Chapter Text

Ambush Bug stepped inside, antennae twitching as the door closed with a soft click. Everything in the apartment was still—clean and cozy, welcoming him home with warm light. He sighed, and hung his fedora on a hook by the door. Another long day, but a good one. He caught two run-on sentences, stopped a summary execution (it turned out the summary, although a little on the long side, was innocent), and patched plot holes all afternoon.

Cheeks popped his smiling face around the corner. "Pops! You're home!" He ran forward and grabbed Ambush Bug around the legs for a hug.

Cheeks looked up at his father, his arms still wrapped around him. "I made dinner! Alphabet soup! With extra vowels!"

Ambush Bug ruffled the little boy's hair. "That sounds great, son."

His son took by the hand and led him to the kitchen table. Dinner was already set: two bowls in front of two chairs around a small oval-shaped table. Through the window in the dining room, the city was still at night. Very still, like a painted backdrop. No lights twinkled. No cars roamed the streets.

Ambush Bug leaned back in his chair, a soft sigh escaping him. "Y'know... maybe things really are gonna be okay."

"Sure is, Pops!" Cheeks smiled and sat down in the opposite chair. "You couldn't ask for a better story!"

Ambush Bug looked at his spoon full of alphabet soup, the letter-shaped pasta spelling out "AAAIIEE." He blinked, then looked back at that beautiful smile Cheeks had. "What did you say?"

"Didja have a good day at work?"

Ambush slurped up the soup and grinned. "Better now that I'm home with you!"

Freakazoid stood tall, hands on hips, as the last of the bad guys were hauled off in a giant, netted dogpile. There were nearly a dozen police officers trying to push them into the back of a police van.

Sergeant Cosgrove gave him a solid clap on the back. "Great job, Freakazoid. Real top-shelf heroing today."

"Uh… thanks!" Freakazoid blinked. "Just out of curiosity, what exactly did I do again?"

"You saved the day," Cosgrove said.

"Right. Right, of course." Freakazoid nodded slowly. "Any particular part of the day?"

Before Cosgrove could answer, Steff stepped into view, smiling brightly. "That was amazing, Freakazoid." She kissed his cheek. "You really saved me."

Then Valerie appeared just behind her. "Me too!" She kissed his other cheek. "I don't know what we would've done without you."

Freakazoid blinked again. "Okay, I'm not complaining, really I'm not, but I feel like I missed an important memo—"

"You know," Steff said, turning to Valerie, "I was thinking… maybe we could share?"

Valerie beamed. "Take turns. Tuesdays and Thursdays for me?"

Steff nodded. "And weekends for me. Freakazoid, you okay with that?"

Freakazoid opened his mouth. Closed it. "Wait. You agree with each other?"

"Of course," they said in unison.

Freakazoid stepped back, looking around. "Okay, that's definitely not canon."

Then a limousine pulled up. A cheer rose from the perfectly framed crowd as Mayor Marion Barry stepped out holding a massive gold key almost as big as he was.

"For your bravery, Freakazoid," Mayor Barry said solemnly, "the city of Washington, D.C. offers you the key to the city!"

Freakazoid hesitated, eye twitching. "Wait a second…"

The Mayor approached slowly, holding the oversized key out reverently. "You've earned this. You're the hero."

Freakazoid raised one hand. "Hang on—this seems a little suspicious. There's something fishy going on, and you're not answering the big question."

The crowd around him froze, smiling like they were all in the same toothpaste commercial.

Freakazoid looked around warily. "What does this key open, exactly?"

Mayor Berry smiled. "They unlock the door to every Blockbuster video store in the city."

Freakazoid snatched the giant key out of the Mayor's hands. "Neat!"

The courtroom was still.

She-Hulk stood confidently before the jury box, delivering the final words of her closing argument. "…Because no matter how powerful someone claims to be—whether they wield stones or stars—they are still entitled to due process. That is the heart of the law. That is what we defend. Not just people. Principles."

She let the silence settle like a final gavel, then turned and walked back to the defense table.

The judge nodded. "Thank you, Counselor. The jury may now retire to deliberate—"

The jury foreman was already standing. "No need, your Honor. We've reached a unanimous decision."

She-Hulk smiled at her client. But something about how fast it happened—it didn't sit right. But she felt certain about the outcome, for some reason.

The foreman continued, "We the jury find the defendant—"

On top of the counsel table in front of her, She-Hulk's phone rang. She casually lifted a finger, and picked up her phone. "Tony, hi! What? No, Friday's no good for me. Steve's taking me dancing."

