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Published:
2019-09-01
Updated:
2019-12-31
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10/12
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Final Frontier

Summary:

Deadpool is unpredictable most of the time, but when it comes to certain things he is remarkably consistent. So when Spider-man can't find him, he knows it can't mean anything good.

He only has a half-baked idea of where Wade could be, but Peter is prepared to take some potentially drastic measures to find him. He's not sure he's ready to consider the reasons why.

He just tells himself it's worth it.

Probably.

Notes:

I have a few yet-unfinished fics to work on, so is it the best time to have started another? ....meh, no. But this was in my head and when plot bunnies come you must follow... ...

Not related to 'In Unison' or other fics.

As a maybe-unecessary FYI: I'm pulling some inspiration from the Spider-man/Deadpool comic run, but it's not necessary to know anything from them because I'm deviating all over the place. But, anywho, Peter's in his later twenties, at least.

Okay. Enjoy.

Chapter 1: Come on

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text



Asking Dr. Strange for assistance is possibly not the smartest thing that Peter has ever done.  Or, you know, it’s absolutely-without-a-doubt the smartest.  Only time will tell on that one.

Without a doubt, it is not the easiest thing he has done.

Not that Stephen Strange is outright mean. No. 

Peter would almost prefer it if he were because that’s straightforward and easier to understand.  He is used to mean - villains, bad press, assorted bullies - and can plan a response to mean.

No, no.  Strange is ...well, strange. He is poised and full of manners while also being condescending. He is pompous and oppositional but... helpful? 

At least Peter is pretty sure that he’s been left here to wait in this study while the wizard went off to do something helpful.  The older man had certainly hinted that he was going to go do something but, see, he hadn’t been explicit.

Weird, indeed.

And, also, why did he have to accept guests in this dusty-ass old room?  Oh, sorry: Sanctum Sanctorum. That is the proper name, or so Peter has been educated. He’s not a student of Latin, but he understands this to mean something practically holy. AKA: very important. AKA: don’t touch anything.  AKA:  it’s still ancient AF.  AKA: hire a new interior decorator.

Peter crosses his arms tightly and wiggles himself a little tighter into his coat.  He’s not comfortable here for multiple reasons, not all of which have to do with being wrong-footed by Strange himself. 

This place is a trove of, quote: “priceless and timeless artifacts”.  End quote. 

Which ...cool. 

But Peter can count on his hands how many things he owns that weren’t bought second-hand, so a house of antiques is not his ideal hangout space.  Not that he’d break anything - he has the good kind of sticky fingers, see? - but it’s just the whole aura of being out of his depth that he doesn’t like. 

Even visiting Avenger’s Mansion doesn’t make him feel this way because that place is floor-to-ceiling tech, and tech Peter understands.  Loves, in fact.

No, hardly anything here is thrumming with electricity.  The energy here is something...else.

Magic.  Peter knows that’s what it is. 

It’s old and it feels ...dense and sticky.  His spidey-senses do not like it even a little bit.  His neck is cold and his spine prickles in a way that won’t let him get comfortable.  In short, this is not the kind of thing that Harry Potter promised. 

PS: do not make Dumbledore jokes to Doctor Strange; that’s not in his repertoire of humor. 

But Peter can handle it. He’s Spider-man, after all. Not that the Lord of Sorcery - or whatever title he likes these days - gives a single shit.

Crude, Strange has called him on more than on occasion.  Like there’s something wrong with being witty.

Pedestrian, he has said. As if being street-level when the Avengers aren’t in need is so bad?  Sorry not everyone has access to the infinite cosmos, or what-the-fuck-ever.

 

Which, incidentally, is exactly the playing field Peter has come here to try to level.

.

“...and it’s hella trippy meeting yourself, Webs, I’m telling you!”

Spider-man, being a red-blooded, if radioactive, American was busy slamming Big Macs and so hadn’t been listening to every word Deadpool was prattling. At this statement, however, he blinked and drew breath to respond a little too quick...

“Chill, man...” Deadpool thumped him hard between the shoulders to help him out when he started to choke on a bite.

