The Avengers do not Assemble (Yet)
*Peter*
The Avengers facility is a two-hour ten-minute train ride from Manhattan, plus a fifteen minuten taxi that costs exactly $7.50. Peter knows this, because after Mr Stark finally let him know the secret location, Peter used to ride up there the whole time to ask Mr Stark all kinds of vital superhero questions, like how the Iron Spider suit actually worked, which criminals Peter was supposed to be stopping, and if Mr Stark could send a jet to take him to and from school on Fridays, because New York traffic is a bitch then and Peter was worried he’d get mown over when he tried to cross the road. Out of all the times that Peter has made that trip, it had never once occurred to him that he would be doing it with an elf, a witch and an assassin from alternate dimensions. Until now, the weirdest reason he’d been here was when Mr Stark got stuck on Animal Crossing. (Unless of course you count the time that Peter got un-dusted and a wizard made a portal from space to here so that they could stop the bad purple alien from stealing some rocks. But Peter tries extremely hard not to think about that time).
It’s only when the cab has pulled up in front of the ten-feet-tall gates, and Legolas is trying to manoeuvre his bow out of the car door, that Peter realises quite how nervous he really is. A knot has formed in his stomach.
‘That’ll be nine dollars,’ the cab driver calls.
‘Umm…’ Peter reaches to his pocket, then remembers that his phone’s battery is still dead. He’d borrowed Hermione’s top and pulled the hood over his head so that he looked less noticeably Spider-Many, but she didn’t have a charger he could use or anything. (And neither Legolas or Arya even knew what a phone was, which wasn’t particularly helpful).
Legolas seizes a leather pouch strapped around his waist. ‘I will give you four silver pennies.’
The cab driver wrinkles his noise. ‘Do you do ApplePay?’
The elf fishes into the purse. ‘Ten silver pennies, and I will promise you a fine goat upon my return to Mirkwood.’
The two of them are arguing over silver and credit cards and whether or not goat’s cheese is overrated, but their voices blur together as Peter studies the sleek silver of the gates. He hasn’t been back to this place since Thanos razed it to the ground. He doesn’t even know what it looks like now. He takes a deep breath, punches in his code – 2187 – and waits for the gates to tremble and swing open. But the keypad vibrates, and a light flashes red. Peter gulps. Did Sam Wilson remove his security code? Peter has only met him a few times, and he always got the vibe that Sam Wilson didn’t like him very much. Or maybe Mr Stark did it years ago. He did threaten to after that time when Peter went all the way up to the Avengers Facility to ask if he could get him free Hamilton tickets (Peter still stands by the fact that it was worth a try).
Legolas seems to be finishing off his debate with the cab driver, because the cab driver is nodding more and more as Legolas lists types of horse chainmail. Hermione is walking up behind Peter. ‘Is everything alright, Spider-Man?’ She peers over his shoulder at the keypad.
‘Er…’ Peter punches in the code again. It’s denied again. Hermione’s breath is lingering on the back of his neck. Then a male voice crackles over a speaker next to the gate. ‘Spidey-Boy! I see you’ve finally got more than two friends!’
Peter sighs from relief. The voice is too muffled for him to recognise it, but he’s just glad he can actually do what he promised the heroes. ‘Can you let me in, please?’
‘Only if you say, ‘Peter Parker pleads pretty pretty please.’’
‘Um…’ Is that Sam Wilson’s voice, or somebody else’s? Peter hasn’t actually seen him since Mr Stark’s funeral. He hasn’t seen any of the Avengers since Mr Stark’s funeral (well, he thinks Ant-Man might have pranked him once, but it is also entirely possible that Peter simply dropped his churros for unrelated reasons, such as not paying any attention to any of his surroundings whatsoever). Hermione is watching him, waiting. Peter’s probably just overthinking this. ‘Peter Parker pleads pretty pretty please?’
The gates tremble and shudder. As they slide apart, Peter can see more and more of driveway. He grins. He’s home. ‘Come on, guys!’
Legolas shakes the cab driver’s hand, promising him an extra pair of dragonskin leg-warmers (Peter wants some dragonskin leg-warmers), and the cab driver zooms off with a cheery wave. Legolas, Arya and Hermione follow Peter through the gates.
The driveway is lined with lime trees that form a leafy canopy over the road. As they walk down it, Peter can make out more and more of the site. Fields of grass now blanket what was the scorched battlefield. The sun is so white that each blade seems to glow like emeralds (the Minecraft block, not the gem). Some of the buildings are still half-built: the laboratory is missing windows, a patch of concrete has replaced the shooting range, and the roof of the weapons hanger is rolled back, exposing the quinget to the sky. But other than that, everything is exactly as it was before Thanos came. It’s as if Peter isn’t really here, but looking at a photo from 2016.