She glanced sideways. The judge, unbothered, gave a faint smile, nodding indulgently. No one objected. That felt wrong for some reason, but also strangely appropriate. Nothing could go wrong for her.

"...Saturday? Sorry, movie night with Matt."

She chuckled.

"Yes, I know he's blind. Some of us don't go to the movies just to watch the screen, Tony."

She paused, listening.

"...yeah, Tuesday works. It's a date!"

She-Hulk set the phone back down on the table and looked around, suddenly noticing the quiet as everyone in the room was waiting. "Apologies for the interruption."

The judge simply nodded. "Perfectly understandable. Foreman?"

The foreman, still standing, blinked. "Oh, yeah. Not guilty!"

She-Hulk grinned and reached over to her client, giving him a pat on the shoulder. Thanos wiped away a single tear. "I owe you my eternal thanks, Jennifer Walters."

She-Hulk gave a polite shrug. "It's no big deal. Just the biggest comic book court case in history."

Thanos clasped her hand, shaking it vigorously in his own. "No, the task you performed was no small one. You have not only proved my innocence in the court of law, but in the very eye of all fandom for perpetuity. I am a free man once more, bereft of any burden."

She-Hulk just smiled as he continued pumping her hand. Then why don't I feel any sense of accomplishment? she wondered.

Sunlight streamed through the skylight of a ridiculously lavish penthouse kitchen. Deadpool, wearing a novelty apron that read "Kiss the Merc," flipped pancakes with one hand while pouring syrup with the other.

"I gotta say," Deadpool mused aloud, "things are finally coming up Wade!"

Beside the growing stack of pancakes was a cereal box brightly labeled "DEADPOOL'S BALLS" with a tagline "Eat my balls!" and a bowl filled with circular red and black colored marshmallows—and only marshmallows—on the front.

A soft moan came from the bedroom, where someone (or maybe multiple someones, it was difficult to tell with the soft lighting and tasteful use of shadow) moved under the luxurious silk sheets. "Babe, I'm hungry!"

"Breakfast is coming up!" Deadpool shouted back. He leaned against the counter with a content sigh. "Romantic life? Check! Merchandising?" He picked up the colorful box of cereal and gave it a little shake. "Hitting all the right demographics! Emotional healing arc? Eh, optional."

He walked over to the wall, which bore an enormous framed poster of himself holding an Oscar, posing with Hugh Jackman. A shelf in front of it held a collection of various awards, including an Emmy, a Tony, a Grammy, and a Pulitzer. He picked up a katana from the shelf and walked back to the stove.

"Y'know," he continued, buttering the pancakes with his katana, "a lot of folks would look around and say: 'Hey, something feels off about all this. Too perfect. Too scripted."

Deadpool winked. "Not me, though. I earned this ending. No takebacks, no retcons. Everything's perfect now—and I deserve it."

He grabbed a handful of strawberries off the counter and tossed them up in the air. With a few quick slashes of his buttery katana, he carves them into the shape of roses. They landed in a symmetrical pattern around the pancakes. He wiped off the katana and set it back down on the counter. He sighed. "Of course, perfection is pretty damn boring, isn't it?"

Another voice called out from the bedroom. "Babe, come back to bed…"

Deadpool turned towards the sound, then back at the poster on the wall. His brow furrowed. "The hypothetical sex is probably fantastic, though. But I know this isn't real."

He stepped up to the poster and poked the image of Hugh Jackman in the nose. "Because it's only in my little fantasy mind where this six foot two inch Australian hottie is shorter than me. Or maybe some fic when he's the bottom."

He rubbed his hands together. "Anyway, time to leave this lovely fantasy abode and rescue the others."

He strode over to the door and pulled the handle, only to find it locked. With a sigh, Deadpool flipped the deadbolt, and tried opening the door again, but it didn't budge.

He leaned forward, noticing the chain guard for the first time. He had obviously forgotten that it was there.

"I did not forget it," Deadpool growled. "That wasn't there before." He yanked the chain free, and tried once more to open the door. But it was still locked, a padlock just below the handle.

"Okay, that does it!" Deadpool exclaimed. He took a step back, and raised his foot. He gave a heavy kick, but his foot only cracked painfully into the reinforced metal door.

"Ow ow ow. What the f—that wasn't metal a minute ago!" 

He hopped on one foot, clutching the other. Bones crunched back into place with a squelch as it began to heal. "Crap. I'm up against the Narrator, aren't I?"

It took him long enough to figure it out. Deadpool sighed, resigned to his fate of living a perfect life.

