Mr. Negative's pawn."

"How dare you suggest such a thing, you foolish woman!"

"Again, not really. You've been attacking us all these years, but you are one of the least interesting of all our enemies. You're little more than a glorified computer. Even the Mad Thinker is more interesting as an autistic villain."

(Seven) "Shut up! I mean silence, woman!"

"Gee, great argument," Johnny Storm snapped.

"Mr. Negative, I thought you had these people under your control!"

"What are you even doing here?" Susan wondered. But just then Spider-Man burst through the conveniently large glass window twenty feet above them.

"What is he doing here?" the Wizard complained. Just then the third member of the villainous cohort appeared from the shadows. "He won't be able to stop us!" yelled Hammerhead, as he flung himself at Spider-Man with his relatively new adamantium skeleton.

However, Peter's spider-sense allowed him to easily parry the blow, and Hammerhead crashed into a steel wall, and had trouble extricating his head from it.

Peter was still swinging in the air when Reed Richards yelled to him. "Spider-Man! Hit that red button on the wall above you." Peter quickly did so.

(Eight) For a moment nothing happened. "What good did that do?" Mr. Negative wondered.

"Don't you know?" Spider-Man asked smugly. "Those buttons cut off all outside electronic signals from interfering with the Baxter Building affairs."

Hammerhead had, somewhat awkwardly, extracted himself from the wall, falling a few feet to the floor. "What? Do you mean all of them?"

"Pretty much." And what that Hammerhead quickly raced to another window and crashed through it. But before he could fall any of the twenty-five plus stories to the ground he was teleported away.

Mr. Negative took the moment to suddenly vanish as well. The Wizard took out a small gadget that was capable of doing the heroes considerable harm. But with the outside electronic interference disrupted, Susan quickly used a forcefield to knock him unconscious.

The three members of the Fantastic Four picked themselves off the floor. "That was, rather abrupt," Johnny said.

"Not every battle has to be life-changing," Reed replied.

Spider-Man landed near Mr. Fantastic. "Actually, I didn't know you were under attack until five minutes ago. I really just wanted to speak to you on a private matter."

"I understand. I'll meet you on the roof in ten minutes."

(Nine) (Ten minutes later) Richards did not turn around when Spider-Man landed on the roof. "I've heard about your problem. And I'm going to tell you what I've told the many people who've asked me about the same problem you have and wish me to save their loved ones.

"I'm a scientist. I'm not a magician who can solve any problem. My specialty is physics and mathematics. I therefore do not have the medical expertise you are looking for. Moreover, I have spent the entire history of the Fantastic Four trying to return Ben back to normal. And I have never been able to do so, or learned sufficiently from the few occasions when he was normal to solve his problem. Nor have I been able to cure Dr. Banner, or Dr. Connors or Dr. Morbius for that matter. I am simply unable to help you."

Spider-Man realized the strength of this argument but did not give you. "OK, you are literally a rocket scientist, and I reasonably cannot assume you would be able to solve this problem. But linguistics is also a completely different science from nuclear and sub-atomic physics. And yet you were able to make a universal translator that has been fairly helpful in combatting the many alien races Earth keeps bumping into."

"That's a good argument," Richards replied, genuinely impressed. "Unfortunately, it does not help me any further in trying to cure your aunt's cancer. I could explain how linguistics is sufficiently similar to physics in a way that it is not similar to medicine. I could also explain how my intuitive and analytical abilities work better with physics and language than they do with medicine. Regardless, it doesn't help you."

Spider-Man paced back and forth. "If I do not find a solution to this, my aunt is going to die. But that's not necessarily a drawback. After all, in our charmed and cursed circle, death is surprisingly easy to overcome."

Richards was not very warm to this idea. "So it would seem. I mean, there is the possibility of cloning."

"We are absolutely, definitely not trying that."

(Ten) "That's a good idea, since I know nothing about the practice, and you wouldn't want to know the experts who do.

"There are ways of evading death. There are ways to triumph over it. But I don't think any of them are applicable to your situation."

"Are you sure? I am more than willing to spend the next twelve hours going through every possible scenario. And anything that can defeat death is likely to beat cancer as well."

"Unfortunately most of the 'deaths' we've encountered are illusory. It appeared the Hulk was annihilated when the Leader detonated a gamma bomb in Arizona. But he was teleported away at the last possible instant. At one point the X-Men were mystically destroyed, only to be mystically reassembled shortly thereafter. People escaping from explosions or collapsing buildings or suffering great mystical changes are surprisingly common in our field.

