***PETER***
A howling rush of wind.
Blue light. Lots of blue light.
Then I find myself in an infinite room with walls made of video screens. Images from various Marvel movies flash by jerkily, in freeze-frame flashes. Ultron tilts his head as he delivers a snarky, Stark-esque one-liner. Rogers, freshly enhanced way back in World War II, emerges from an ancient diesel-punk machine with more muscles than he knows what to do with. These images stick in my brain, which is already overloaded and horrified as it is.
I'm not alone. There are two other people in the room. Both guys, both white with dark hair, both looking away from me.
"Hey!" I call out. "Wh-Where am I?"
They turn around, and right away, I recognize my predecessor, Tobey Maguire. "I can't believe it," he says, his wide blue eyes blinking with surprise. "They really killed you? No freaking way!"
The other guy, who looks like he could be my younger brother, shakes his head. "Better believe it, dude," he says, his accent English. "Welcome to cinematic purgatory, I guess. Ghost of Spidey Past" - he gestures to Tobey - "Ghost of Spidey Present" - he nods to me - "and Ghost of Spidey Yet To Come." He points to himself.
"You...y-you're the guy who's supposed to replace me?"
He nods again, approaching me and holding out his hand. "I'm Tom. Tom Holland. Wow, I never imagined this is how I'd meet you. I mean, you're Andrew Garfield! Seriously, there's a reason why Ricky holds you as the gold standard of Spider-Man, now and forever." He looks down for a second, then makes eye contact with me again. "Come on, Peter, don't leave me hanging!"
I'm too floored by what's going on to be polite. I spin around, seeing nothing but clips of adult Avengers fighting Loki, Bucky, and various other enemies. "Gwen," I say, my voice hoarse. "Gwen! Gwen, where are you?"
The movie clips vanish, and are replaced by a video of a guy in glasses, holding his chin in his hand. "I tried to stop it," he says, his eyes gazing at something off the side. "I guess they were right. I was just a foolish fanboy. Weak. Insignificant. Unable to effect any real change."
He sounds - and looks - familiar, but I'm in no shape to place his face at the moment. "Who are you?" I ask, hoping he'll jog my memory.
The guy reaches off camera and grabs a beanie - black, with a red stripe, and Deadpool's logo printed on the side. When he puts it on, he appears completely, in the flesh, not just a holographic projection. "Some call me Ricky Pine," he says. "But that's not my real name. In any case...you know me better as 'the writer.'"
I look between Ricky and Tobey and Tom, several times. Then I say, "I'm surprised I'm gonna say this, but...I'm very glad to see you."
"So am I," Ricky says with a sheepish grin. "It's an honor to finally meet you - all of you. Spider-Man's my biggest creative inspiration."
"Thanks," the rest of us say in unison.
"But now we need to solve one sticky little problem," Ricky says, his eyes darkening behind his glasses. "How the fuck are we gonna fix the Marvel 'verse?"
YOU ARE READING
Deadpool Syndrome - Spider Soulmates
FanficPeter Parker's no longer the only one who's been bitten by a genetically-engineered spider. Norman Osborn has improved his formula and used not only himself, but also Harry and Gwen, as guinea pigs. And they're far from the last test subjects Norman...