‘It’s amazing,’ Hermione breathes.
‘Yeah,’ Peter whispers, ‘they are.’
He’s walking down the avenue so fast that he’s practically running. The main building is exactly as he remembers it, in the slanting C-shape that must have given the architects a headache. The white walls sparkle in the sunlight, like the marble of an ancient temple.
Arya gazes up at the silver A logo, which shines from the wall of the entrance. ‘So this is where your world’s heroes live?’
‘Live, train, eat shawarma,’ Peter replies, ‘trust me, if anyone can figure out what’s going on, it’s these guys. They’ve saved the world so often, that it would take, like, 51 hours to explain it all. Plus pee breaks. They’ll know how to send you back to your homes.’ So that I can work out how to get home too, he adds to himself. He stands in front of the blueish glass doors, and waits for his face to be scanned. Who will be here at the moment? Mr Wilson? Thor? Captain Marvel? The doors vibrate. Peter stretches out his arms, and grins. ‘Say hello to earth’s mightiest hero-’
The foyer is empty. Bucky’s metal arm is soaking in the sink. The kitchen tap is dribbling, slowing filling it up with brownish water. Scarlet Witch’s paprika has spilt over the kitchen table. A selfie stick patterned with cartoon Hulks has fallen onto the carpet.
‘Hello? Hello?’ Peter calls. Nobody answers. Mr Legolas, Hermione and Arya cluster in the doorway, watching him. Peter runs through the kitchen, the lounge, the Mario Kart room, calling after them. ‘Mr Wilson? Mr Bucky? Where is everybody?’
‘Making Disney+ shows.’ Peter spins round. A man is sprawled across a sofa, half-covered in shadow. He’s concealed from head to toe in a bodysuit, which suspiciously is the exact musty colour of dried blood. Two katanas, each as long as Peter’s arm, gleam wickedly next to him. Peter really hopes they’re just for cosplay. The man is plaiting a bullet into the pink main of a toy unicorn.
‘You’re not an Avenger,’ Peter notes.
The man pouts. ‘Well, not yet I’m not. But since Disney bought Fox, we’ll all be one big happy family soon.’ He strokes the toy unicorn, then waves at the other three, who have been standing awkwardly in the doorway. ‘Hi Legolas! Loved your surfing during the battle of Helm’s Deep. White Hermione! What an honour. I’m gonna collect all of Gryffindor at this rate. And Arya Stark! Sorry Season 8 was such a shitshow, literally. Aww, it’s such an honour to finally meet you all.’ He man-spreads across the sofa. ‘I’m your friendly neighbourhood Deadpool.’ He spreads out his arms, as if waiting for applause. Nobody applauds.
‘How do you know who I am?’ Hermione demands. ‘I’ve never seen you before in my life.’
‘Ah, but I have seen you, White Hermione.’ Deadpool winks. ‘I’ve seen your entire school career, three times over, last year alone.’ Then he turns his head to the side, and says to the wall, ‘it’s been a hard year.’
‘This red creature has the power of foresight,’ Legolas breathes, ‘he is a mage of some kind.’
Deadpool nods eagerly. ‘Hell yeah I am, baby! I am the Mighty Deadpool, Oracle of all things past, present and future.’
The Mighty Deadpool, Oracle of all things past, present and future, then proceeds to itch his butt with one hand and use the other hand to take a selfie with all of them in the background.
‘I’ve seen some shit fortune-tellers before,’ Arya mutters, ‘but this is a whole new low.’
‘Even my divinations professor is less ridiculous than this,’ Hermione adds.
Deadpool gasps, and clutches his heart. ‘White Hermione! Don’t offend Emma Thompson by comparing her to me!’
‘We must listen to the diviner, even if his mannerisms are… anti-heroic,’ Legolas decides.
Anti-heroic is definitely the right word for it. Peter has understood about 5 – 35% of everything Deadpool has said. Plus, it’s still weird that this stranger is here but not a single Avenger is. But if Legolas isn’t aiming an arrow at his heart yet, there must be something okay about him. ‘Mr Deadpool, who are you, and why are you in Mr Stark’s Mario Kart room?’
‘I come with glad tidings. Of a world made free. Your fear, suffering, and general confusion is at an end.’ He snatches a carton of coco pops, and rips it open. ‘You have found the stationed guardian of this fandom.’
‘Fandom?’ Peter echoes.