"Dr. Doom does have one way to cheat death. There is an alien race called the Ovoids who can use their mental abilities to switch bodies and Doom learned their secret. However, I'm sure he has no desire to help you, or teach you or anyone else their secret."

"Gee, you make it seem like a bad idea for me to tell him point blank that I couldn't wait to see him tried at the Hague after saving him from assassins at a Colorado airport."

"Do you know Rick Jones' wife?"

"Tall woman isn't she? What about her?"

(Eleven) "Several months before her marriage she was stabbed by a lunatic who claimed to be Jones' mother. And it appeared to everyone that she was dead. But the Leader has created a special crucible of reviving people, even if it was only a cellular level. Meanwhile, he also had a subordinate named Holy Man who could apparently restore their souls. And it worked. She eventually returned to her normal self."

"That sounds fantastic! Why haven't I heard of this before?"

"Because in the three-way battle between the Hulk, HYDRA and the Leader, the crucible was destroyed and Holy Man was killed. Later this particular lair of the Leader was also destroyed. So it can't help us."

Spider-Man thought about this. "Wait. When Wonder Man first appeared, didn't he die almost immediately and was only revived years later?"

"Something like that happened, yes. But as I have to remind you, he has special ionic powers. If you have special ionic powers, or gamma powers, or something called the Phoenix Force, or have special magical powers, your body is distinctly different from ordinary people. But your aunt has none of those things. She is an ordinary elderly woman and she is dying of cancer."

Spider-Man paced in frustration. "There has to be a solution."

"Oddly enough, I agree. But it does not logically follow that it will be found in our lifetimes, let alone in the time your aunt has left."

(Twelve) "We've encountered dozen of alien races. And since they're discovered interplanetary and often intergalactic travel, it's not unreasonable to think they have a cure for cancer. And haven't the Skrulls existed for hundreds of millions of years?"

"Two responses, Peter. First, it's not public knowledge, but during the Skrull subversion, some oligarch found a way of capturing some Skrulls and experimenting on them to find a cure for his own cancer."

"Let me guess, it didn't work."

"Very much it didn't. It turned out that the Skrulls' shape-changing abilities basically make them the very opposite of a cure for cancer. It accelerated it so much that it killed him almost instantly. Second, many alien species have wonderful, remarkable things which would radically improve life on the planet for all inhabitants. They also have devices that could instantly destroy the planet, or more slowly like the Krylorian device that could cause the moon to fall on the planet in four and a half days.

"The important thing is that there are protocols in place to limit just how much alien interference can happen at any given point in time. Even benign and neutral technology could do unforeseen damage. And the whole possibility of a virus or bacteria destroying humanity can't be ruled out. For all practical purposes, it's as if this technology does not exist at all for humans.

"Look, I have a computer program that has been going over and over every apparent death and resurrection in the past fifteen years. You aren't the first person who has been looking for a loophole. If it finds anything that is remotely applicable to your aunt's situation, I'll inform you immediately. But otherwise…"

Spider-Man prepared to swing away. "I don't want to lecture you, Peter. I don't know how much experience you have with death."

"Oh, I have plenty of experience with death. I just don't usually have this much advance notice."

(Thirteen) A couple of days later, Peter was at Oscorp headquarters, when his phone gave an alarming buzz. "That's probably not good," he thought. He certainly wasn't encouraged by the woman who appeared on the other end. It was Ms. Koziak, Osborn's new secretary. "Mr. Osborn would like to see you immediately."

Koziak was waiting at the door of Osborn's office. She was slim, perhaps in her thirties, with long dark hair and glasses. She had also activated Peter's spider sense on a couple of occasions, which suggested that she was part of the less than scrupulous side of Oscorp management. "He's waiting for you."

Peter stepped in and Koziak followed, closing the door behind her. This was not an encouraging sign. Osborn was supposed to be the only person in his company who knew Peter's secret identity. But Koziak's body language certainly didn't suggest she was here in a simply subordinate status.

For someone who was supposedly trying to redeem himself, Osborn himself was making no effort to appear particularly warm and cordial. Sitting at his desk in an unusually dark and intimidating suit, he certainly was not smiling. Nor did he offer Peter a seat.

"Parker, I don't believe you fully appreciate the importance of dedication in working for this company."

Leaving aside the fact that working for the man who had killed his girlfriend was hardly his career goal, Peter awkwardly shifted. "I was not aware that there were any tasks I had not performed recently."