Spider-man gurgled, then actually coughed properly to propel the hunk of food up and out. 

“Shit,” he wheezed and made a valiant effort to catch the hunk of bun that landed on his lap and then rolled down off of his knee...

 

“Nasty,” the large man beside him laughed as they both leaned over the edge of the theatre marquee where they were seated.

Spider-man supposed he could have webbed-up the mushed food, but no one was passing under them so he let it splat to the sidewalk.  He felt a bit repulsed with himself but quickly remembered the choke-worthy topic at hand.

“What did you say?” he twisted toward Deadpool.

The man’s mask was also partially rolled-up so he could down some greasy fries, so Spider-man caught his smirk.

“I said that was nasty ...I approve, though.  No worries.”

As if Spider-man would have thought that, of all people, Deadpool would be the one to get hung-up on daintiness or table manners.

“No,” he knocked the mercenary with his elbow, “before that.”

“Aw, yeah,” Deadpool’s tongue snuck past his scarred lips to lick some salt from his gloves, which Spider-man found to be a highly questionable choice. “Trippy, shit.  Like I said...”

Spider-man paused a beat to decide whether it would be worth offering his companion a quick lesson on sanitation. He calculated a high probability of having ‘cell regeneration’ thrown back in his face and skipped the whole thing.

“Back up one more step; how did you “meet yourself”?” he couldn’t help but repeat this back in a derisive tone because ...come on. 

Deadpool said a lot of zany things, not all of which Spider-man bothered to follow-up on.  Some of it was total malarky, of course, but Spider-man had already come to learn that Deadpool spoke a lot more sense than people ever gave him credit for.  Dude just ... ...well, a judicious term would be that DP’s had “a lot of life experience.”

Even so, this one was a little out there. Right?

Right?

Deadpool didn’t go on right away, just munched on some more fries.  He even chewed with his mouth open a little, probably because he knew that doing so irritated Spider-man to no end.

“Inter-dimensional travel, Webs.  You impressed?”

Spider-man snorted.

Yeah. No.

“Come on.”

“Sure thing. Cum on what?” Spider-man could make-out the way that Deadpool’s brows waggled up and down under his mask.

“I thought you were being serious,” he elbowed Deadpool again and took another large bite of of his burger.

He knew the meat in those things was controversial, but whichever health-nuts were concerned about that should show him celery that tasted that damn good.  

Thanks be to the fast food gods for his over-active metabolism.

“I am!  Take a look at this...” Deadpool shoved his carton of fries into Spider-man's hand and shifted around to dig into one of the pouches on his belt. “Eat your heart out.”

Spider-man could only blink at the small thing in the palm of the mercenary’s hand.  It looked like a tarnished brass ring, the kind that would fit over two fingers instead of just one.  Not Deadpool’s usual aesthetic, though Spider-man couldn't claim to be up on the latest trends.

“...neat?”

“Stole it off Strange and his one true homie! I forget his name...” he added this tantilizing bit of information with glee. 

If Spider-man had taken a fresh bite, he would have choked again.

“You didn’t!” his masked eyes were wide and focused on the other man.

No.  Just ...no.  Deadpool was known to be bold, but this was just too much. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so surprised, but everything about Dr. Strange always seemed heightened and forbidden.

To Spider-man, at least.

“Sure did!  They call ‘em sling rings,” the man tossed the thing a bit and caught it back out of the air. “I just call it Bad-fucking-Ass.”

Balls. 

Deadpool had all the balls. S

pider-man didn’t like admitting it, but damn. If for no other reason than Dr Strange, via magic, could probably make Deadpool suffer a lot more than most other people.

Without thinking, he reached for the thing. 

To inspect it.  Ya know, for science. 

In the name of discovery, he forgot his trepidation.  Then again, well...it could be jewelry from a quarter machine. With DP you just never knew.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Deadpool clenched his fist. “Gotta be careful, Webs...”

“I’m always careful!” he was positive that he was more careful that Deadpool ever was.