Deadpool ignores him. ‘Due to a fault in your stars, or a glitch in the matric, or whatever, you three amigos’ – he waggles a finger at everyone but Peter – ‘have fallen through portals to a storyworld that is not your own. You are disorientated! Confused! Probably pissed yourselves with fear when you heard about how regularly this New York gets invaded by aliens! But fear not. Thanks to Master Deadpool, you are saved.’
‘You mean, you can send us back home?’ Hermione asks. A faint smile flickers across her face.
‘You bet I can! I can make portals back to your storyworlds. This is definitely a particularly weird case, and really against all odds that you’ve all ended up here at once… but no problem is too great for the great Master Deadpool! Fingers crossed, that miracle combination of all your deep-rooted insecurities, trauma from a lifetime of vaguely explained shit happening, and your side characters gaslighting you in ignored problematic ways, should convince you over time that your little voyage through the portal was just a super bad dream. You can go back to your stories, I won’t get fed to any suspiciously large sharks, and everything will be hunky-dory. Well, not quite hunky-dory.’ He winks at Hermione. ‘You’re in a Deathly Hallows Part I outfit. Right?’
‘You- you know about the Deathly Hallows?’ Hermione stammers.
Deadpool rolls his head back. ‘White Hermy, I know everything. Deal with it.’ He turns round, and rummages behind the sofa, bum in air. ‘Let’s see… you’re easy… I know for a fact that Webhead here’s definitely easy…’
Peter tries not to think about what Mr Deadpool means by that.
And as he watches him grovel behind the sofa, producing book after book, Peter can feel his stresses drift away like helium balloons. Legolas and Hermione and Arya aren’t his problems anymore. Deadpool can fix that for him, then he can go back to his regular problems, like Mysterio and the whole world hating him and his probably eventual doom. Then a thought springs through his mind, and before he has time to think about whether it’s a sensible idea or not, the words are already tumbling out of his mouth.
‘What’s the Library?’ Peter asks.
Deadpool freezes. The books he was holding tumble onto the floor. Peter can practically feel the temperature drop and the air sharpen. Slowly, Deadpool turns to look directly into Peter’s eyes. ‘What did you say?’
Peter gulps. Legolas is staring at him with disbelief. ‘I asked what the Library is,’ he mumbles.
‘Where did you hear that term?’ Deadpool’s voice is cool and empty, with all the colourful snark and sass and pop culture references drained out.
‘Uh…’ Peter scans the others, in case any of them jump in to back him up. Hermione is glaring at him, as if to say, how could you screw this up? Arya’s face is blank and impossible to read. ‘Well… before Hermione and Arya came here, they fell through another portal, to a room in a mansion, with a demon clown barbie and Darth Vader…’
Deadpool tips his head back and groans. ‘Darth Vader? You, of all people, had to be told about Darth Vader?’
Peter doesn’t know how he’s supposed to respond to that. He starts talking again, even though Deadpool will hate every word he says. ‘The demon clown barbie was asking if she could join Darth Vader for a mission. And Darth Vader said that, um’ – he swallows – ‘what did he say?’
Hermione joins him. ‘He said that a Villain in the Dark was recruiting villains to hunt down a Library, and that they had enough people now to find it within three days.’
‘No!’ Deadpool moans. He flops back onto the sofa, clutching the toy unicorn. ‘Today was going to be such a good day,’ he whimpers, ‘wasn’t it, my previous?’ He squeezes the unicorn. ‘We were going to break into all the Avenger’s rooms, and put bubble wrap in all their shoes and cling film on all the toilets… such a cutesy, wholesome afternoon… and now I’ve got to deal with this!’ He kicks out at a sofa cushion. He groans and complains about why god why it had to be him to deal with this, when he was only pretending to be good at this job anyway, and why he couldn’t have met Harley Quinn instead of them.
Peter looks up at Legolas, but he looks about as confused as Peter is.
‘Deadpool, Sir?’ Legolas calls. ‘Can you tell us what the Library is?’
Deadpool rolls off the sofa and crashes onto the floor.
Arya strides across the room, kneels over him, grabs his face, and bellows, ‘where is the Library?’
Her voice is so loud that even Legolas looks startled. The pigeons back in New York probably heard her.
Deadpool sighs, and sits up against the sofa. ‘You wanna know why you’ve all ended up here? What the Library is? Why this Villain in the Dark wants to find it, and what will happen when he does?’
‘Yes!’ Arya snaps.
‘Desperately,’ Hermione adds.
‘Please,’ Peter begs.
Deadpool laughs. ‘Isn’t it obvious? None of you are real.’