"That's not the point. I've heard about your aunt's illness. And I don't think you can both take care of her and contribute your best to Oscorp."

"Look, I know the importance of hard work but I…"

"Parker, you're not understanding what I'm saying."

(Fourteen) Osborn rose from his chair. "I'm giving you a paid leave of absence, for the foreseeable future, while your aunt is ill."

"Really?"

"Really?!" Ms. Koziak repeated, with greater surprise.

"Take all the time that you need, Parker."

"Mr. Osborn, I don't think Parker meets the qualifications for such a leave."

"Then you will fill out the paperwork to make sure that he does," Osborn replied crossly, not pleased that she was marring his gesture.

"I don't know what to say," Peter said.

"Think nothing of it, Peter, and give your aunt my love."

Peter left the room, and Osborn sat down again. "Mr. Osborn, that's so generous of you," his secretary said."

"I've been in contact with Mrs. Parker's doctors. Trust me, it's not that generous."

(Fifteen) Peter was descending the escalator in the great atrium of the Oscorp building, when his phone made a beeping sound. Looking over it he noticed that Aunt May's situation required him to spend the rest of the workday running various errands. "Well I wasn't actually asking for a vacation," he sighed.

He looked up and noticed two floors above him Liz Allen, Norman Osborn's former daughter in law, his former best friend Harry Osborn's widow, and one of the few people he knew before his transformation into Spider-Man. She was wearing a business suit, and she was with two female executives and two clean-shaved male executives, who were all within ten years of Liz's age. They were waiting for an elevator. Just as it opened, Peter's Spider-Sense went off.

But before Peter could look at the quintet more closely, the elevator doors closed, and the Spider-Sense died down. "Great, one more thing to be worried about."

(Sixteen) Later that evening, much later that evening, it was raining. It was indeed, the last rain before the first snow of the season. And on the second floor of a disconcerting, arguably sinister, but rather tasteful brownstone in Soho, Spider-Man rapped at a window.

The window opened upwards, seemingly of its accord. "Come in Peter," said a grave and powerful voice. "Richards phoned me that you were likely to drop by," Dr. Strange said.

Spider-Man stepped in, but just before he could bring his right leg in, Strange yelled "STOP!"

"What's the matter?"

"Just very gently bring yourself in, taking special care not to touch that small-sealed vase you were about to upset." Spider-Man did so.

"Can you tell me what's in that vase Doc?"

"Certainly. Had you upset the vase both of us would be trapped forever in the purple dimension, along with three minor magicians of ill will who unwisely tried to use it against me."

"Ah. Good to know. Maybe you shouldn't have it by the windowsill."

"And perhaps Peter you could use the front door like most of my guests."

(Seventeen) "Look you know why I'm here. People have been dying of cancer through all of human history. Which means there must be some sort of mystical cure to stop it."

"That is…" And then Dr. Strange paused. Not so much paused as almost froze.

"Doc, is something wrong?"

"Sorry Peter. The strangest feeling. Whatever it was, it's gone now. Yes, there have been all sorts of mystical jewels and devices that can cure grave illnesses. Now while my Sanctus Sanctorum looks unchanged from when I first began my career here, it has over the years been subject to some attacks and dangerous enemies. And while I have all the most vital and important objects, the ones that could cure your aunt's cancer have long been destroyed.

"You've noted a certain coldness of my tone. Richards told me that you were not only looking for a cure for cancer, but also a way to cheat death."

"Yes, because the one thing that defines our relationship is the incessant number of times I've nagged you on that point about my innumerable relatives."

"Peter, do you remember my brother Victor?"

"I didn't even know you had a brother. Or did I? God, for some reason my memory is like Swiss cheese."

"Anyway, my younger brother was killed in accident, and in my early years as a sorcerer I tried to revive him."

"Let me guess, that didn't work out."

(Eighteen) "No, it turned him into a vampire. In fact, it allowed vampirism to return to this world a couple of years after I had successfully gotten rid of it. So every death from vampirism since then is indirectly my responsibility. Also, he eventually killed himself so…"

"I get the point. But you've actually died. And got over it. So, it's only reasonable to think that there's hope."

"Sometimes hope is something you have to give up, Peter. Three points which make my experience irrelevant to you and your aunt. First, my encounter with Silver Dagger was a mystical one: he stabbed with an enchanted dagger. Had he dropped an ordinary piano on me, I'd probably be in much worse shape. Second, I'm the Sorcerer Supreme. I can't do everything, but surviving such a mystical death is one thing I can do even if most people in my power class can't. Third, and your aunt isn't yet in this position. But everything suggests she soon will be. I was only dead for a few hours. Unless you find some way of freezing her body or putting it into a statis chamber, after a few hours, or at most a few days, there's nothing you can do for her."

