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“Hey, Hobes, you wanna hang out? I’m bored out of my mind.”
“Depends. Will all three of your other friends be there?”
“Ha, ha,” deadpans Miles on the other end of the phone. “It’s seven, actually, besides you. No idea why I’m explaining this, because you know that.”
“Do I, really?”
“They’re not all coming, though. Just the smaller group and Peter. Gwen’s already here, now we’re just waiting on the others.”
“So, you’ve invited the old man—”
“He’s like 40—”
“Then Pav, then your almost-but-not-exactly twin brother, and—oh, you still count Gwen as a friend?”
“What— yes? Should I not??” Miles frantically starts questioning, although Hobie’s not sure if he’s questioning him or himself. “We are friends, no? Why, did she say something about me? Does she not like me anymore? Does she—”
“Relax,” Hobie says, grabbing his guitar and stuffing it in its case to the best of his abilities with just one free hand. “She’s actually planning to confess to you under the moonlight, she told me yesterday.”
“Oh my God,” Miles lets out an exasperated sigh. “Stop it.”
“Why, do you want to do the confessing? Should I tell her to abandon the plan?”
“Hobie.”
“Alright, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Hobie laughs, tossing his guitar over his shoulder. “Be there in five.”
“Who said I’m still inviting you after that?” Miles retorts on the other end, but the pretend grumpiness of his voice still allows for an undertone of amusement.
“I’ll invite myself in, don’t you worry, mate,” grins Hobie. “See ya, Miles.”
“Yeah, bye, Hobes.”
As the call ends, Hobie goes to grab his watch. Ever since leaving the Spider Society, he’s made his way through the multiverse with his own invention. It’s faulty at times, but it’s all he has. It fits him, though, being just as rebellious and unbudging. Two birds of a feather, if you will.
He looks around his room for anything else to grab. His eyes fall on a drawer, and he debates bringing a small stash of weed with him. Ultimately, he decides against it; Miles’ parents would kill their son if they smelled anything on him, regardless of whether or not it was him smoking in the first place.
Hobie trails his room, looking at his posters of TV shows and bands, at his shelves stocked with books, comics and figurines, at the unmade bed and his cat Billie sleeping peacefully on it. All the while, the environment changes its colors, switching from black-and-white to neons, then pastels, then does it all over again and some more. His world, just like him, doesn’t believe in consistency.
A soft sigh of content leaves his mouth as he drops back down on his bed; how boring it is to say your room is your safe space, but oh, is it right. He can barely get himself to leave.
“Alright, lad,” says Hobie softly to Billie. “I’m really gonna have to go now. You behave, alright?”
As he pets his cat’s head, he receives a small ‘mrrp’ of agreement. Hobie nods.
“Good boy.” Another pet, and he gets up with a groan. “See you in a couple of hours.”
With the watch in hand, Hobie gets into position. He gives himself one last look in the mirror, adjusts his nose piercing, touches up a few parts of his hair, and—
His eyes fall on his mask.
He quirks an eyebrow.
The multiverse has fallen into peace, at least for the Spider-People. They haven’t had any major issues; none of them consider regular villains of the week threats, anyways. Of course, Hobie still has to fight crime – he does live in England, after all – but his body, once constantly battered and bruised, has now started becoming unused to the wounds he encountered on the daily just months ago. He still regularly goes out with his friends for a swing, keeps in shape, all of the superhero stuff – but he’s gotten used to the mundane.
So, he’s not sure what pushes him to grab his mask and web throwers and shove them in one of the many pockets of his jeans, but he does it anyways. With that, he creates a portal to Miles’ earth, and jumps through.
The colors of Earth-1610 seem particularly muted today.
As Hobie falls through the timelines and universes, he notices that Miles’ New York doesn’t have its usual pop. Usually much brighter and more colorful, it seems suspiciously uninteresting today.
Hobie ignores the twisting feeling in his gut as he lands on the pavement; a classic superhero landing, which earns a scoff from himself. It’s so impractical, and so hard on his knees. He groans slightly as he gets up.
He analyzes his surroundings, eyebrows quirked. His suspicions are confirmed as he looks around, the usual colorful Brooklyn of his friend much more… bland.
Hobie squints. Something is wrong; deeply, deeply wrong.