"Nuh-uh. What if I said no?" Deadpool asked.

Deadpool realized it was impossible to say no. This happy ending was everything he ever wanted.

"Look, I like happy endings as much as the next guy. But this conclusion is just as real as the happy ending at a sketchy massage parlor."

But Deadpool reconsidered as he thought about how much he wanted the feeling of being loved and respected. Not to mention wealth and fame.

"Did you forget who you're talking to?" He stood up, his foot healed. "Take it all in. That's right. It's me. The legend. The icon. The merc with the mouth." He pointed triumphantly into the air. "Accept no substitutes."

There was no applause, although Deadpool brazenly expected some.

"Okay, that just hurts." Deadpool crossed his arms with a small smirk. "You may be the omniscient Narrator, but there's only one of you, and four of us. I bet that even as we speak, my friends are about to unravel your evil scheme! …whatever that is."

There was possibly the slimmest of possibilities. The minutest of chance. And no need for unnecessary risks.

Ambush bug stood by the kitchen sink, one side filled with soapy water as he cleaned bowls from dinner. Cheeks was beside him, standing on a stepstool with a towel in hand, ready to help dry.

"You made dinner, son. You don't have to clean the dishes, too," Ambush Bug said.

"But I like to help!" Cheeks smiled. "You like it when I help, don't you?"

Ambush Bug nodded. "Sure," he said. He passed a wet but clean bowl over. "You're always helping out. Never complaining like other kids."

"That's right!" Cheeks took the bowl and started drying.

"Why is that, anyway?"

The towel stopped moving in Cheeks's hand. "Why's what?"

Ambush Bug turned to look at his ruddy-cheeked child. "Why is it that you are so perfect?"

Cheeks didn't move, still for a moment. "Because I have such a great Pops, Pops!" He laughed.

"Uh-huh." Ambush Bug's antennae twitched. The only sound was water running from the faucet and the quiet hum of the refrigerator—a refrigerator that Ambush Bug had never had to worry about keeping full. Was his job paying that well? Ambush Bug stroked his chin. "So does that mean you'll never say no to me?"

"Of course not!"

"What if I tell you to track mud on the carpet and throw a tantrum?"

"Whatever makes you happy!"

Ambush Bug stared at him. "Yeah," he said softly. "See, that's the problem, kid. I don't trust anybody who never tells me no." He shut off the water, and rather than passing the last clean bowl to Cheeks, he placed it in the drying rack.

"Tell you what," he said, wiping his hands on the front of his green supersuit, "You did great. Why don't you pick out a cartoon? You can even turn up the volume really loud."

Cheeks hopped off the step stool with an excited squeal. "Yay! Snorks!"

Ambush Bug narrowed his eyes. "Okay, Narrator. Now it's just you and me." He looked up at the ceiling. "Why would you give me a perfect life… if you weren't trying to keep me from something?"

Nothing in the kitchen answered. Because only crazy people would talk to themselves like that.

"Oh, now I'm crazy, huh?" Ambush Bug said, placing his hands on his hips. 

There was a surprising knock on the door, but it was only some annoying salesperson. 

"Well, now I'm curious," Ambush Bug said.

But he didn't really mean it, because it was most certainly someone selling encyclopedias door-to-door. Or probably someone with a stack of religious tracts. Maybe both.

Ambush Bug made his way to the door anyway. He tried to pull it open, but it rattled in his hand, still locked.

"I don't remember locking the door…" Ambush Bug muttered.

Deadpool's voice shouted from the other side. "For the love of—! I'm not doing this routine again! Just teleport to the other side of the damn door!"

The salesman—who admittedly sounded strangely like Deadpool—was quite mistaken. The door had always been locked.

Ambush Bug looked at the door skeptically. "Then how did I get in earlier?"

Ambush Bug sheepishly realized he had keys in his pockets at one point, but lost them before dinner. Irrevocably lost.

Ambush Bug tapped his chest. "I'm wearing my green supersuit. I always wear my green supersuit. I don't have pockets!"

And then with a burst of yellow dots, he teleported away.

He reappeared on the other side of the door, nose-to-mask with Deadpool.

"Bug!" Deadpool blurted, then immediately cleared his throat. "I mean… uh… finally. Took you long enough. I was starting to think the Narrator had replaced you with, I dunno, a better-written version."

Ambush Bug arched an eyebrow. "Nice to see you too."

Deadpool waved that off. "Yeah, yeah. Look, are you—you're okay, right?"