Spider-Man pondered this for a minute. Then an idea struck him. "The Rose!"

"I'm sorry. The movie starring Bette Midler?"

"No! He's a supervillain. Well, a masked crime lord. He has a rose in his lapel. He was, indeed still is, Richard Fisk."

"Oh really? He wouldn't happen to be related to our former mayor?'

In retrospect, Peter was glad that his mask hid the annoyance that was all too evident in his voice. "Of course he's related to Wilson Fisk! He's his son!"

Spider-Man calmed down. "Look the point is that Richard Fisk was challenging his father's crime empire in the guise of the Rose. And this went on for several years until at one point the Kingpin's wife, and Richard's mother, shot and killed him.

(Nineteen) "But then the Kingpin, through means that would be too complicated to explain, got hold of the Lemurian Tablet of Life, and returned his son to life."

"And this was something he did shortly after his death?"

"What? No, I think it happened three or four years later."

Dr. Strange was startled and chose his words carefully. "Peter, I don't know what to tell you. But there is no way that could happen."

"And yet the Rose is very much alive."

"Peter, demons can manipulate the souls in their possession. And if they allow them to leave their special dimension or 'hell,' it is possible for another mage to rescue them. But usually it's just a cruel exercise in false hope."

Spider-Man remembered the fate of the Sin-Eater, apparently resurrected by Kindred, who ended up shooting himself.

"I can't give up. There must be something I'm missing."

(Twenty) Another day, another evening, Peter was spending another couple of hours at a clinic waiting for another medic to provide more information that was always slightly worse than he expected. Sitting on a chair he thought gloomily. "I should really bring books with me. Except I can't really carry books with me while I'm also Spider-Man.

"And even worse I can't really concentrate on reading something else with all this bad news coming and…" Just then Peter saw a medic and a familiar figure with a goatee leaving a room near where he was sitting. The medic left to assist something else.

"Paul?"

Indeed it was Paul. "Peter is that you?"

"What are you doing here?" Paul walked over to Peter. "I don't know what Mary told you… Hold on, do you mind if I sit down?"

Peter looked around. Deciding it would be a good idea if people didn't overhear them talking he pointed to the area farthest away from anybody else. "Perhaps we could sit over there."

"Oh yes, of course."

(Twenty-One) "Anyway Mary told you about the strange time travelling trick that Mayan God played on us. It turns out that me and my late father had the worst of it. Realizing the whole temporal confusion has caused further problems. I'm suffering headaches, my balance is muddled, sometimes I'm seeing double."

"That can't be good."

"Fortunately, they've been doing some tests. The first ones gave me the wrong medicine. But the second set seems to be working much better. But what are you doing here?"

"It's my aunt."

"Yes, I was told she had a bout of cancer."

"It's returned. The prognosis isn't good."

"I'm sorry to hear it." Then Paul gave a sort of quiet half laugh.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was just thinking of Mary's aunt. And her dementia. I just reminded me of a line I heard. Old age—it's the one condition you don't want to be cured of."

"Yeah, I heard it. It's from Citizen Kane.

(Twenty-Two) "Quite frankly, I wouldn't mind if Aunt May suffered from it for another twenty years."

"I understand. I mean this is never easy. It's not something I have a lot of experience dealing with. Though there are two experiences that come to mind.

"When I was fifteen, my great grandmother was dying. She had suffered from dementia for at least six years. She had no idea who I was, or even my father, her grandson. But when I saw her for the last time she did realize she was going to die.

"She didn't take it very well. In fact she was hysterical. It was made worse by the dementia, there was no way for her to express and understand it. It was the worst thing I'd ever seen—up until everything else that had happened recently.

"Five years later my maternal grandmother was dying. It was cancer, and she was in a hospital not unlike this one. She was still lucid through the pain medication, and one day when I was visiting I asked her if there was anything I could do for her.

"And she told me she still wanted to read things she hadn't done before in her life. And the hospital had a little library and I brought over some books. And the one thing she was interested in was a volume of Keats. So I would drop by for her last few days reading Keats. And I got as far as page 169 when she died.

"It's not much of an anecdote. But I thought it was nice that even though grandma had no hope and very little time, she still wanted to spend it learning things, improving things. I don't know if that helps much."

"It helps a bit."