The next day...

“Sorry to have to run out on you so quickly yesterday, Mr. Parker,” I told him, offering a hand he accepted readily. “Would you believe the new Phoenix was reborn last night, in New York City of all places?”

He looked as incredulous as everyone else at that statement, including Peter, who had arrived at the situation just in time to watch us fly off towards the Baxter Building, making it back there in time to join us for dinner.

Well, I’d fixed up Grimm the equivalent of nuts ’n’ pretzels and beer, but he hadn’t seemed too unhappy about that.

“The new Phoenix? Well, the papers are all over the death of the old one, although nobody is saying much of anything.” He gave me a serious once over. “So, you’re Dynamo, huh?” He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Less electricity than I reckoned...”

“Ben!” his wife hit him, and he just grinned. “Please come in, Dynamo.”

Formally allowed entry, I stepped over the threshold.

I didn’t expect to be impressed, and I wasn’t. They had a lower middle-class home, and were clearly struggling to make ends meet, not at all an unusual situation here in Murica. The prosperity of the world hadn’t converged on here like it had in other worlds, and the States weren’t much better off than, say, Europe was, and had their own problem with major border politics and race tensions.

“I hope the company didn’t give you any trouble over your accident,” I said, going through a narrow hall that had to be re-papered and into a cozy sitting room that needed new upholstery on its chairs. Totally unconcerned, I sat down on the couch I was waved to, dispelling Peter’s nerves about how I might regard his home and foster parents.

“Oh, that,” May spoke up before Ben could, taking her chair as Ben did his, while Peter sat down next to me. “They actually got to the hospital room before Ben was even discharged.”

I wasn’t dumb. “A lawyer? Pressuring you?” I asked instantly.

Ben coughed into his hand. “Yes, well...” he trailed off. “She was actually pretty nervous as she spoke. It seems that there’s a whole slew of people who’ve been trying to get into ‘nuclear accidents’ in order to gain super-powers.”

I grimaced for them. “Oh. I imagine that gets really messy for them...”

Ben nodded once, sighing. “It’s a damn nuclear power plant, not a super-power generating plant! The security guards told me they get at least a couple people trying to break in and exposed a month, and they’ve had three so far this year who got too far...”

I facepalmed. “So, what did they offer you, if I may ask?”

“Well, they didn’t want anyone getting any ideas on the nature of the accident we had, and that someone was behind it. They had me sign a non-disclosure agreement, and offered a pretty generous severance check and retirement on the spot.”

He didn’t sound at all unhappy with the deal. “At least six figures and four figures, I trust?”

He had to think about that a second, but smiled slightly and nodded. “Yes. That’s why I took it. I figure I’d be doing better even with a part-time job. They also offered to cover any medical costs related to the scars, but the docs don’t even know what is causing them.

“They said if I develop super-powers I am in no way to ever mention that their company was involved.” He rolled his eyes in disbelief at the idea.

“Huh. Well, that was smart of them.”

The way I said that made them both look at me oddly. “What’s that supposed to mean, Dyna?” Peter promptly jumped in, eyes wide and protective of his folks.

I reached over my back, and pulled out a big book from the Masspack whose edge was barely visible. The folks blinked, as it didn’t look like I was wearing a pack at all.

It was a big leather-bound book, easily an inch thick, definitely sized for a coffee table. “Cue ominous moment,” I said, holding up the book and waving it absently.

“And that is?” Ben Parker asked, looking at it suspiciously.

“This is a book from another dimension. Like, an alternate reality. One where Ben Parker didn’t look into a point of light and get lightning scars on his face.”

He grunted, but my expression said I wasn’t teasing him. “Pretty specific with that example,” he grunted, but his curiosity was piqued.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“A guy named Owen Reece, however, did.”

That quieted all of them. I leaned forward and placed the book into Ben Parker’s hands. “Peter, Mrs. Parker, I think it would be a very good idea if we all retire to the kitchen while Mr. Parker reads.”

May looked at me and Peter, and then at Ben. “Ben?” she asked quietly.

He stared at me, then at the book in his hands, and slowly reached over to put on his reading glasses. “Another dimension?” he repeated thoughtfully.

“It might not be true, but it might well be.”

He nodded once. “May, please sit down and talk with Peter and Dynamo here. If you can, start making a list of things we can start updating and fixing around here, now that we’ve got a little money to do so.”

“Of course, Ben.” We all rose as she did, and followed her out of the room.

“And a vacation spot! Some place you’ve always wanted to go!” he called after her, and a smile bloomed on her face instantly.