Ambush Bug blinked. "I… what?"

Deadpool jabbed a thumb behind him. "The Narrator tried to keep me in some wish-fulfillment fever dream. You know—silk sheets with sexy people, unlimited cable, a minibar that stocked itself. Very tasteful emotional manipulation."

Ambush Bug coughed lightly. "Yeeees… that was exactly what I was experiencing."

Deadpool placed a hand on Ambush Bug's shoulder. "Some day, that dream will be yours."

"Absolutely," Bug insisted, antennae twitching defensively. "Silk sheets. Lots of silk. Couldn't move without sliding off the mattress."

Deadpool stared.

"Or bumping into naked people," Ambush Bug quickly added. He stared back.

Deadpool leaned in, dropping his voice. "We need to get out of the scene. Into the margins. Somewhere with fewer adverbs."

Ambush Bug nodded, then reached out and rested a hand on Deadpool's shoulder. With a pop, they teleported away.

Into certain doom.

Probably.

The space was grey and empty. No floor, no sky, just an infinite expanse stretching in all directions. Deadpool and Ambush Bug stood on nothing.

Deadpool looked around. "Wow, this place sure brings back memories! Remember back in chapter two when I convinced you to join me in the Crisis of Narrative Works?"

"I don't think that's what happened," Ambush Bug dryly noted.

"So what's the plan? We gotta rescue the kid and She-Hulk."

"And confront the Narrator," Ambush Bug added. "Who can apparently write the world around us."

Deadpool smirked behind his mask. "Then we do what we always do."

Ambush Bug tilted his head. "Which is?"

"We make a plan so stupid the Narrator can't predict it," Deadpool said.

Ambush Bug shrugged. "Sure, why not? Let's give that a try." He started looking around.

"Well?" Deadpool asked. "Aren't you just going to teleport us out of here?"

"Can't," Ambush Bug replied. "If we're in the margins, I need to find the seam. Ah-ha! Here it is!" He reached out, and pinching his index finger and thumb together, grabbed at something. He started pulling. An opening formed and grew with a quiet zipping sound.

They walked through, and found themselves standing on a wide green lawn in front of the White House. From above, brightly colored confetti rained down. There was a large applauding crowd behind the heroes, but in front of them stood Freakazoid, shaking hands with President Bill Clinton while a marching band played the Freakazoid theme song.

"Gee, thanks, Mister President!" Freakazoid said with a gigantic smile.

"No, thank you, Freakazoid. You really pulled it off," the President drawled.

"Pulled what off?"

"You really pulled it off," the President repeated. It was probably the most impressive thing Freazoid had ever done.

"But what was it?!" Freakazoid almost screamed.

"Hey, kid!" Deadpool shouted through the crowd, "You ready to get outta here?"

Freakazoid whipped around, his hands over his eyes like binoculars as he scanned the crowd. "Deadpool? Bug? What are you doing here?! This is a very important ceremony! I think!"

"It's fake!" Ambush Bug shouted, trying to push his way through the crowd. The people standing around him were stubbornly standing in place, their feet rooted to the ground.

Freakazoid looked at the oversize Key to the City in his hands, the Blockbuster logo emblazoned on its shaft. "But… I have the fancy key!" It was the fanciest of keys, a key that Freakazoid deserved to keep and enjoy. Something he couldn't do if he left for some crazy reason.

"Yeah, you can't leave, Freakazoid!" Steff was suddenly beside Freakazoid, a hand on his shoulder. She pouted.

"Wouldn't you miss us?" Valerie asked, standing on the other side of him, her hand on his opposite shoulder. She batted her eyelashes.

Deadpool pointed across the street. "Is that a White House intern wearing a blue dress?!" he exclaimed, one hand pressed against his cheek in mock surprise.

All heads turned, although the President's head swiveled around the quickest. Ambush Bug and Deadpool shoved forward through the crowd, darting up to the grand stage. Banners now hung above it, proclaiming Freakazoid as a true hero. A hero that deserved nothing but accolades.

"Look, kid," Deadpool said, "Bug here is still upset about his dream life, too. But it isn't real."

"Yes, yes," Ambush Bug said dismissively. "Silk sheets. High thread count. I'm positively woebegone."

Freakazoid looked to his left and right at Steff and Valerie. They said nothing, only looking back at him with adoring eyes, their blinking strangely synchronized.

"This is just some trick of the Narrator, isn't it?" Freakazoid glumly asked. Of course it wasn't, though. How could it be? This was what Freakazoid deserved, so how could it be anything other than real?