He glances back at his watch, just to make sure, and—
His heart drops.
The screen simply reads: Earth-10005.
It’s not the first time Hobie’s watch made a mistake, but usually, it just carried him to one or two Earths forward or behind. He didn’t expect it to add another nine thousand to the original number he punched in.
Now it makes sense why he thought the world looked weird – it’s live-action… whatever that really means. He’d seen some Spider-People and villains around at HQ before he left, but never put much thought into it. Miles tried to explain it to him once, and he ended up badly needing a smoke after just a few lines of dialogue.
Hobie shakes his head. Well, what’s another five minutes? He goes to input the right Earth on the watch—
“SHIT SHIT SHIT KID MOVE OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY OH FUCK—”
—and finds himself on the pavement next, as a result of a man not just falling onto him, but literally crashing into him. Hobie swears he heard a bone crack, and he selfishly hopes it’s not his. Because of the sudden contact, his watch falls off his wrist. Crap.
“What the hell, mate?” he exclaims, holding onto his wrist. “Could you please watch where you’re— oh my God, are you okay?”
The man before him, dressed in a silly red suit that looks suspiciously a lot like a Spider-Man suit, only with two additional holes in the eyes, struggles to get up. His arm, as suspected, is completely broken.
“Fuck—fuck, fuck, fuuuck me,” he groans. “No, no, I’m fine—shit!”
“Your arm—”
“Urghh—what?” The man looks at his arm, just now noticing it. “Oh!” He scoffs, and shakes it. Much to Hobie’s dismay, it immediately goes back to normal. “There we go—ow, OW, that hurts, fuck, that hurt. Heh,” he giggles, “pfft, that was so silly. Sorry about that.” He looks around, and spots his watch on the ground. He grabs it with his previously broken arm, presenting no problems, and holds it out to Hobie. “Here.”
“How did you do that?” Hobie asks, breathless in shock. He quickly puts the watch back on, not wanting to give himself time to glitch and make the person question him.
“Hm? Do what?” frowns the man. Then he realizes. “Oh, the—the arm, yeah. Uh,” he shrugs, “well, I—oh fuck me!”
His unceremonious answer is a direct result of armed men running up to them. Gunfire explodes in Hobie’s ears; what the hell did this superhero-wannabe do to anger them so much?
“You should really run, kid,” advises the man. “Like, for real, get away from here.”
Hobie looks at him, then at the armed people approaching. The man in the suit waves his hands to dismiss him.
“Go, go!”
Without waiting for another signal, Hobie books it to his left, into a back alley. He hears even more gunfire and some screaming, and he catches his breath as he leans against the wall.
He looks at the watch on his wrist, with only the number 1 punched into it. He glances to his side, then reaches for the buttons. His finger hovers over ‘6’.
Breathing heavily, Hobie freezes.
Another scream, more gunfire; he swears he can recognize the voice of the man in the red suit, yelling and shouting. He hears the sound of swords being unsheathed and bodies rolling, and then more blood-curdling screams.
With a grunt, Hobie quickly gets out his phone, sending a short message to Miles:
took a small dteour but dont wrory il be there soon see u
He scrambles for his mask and web shooters. Quickly fitting his hair into the mask, he attaches the shooters to his arms, and runs out of the alley. He ignores the buzzing of his phone.
The sounds he heard just earlier now make sense – on the street lie dozens of bodies, and Hobie suspects most, if not all, are breathless. He frantically looks around for the man in the red suit.
A tingle; he turns around just before a bullet can graze his head. He shoots a web towards the person that fired, tangling them, and they fall to the ground. Their buddy next to them immediately suffers the same fate.
“Badass, Spider-Man! Bravo!”
Hobie whips his head around. That’s him – the man from earlier.
“I can’t believe you’re here! And 3D-animated, at that. Or was it 2.5D? Eh, who cares.” Through his mask, an eyebrow is quirked. “Though, you sound different.”
“Different?” Hobie asks, confused as to why this matters and as to why he looks so unfazed despite donning 47 bullet holes across his entire chest.