“Says the man who just spat half-eaten bread onto a public sidewalk.  Couldda hit a poor pedestrian, ya know?”

Dick.

Spider-man scowled and ate some of Deadpool’s fries.

“So, c’mon.  Are you pulling my leg or what?” he asked with a half-full mouth despite the manners his Aunt had engrained in him.

“Would I lie?! ...wait, no, don’t answer that,” Wade snatched his fries back.

The ring was now shoved onto his left hand.  It only fit halfway down his fingers with his gloves on, but the man didn’t look concerned about it falling off.

“I would totes lie, but I’m not this time ... ...been to a few different dimensions.  Some might make you blush,” he winked through his suit and his mouth was twisted into a smirk. “Not all of the others versions of me like the me that is me ...but we usually have a ball, though.”

“So, like ...you can visit the past you?” Spider-man wasn’t completely convinced he wasn’t being Punk’d, but he was also more than a little fascinated.

“That’s a negative, Ghost Rider,” Deadpool swung his legs with apparent delight.

Spider-man thought the mercenary rather liked that he wasn't catching up to something Deadpool could educate him on. That was either supremely endearing or annoying as hell.

“It’s not time travel,” Wade’s tone flirted close to condescension   “It’s dimension travel ...into an alternate reality.  Whole different ballgame, yeah?

.

Yeah, a whole different ball game is right. 

Wade has never been super clear about his reality-hopping, as he likes to call it.  Once Peter had decided to believe him and shown interest in maybe-possibly-definitely trying to tag along, Wade had backpedalled and stopped bringing it up so much.  Not because it wasn’t true, he promised, but because Peter “shouldn’t get wrapped up” and “it’s some fucked up shit sometimes, Webs.”

So Peter tried to forget about it. 

Until a few months ago when Wade dropped a couple agitated lines about not being the only Deadpool who’d liberated a sling ring from its rightful owner.  Someone was looking for a hand with something. 

Was it this Wade’s business? 

Was he required to care about other versions of himself?

Once again, when Wade realized Peter found the metaphysics of these questions intriguing, he’d clammed right up.

Fine. Whatever.  Wade Wilson is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside of an enigma ...yadda, yadda, yadda.  That’s old news.

Except now Peter hasn’t been able to track Wade down in a few weeks. 

And, sure, Wade is often unpredictable in many ways.  However, in hitting patrols a couple time a week with Spiderman, he is remarkably consistent.  If a job takes him off in one direction or another, he always leaves a candygram atop The Daily Bugle with a note about it. Or just texts.  Okay...sometimes texts a little too much if Peter’s being honest.

So Spidey’s been on a bit of a hunt. 

Weasel had been unhelpful, though not in his usual cagy way; he had seemed genuine at a loss. 

Al hasn’t seen her roommate in weeks, either, and Peter definitely believes her because the lady’s always been sweet to him.  Wade promises that doesn’t mean she likes him, only that she’s confused... but Peter doesn’t buy that. 

And, well, Wade doesn’t have a lot of other BFF’s.  He’d been engaged a year or so ago to a woman that he and Weasel both swear - hand on the Bible style-  is a demon.  Peter figures she’s probably just another mutant using her powers for darker purposes, but in any case he hasn’t been able to find her.

‘You can’t find what lives in hell!’ Weasel had mocked him.

So, still dubious about whether the sling-ring nonsense was some sort of long con, Peter had come to the alleged original owner.

And.

Well.

Stephen Strange had had some choice words regarding the company Peter keeps.  The man has never been impressed with Peter, so it’s really not a huge loss.

‘Can’t you, like ...look into other dimensions and find him?’

‘That’s a ridiculously simplistic view of the multiverse.

Great.  Super.  Thanks for nothing.

But the Sorcerer of Time and Space and Whatever had bustled off for something important.

So Peter’s waiting.

Still.


 

When Peter hears rustling and footsteps approaching, he straightens out of his unhappy slouch.  Truth be told, he is half expecting to see Dr. Strange returning with Deadpool at his heel like this is all a ruse and he’s known all along which hole to pry Wade out of. 