------

The talk about things and people and places soon became preparations for dinner. They’d splurged on a better cut of roast, I pulled out some extra vegetables, to her delight, helped mix up the sauce and gravy, and put everything in to cook. Then there was the blueberry pie, getting in with the hands to mix everything up proper-like, and she was absolutely delighted to experience my way of Repulsing her hands completely clean.

Then it was chatting about a round-robin of experiences in the normal and super-heroic world, Aunt May calling Mr. Fantastic ‘very handsome’, wondering if we’d met the Patriot or that young son of Howard Stark person yet.

“Dynamo, could you come in here a minute?” Ben Parker’s calm voice came in from the other room.

The other two Parkers glanced at me in worry, but I walked into the other room without hesitation, turning to sit down on the edge of the couch and face Ben Parker.

He hadn’t finished the compilation of comic book issues with the Molecule Man in them, his finger stuck into the closed book.

An ashtray was floating in the air in front of him. I glanced at it, back at him as he studied my reaction, and I sighed loudly.

“Snip it,” I told him calmly, making a scissor motion with my fingers.

He glanced at the ashtray. An instant later, a perfect line appeared down the middle of the glass, and it floated apart into two geometrically identical halves.

“And back together.” Ben Parker’s brown eyes flashed, and a moment later the ashtray flowed back into one piece, completely unmarked.

“Cue ominous music?” I repeated archly, and he huffed in amusement despite himself. He picked up a paper bookmark from the stand next to him, inserted it into the big book, and set it down on the floor next to his chair, as it was too large for the stand.

“So, how much of that book is real?” he asked.

“Well, I’m not sure how far you got, but the real answer is totally dependent on you, right?” I shrugged. “The stories tell what he learned to do and what he was capable of. What you can do is what you can do.”

He looked at the ashtray for a long moment. “May, I’m going out into the back yard for a few minutes!” he called out, getting to his feet.

“We are eating in ten minutes. Don’t be late!” his wife chided him, and he smiled despite himself as he headed for the back yard, gesturing for me to accompany him.

Peter naturally followed, curious as to what was going on.

The floor creaked unevenly, the screen door was battered and didn’t fit properly from the frame shifting with age. The boards of the patio back there had gaps and arches here and there, and they really needed a coat of paint, but nowhere near as much as the siding of the house did.

He walked down the steps with the ease of someone who did it every day, unconsciously finding the most secure parts of them to lay his feet.

The yard itself was kept trim and weeded, and if the fence needed painting, it joined the crowd. I assumed that it was May keeping the lawn and flowers in shape, the tiny garden weeded, and everything trimmed as best she was able, while Ben made sure everything worked, even if it didn’t look good.

He turned around and looked at the back of his house. It really needed a new roof, the chimney for the furnace had cracks in it, and the rainspouts were sagging and rusting.

I turned to look at it with him, as did Peter, who looked confused.

Things began to move.

There was no crinking or creaking in the slightest. Ben Parker looked at the stuff, and pictured it the way it should be: new and clean and fresh, strong and proper and not weathered by time and the finances of a family struggling to make ends meet.

He was a janitor and maintenance tech at the plant, had been a mechanic and done repair work on the side. He knew what had to be done to fix things.

First, the dust and grime disappeared. It was subtle, but there, brightening everything. Paint flowed true and shiny, rust and cracks disappeared. Wood and metal straightened out, lines sharpened and met perfectly, even better than when they were new, so crisp and clean it looked like something a machine had put on.

The porch evened out, the chairs on it gleamed with polish, the steps lifted up and asserted themselves.

Peter was gaping as he watched it all. The roof went black, missing shingles filled in, the brickwork of the chimney and the foundation of the house itself fixed itself to perfection, and all the windows were suddenly straight and perfectly polished.

“Uncle Ben?” Peter asked faintly.

“Just wait a second, Peter,” Ben Parker replied calmly, turning his eyes to his driveway.

The cracked plates of cement, with the tough weeds poking through the grass in them, came together, smoothed out, and were back to looking newly poured, if a bit ‘seasoned’ so as not to stand out so glaringly.

The rough siding on the garage straightened up and fit itself back on, window frames straightened out, cleaned up, and the whole building shivered as it was rebuilt on the inside more securely than it had been before.

The garage door was repainted and cleaned, and rolled up soundlessly on its better-than-oiled track as we watched. His old Ford rolled back out of the garage on its own, and he stepped forward to lay his hand on it.

The rust and wear vanished. The paint gleamed as if polished, the tires were as black as if new, treads clean and full. The windows cleaned themselves up to perfection, and the worn insides did the same thing. What looked like cases of tools were sitting neatly on the seats, also gleaming as if new.