Chapter 76: Deadpool Arrives in the Parallel Universe
"Let's call it a night. Tomorrow, I'll go find Peter Parker. You go take care of your business." Ethan leaned back.
"Given that you've got no combat ability right now, I'm going to bring in a partner to watch your back." He paused. "Someone I trust."
Doc Ock looked at Ethan with quiet gratitude. He hadn't expected anyone in any universe to care about an old man like him. Something warm moved through his chest.
"Who is this person? Where are they?" He looked around the room. Empty.
"You're about to find out." Ethan smiled.
Doc Ock watched Ethan put his hands in his pockets and speak two words, low and sure, like an incantation:
"On your right."
A magic circle bloomed into existence at Ethan's right side.
A figure stepped through — red suit, twin swords, the posture of someone who'd been in more fights than he could count. He looked, at first glance, like a battle-hardened warrior. Like a serious man.
Doc Ock was, for about three seconds, deeply impressed with Ethan's choice of partner.
Then the figure struck a pose and ruined everything.
"Pretty sick entrance, right, Ethan? That's how you do it!"
And then, before Ethan could respond:
"Also — why'd you summon me? I was in the middle of finding my soulmate! I know — I know — it's because I'm more important to you than Wanda! You missed me! Admit it!" Wade was physically shaking Ethan by the shoulders now, grinning under the mask.
Doc Ock stood to the side, mouth half-open, mid-sentence he'd already decided not to finish.
He was beginning to have concerns.
Ethan swatted Wade's hands off his shoulders and turned to Doc Ock.
"Doc — this is Deadpool. He's the one watching your back tomorrow. I know he seems like a disaster, but nobody is getting through him to get to you. That's a guarantee."
Wade finally noticed the other person in the room. He looked Doc Ock up and down — left, right, top to bottom — then slapped his own chest.
"Don't worry, old man, I've got you covered. So you're the guy from the parallel universe, huh? Gotta say, you look pretty normal. I was expecting tentacles. Or like, an alien head. Kind of disappointed."
The words were flippant. But something in Wade's eyes — a steadiness, a focus — made it hard to write him off entirely.
Doc Ock looked at this ridiculous person and felt, against all logic, a small thread of trust forming. Maybe this absurd red-suited man really could keep him safe.
Wade didn't wait for an assessment. He threw an arm around Doc Ock's shoulder like they'd been friends for years and started asking questions — where was he from, what had happened, how had he ended up here.
Doc Ock didn't pull away. He started talking. The pain, the triumphs, the failures, the wife he'd lost — it all came out, piece by piece, in the quiet of that borrowed room.
While they talked, Ethan slipped out.
He didn't interrupt. Because this — this — was the real Wade. Not the clown. The man who made broken people feel like they could talk. The partner who made people feel safe without them even realizing it was happening.
Summoning Wade had been the right call.
Ethan stood at the end of the hall, looking out the window at the night sky.
Tomorrow was going to be a big day.
Across the city, Peter Parker woke up and stared at his mirror.
His vision was perfect. The thick black frames he'd worn his entire life — he didn't need them anymore.
And he had abs. Eight of them.
He stood in front of the mirror flexing, turning, posing, marveling at a body that hadn't been his twenty-four hours ago.
"Peter? Are you okay in there? Any changes?" Aunt May's voice drifted through the bedroom door.
Peter looked at himself and nodded, grinning. "Yeah — yeah. Big changes!"
"Well hurry up, you're going to be late!"
Peter glanced across to the window next door. Mary Jane's window. She was in there somewhere.
He grinned like an idiot.
For the first time in his life, Peter Parker looked at himself and thought: I might actually have a shot.
The confidence was brand new. The brightness in his eyes — that was new too.
He grabbed his bag and left for school.
He was working up the nerve to say something to MJ when a car pulled up — some other kid with a license — and she climbed in without looking back.
Peter slammed his fist into the wall.
Then he stared at the wall. There was a hole in it. A fist-shaped crater he'd just punched into solid brick.
He looked at his hand. Looked at the wall. Looked at his hand again.
Before he could even process it, the school bus pulled away without him. Again.
The morning was a blur. Peter didn't absorb a single minute of class. He spent every period studying the strange new things happening to his body — the reflexes, the strength, the feeling of something different humming under his skin.
Harry wasn't in school either.
At lunch, Peter was picking at his food when MJ walked past his table. She was quiet — still carrying the weight of her boyfriend's collapse at the museum — and didn't notice the wet patch on the floor.
Her foot slipped.
Peter moved. He caught her with one arm, and in the same motion, snagged her falling lunch tray out of the air.
"Wow — that was fast. Thanks!" MJ blinked up at him, startled and smiling.
Peter looked at her, too dazed to play it cool. "Don't mention it."
Their eyes met. MJ tilted her head.
"You have really beautiful blue eyes. I never noticed with the glasses."
Then she was gone, walking away, leaving Peter standing there with a helpless grin spreading across his face.
She said my eyes are beautiful. That's the first nice thing she's ever said to me. This is the start of something.
He was still floating on it when the strangeness caught up with him.
A weird tackiness in his palm. He looked down. The fork was stuck to his hand. And then — from his wrist — thin silvery strands shot out. Web.
Peter's heart lurched. He whipped his head around. Did anyone see that?
He dropped the fork, bolted upright, and ran for the exit before anyone could get a closer look. His pulse was hammering. His head was a storm of fear and confusion and what is happening to me.
He sprinted out of the school, down the block, into a narrow alley where nobody could see him. He leaned against the wall, breathing hard.
He looked at his hands.
He had no idea why this was happening. He had no idea what to do about it.
And then, from deeper in the alley, a voice:
"Scared of your new powers?"
Peter spun, guard up.
A figure stepped out of the shadows.
Peter's breath stopped.
Black cape. Blue-and-white mask.
The same man he'd watched on television. The same man who'd saved a mother and her daughter and punched a mechanical monster across a city block.
Peter's hand came up, shaking, pointing.
"You — you're — you're the Kamen Rider?"
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