That seems like a game Strange might like to play.

Peter also recognizes this is wishful thinking, that he’s sort of hoping not to have to do the things he’s pretty sure he wants to attempt.  Because as fascinating as he finds the theory of multiple dimensions, he's also mature enough to admit the prospect is intimidating.

It’s wild that this is his life.  He should be used to it by now, he knows; his life has not been average in quite some time...

“A solution, I believe,” the stoic doctor announces.

Does he ever emote, Peter wonders. Wasn’t he an actual doctor at some point?  Where is his beside manner? And should Peter help him find it?

Rather than say so, he looks to what the man is holding.

It appears to be a bracelet, which Peter doesn’t know what to make of.  The thing doesn’t look 900 years old like everything else in the room, however, so Peter wants to touch.

“What is it?” Peter absolutely does not touch because he doesn’t have a lot of trust in whatever this building is producing.

“A tool,” Strange extends it properly to Peter.  “To help pull yourself into another reality.  It will be easier to use than a sling ring ...how your friend has managed to use one without getting himself killed is beyond comprehension...”

Peter steps over this insult to more important things.

This thing?”

But maybe Peter shouldn’t be surprised.  Rings. Bracelets.  Mystic artists are fashionistas, perhaps?

“Yes.  This.  Miguel O’Hara created this in the year 2099.”

And isn’t that a statement?

Peter blinks.

“Come again?”

“I sped time forward to 2099 to fetch it and rewound myself back here so that you can use it.”

Okay.  Yeah.  Totally.  But Peter is the asshole for suggesting Strange just poke around in a neighboring dimension to look for Deadpool.  Noted.

“2099?” Peter does snatch the thing from the doc to hold it up for close inspection.

Were materials the same in 2099?  Is this a yet-unheard-of-synthetic?  What energy does 2099 even use for power?

“It works?” he raises a brow.

Strange curls his eyebrow right back. 

Oh. Fine.  Stupid question.

“How?” he amends.

“It’s a concentrated and controlled product of a particle accelerator.

Peter freezes.

“Didn’t I say controlled?” Strange is straight sneering, now.  “Once turned on, it can slice through this reality to another,” he points to the face of what Peter can now see is a slick watch rather than bracelet.  “It’s set on our dimension,” he indicates the time.  “And can dial into the next ...and the next...”

“And set it here to come back?” Peter eyes the hands.

06:16:00

“Indeed”

“...do I have to know how to choose a dimension?  Or does it choose for me?” there’s no way to know if this is another stupid question; Peter has absolutely no basis.

“You could choose if you want to cross your fingers and step through hundreds of thousands of dimensions ... ...focusing on what you want to find should help immensely.”

“Oh ...just think of DP?”

Strange sighs through his nose.  A nose that Peter, incidentally, finds he very much wants to punch.

“You are being simplistic and naive.  Your...Deepee is not the sole version of himself," he reminds Peter. "Merely thinking of him will find you any him.  Focus, I said.  Pure and specific.”

“Okay...”

Strange doesn’t look hopeful or excited about Spider-man’s newest adventure.  Peter can sympathize.  He’s not sure how to feel, either.

“Find your friend. Bring him back or leave him there, whichever you please ....just bring the ring back to me...”

“I don’t suppose I can convince you to join me?” a companion who knows something about multiple realities, however pious he may be, isn’t an altogether horrible idea.

“There are too many people who would be happy for me to leave this plane of existence open to an attack,” the good doctor declines.

Peter doesn’t bother to point out that The Avengers could usually help with that kind of bullshit.

“Alright...”

“Be careful. Not everyone enjoys realities outside of their own,” he finally gives some more ominous advice.

Great.

 

Yeah, he’s definitely not sure how he feels about this yet.

Notes:

Yeah, there is going to be some half-cocked science happening, but considering the canon I feel like we're all ready to suspend our disbelief.

*2099 Miguel O'Hara is a nod at the end credits of Into the Spiderverse. There's not an in-depth explanation of the "watch" he has there, so I'm just filling in blanks. Because I can...