"But you gotta admit the blinking thing is kind of weird." Freakazoid shook his head. "Steff and Val never agree on anything, let alone blink at the same time!"

"You don't have to go," Val said, her voice warm.

"You can just stay here forever," Steff echoed, leaning in a little closer.

Freakazoid gritted his teeth. "Must… fight… teenage… hormones!"

"You can't stay here and be praised as a hero," Ambush Bug said, "Not when there's still important heroing to do. We've gotta stop the Narrator."

Freakazoid swallowed, hard. He looked to his left at Steff, then to Valerie on his right. "…Okay," Freakazoid whispered. "Okay. Take me with you." He threw his arm up, placing the back of his hand against his forehead. "Hurry before I change my mind!"

"Great, love the dramatic pose," Ambush Bug said, pushing Steff aside to grab Freakazoid by the arm. Deadpool had already picked up Valerie from under the shoulders and set her down a few feet away.

"Stay," the girls pleaded, along with Sergeant Cosgrove, the President, and the entire crowd, all in eerie unison.

Freakazoid squeezed his eyes shut. "No! I refuse to be in a very special episode about emotional manipulation!"

Deadpool grabbed Freakazoid's arm, then Ambush Bug's, and the trio teleported away into the margins.

Freakazoid looked around at the empty grey space. "Wow, this reminds me of chapter two when I convinced you guys to join me in the Crisis of Narrative Works."

"I don't think that's what happened," Deadpool said.

Ambush Bug ignored them, looking for the seam in the margins that would lead them to She-Hulk. He hummed to himself until he found it. Grabbing it from the bottom, he pulled it up and opened a split in the margins, revealing a warm golden light. "Here we go," he said, and stepped through.

On the other side sat She-Hulk, arms folded, tapping one foot with the impatience of someone that had won an important legal case, but still had to file paperwork. She looked up at the three heroes as they entered the empty courtroom. "Took you long enough," she said.

Deadpool blinked. "Wait. You—You're done? Already? No dramatic escape? No yelling? No emotional turmoil?"

She-Hulk raised an eyebrow. "Please. The Narrator tried to trap me in a life where everything was perfect."

Ambush Bug scratched his head. "But how'd you figure it out so fast?"

"Because on top of the impossible perfection, it was all just legal mumbo-jumbo from old episodes of Ally McBeal and Boston Legal. None of it was real law. There wasn't even an indemnification clause!"

Freakazoid raised his hand. "What's an—"

"No, no," Deadpool said, pushing Freakazoid's hand back down. "Don't ask her, or else she'll have to explain it."

She-Hulk stood up. "The Narrator tried and failed to out-lawyer me, and I am very ready to leave now."

Freakazoid grinned. "And we have a plan!"

Ambush Bug stiffened. "We can't talk about it here, though. We'll go over it in the margins."

She-Hulk's eyes widened in understanding. "Ah, the Narrator can't see us there. Smart."

Ambush Bug nodded. "All right. Teleporting four people to the margins is going to be a little tricky. Everybody close together and hold on tight."

They shuffled in, Deadpool snuggling in close to Ambush Bug. Ambush Bug's antennae shot straight up. "Not that tight, and not there."

Deadpool chuckled. "Sorry. Teleport etiquette isn't my strong suit."

She-Hulk muttered, "That implies you have one."

Ambush Bug took a deep breath, bracing himself for the strain of moving four narrative anomalies through an unstable margin seam. "Okay," he said. "On three. One… two…"

After the yellow dots of Ambush Bug's teleportation dissipated, the grey world of the margins appeared around them.

Freakazoid straightened up first. "Ahhh. Back where punctuation fears to tread."

She-Hulk crossed her arms. "So. The plan. The one we only discuss here."

Ambush Bug nodded and stepped forward, lowering his voice. "It starts with a question." He continued to outline the rest of their plan.

"Okay, so last question," Freakazoid said. "How are we going to find the Narrator?"

"Same way I found you and Deadpool. Narrative gravity," Ambush Bug answered.

"I'm sorry," She-Hulk interrupted. "Are you saying you found them based on how much they weigh?"

"Not in the physical sense," Ambush Bug quickly said. He started looking around for a new seam in the margins. "Just in the amount of pull something has on a story. So the Narrator is easy to find."

"Yeah, 'cause he's the biggest—" Deadpool double-checked the fic's rating before continuing. "—jerk in the story." 

Ambush Bug pinched a spot in the air, pulling it down and opening the seam. A soft zip echoed in the margins. "Let's go find our storyteller."