“Oh, absolutely no offense, but I thought Disney would pair me up with Andrew Garfield or, at the very least, Tom Holland.” The man hums. “Though, that’d make shipping SpideyPool super complicated for the movieverse fans. There’d be yet another huge drama about age gaps, and MCU Spider-Man versus comics Spider-Man, blah, blah, blah—”
“Mate, what the actual hell are you talking about?”
“Wait, you sound British, are you British? Are you actually just Tom Holland going through a second puberty?”
“Wha—”
“No, wait, I got it!” The man claps his hands. “You’re Daniel Kaluuya!”
“Spider-Punk. The name’s Spider-Punk,” sighs Hobie, rubbing the bridge of his nose, already exhausted by his quips.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s what I said,” dismisses the other through a wave of his hand. Then he extends said hand out. “I’m Deadpool, but you can call me Wade.”
Hobie reluctantly shakes his hand. “Don’t you think giving your name out to just about anyone is a bit dangerous?”
“Mate,” says Wade, mocking his accent, “you’re Spider-Man. You’re not gonna use that information for any wrong reason, I’m sure. Besides,” he adds, a grin audible in his voice, “I know your identity. It’s only fair I give you mine, hm, kid from earlier?”
Hobie stares at him.
A smirk spreads across his face, and a soft scoff leaves him.
“Hobie. Hobie Brown.”
“That’s more like it!” Wade cheers. “I like you already, Ho—OLY SHIT WATCH OUT—”
Wade’s warning comes just a second after Hobie’s spider-sense tingles, and he dodges gunfire coming from behind him.
“Okay, yeah, that is a big no-no!” Wade exclaims, grabbing his guns. “You okay with killing, right, Punk? You were in the comics, at least.”
“’S long as they deserve it,” Hobie retorts. “Do they?”
“Fuck yes, they do,” Wade snickers.
“Then, yeah,” nods Spider-Punk. “I’m okay with it. I mean,” he adds with a smirk, “hey, it’s your universe – you do what you think is right.”
“Fuck yes!” comes another exclamation, and, with it, even more gunfire, this time from Wade himself instead of the enemy.
The streets of what Hobie assumes is New York soon become painted with blood and guts, all of which presenting a surprising amount of detail. The men, he learns through Wade’s occasional quips and exposition, are part of a drug-dealing cartel, and have recently begun roping in innocents such as children and the disabled. Hobie lets Wade do the dirty work, preferring to just trap the people in webs, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t also want to plant a few bullets in their heads himself.
It’s surprisingly rejuvenating, fighting by Wade’s side like this. Both of them are untouchable, dealing with the villains swiftly and brutally; Wade instantly regenerates, and he attempts to explain his healing factor but has to drop it in favor of decapitating a guy. He promises to tell him later. Meanwhile, Hobie’s rush of adrenaline helps him dodge every attack and sudden move thrown his way. Behind the mask, he spends most of the fight smiling.
Hobie likes the mundane, the peace that comes with it, and not having the burden of needing to protect everyone constantly – but, by God, did he miss a big fight like this. And Wade, alongside Earth-10005, sure are giving it to him.
He’s not sure how much time goes by, but it definitely is more than he had originally intended to stay. By the end of the fight, he and Wade are both bruised and covered in blood, chests heaving with synchronized, heavy breaths.
He takes off his mask to steady his breathing. Wade does the same, whooping.
“Fuck, that was awesome!” he exclaims. “That was so cool! Dude,” he turns to him, grinning, “you are—oh, shit.” He stops suddenly to stare at him. “Wow.”
“Hm?” Hobie quirks an eyebrow.
“Nothing, just…” Wade’s large grin returns to his face. “How are you even cooler under your mask?”
Hobie smiles.
“I was this cool the whole time.”
“Love that,” Wade nods, “love, love the attitude. God, you are so much better than Tom Holland. Don’t tell Disney I said that, though. Or the fans – the fans will have my head on a stick.”
“My lips are sealed,” assures Hobie. “And hey, you don’t look too bad yourself.” He gestures a bit at him. “Cool scarring, man.”
“Really?” Wade asks, surprisingly genuine. “Oh, thanks.”
Hobie clicks his tongue. He looks back at his watch, wiping a bit of blood off it.
“I should go,” he says.
“You on a mission?”
“Nah. Missions aren’t exactly my style anymore.”
“So it’s not urgent?”
“Not really. Just meeting up with a couple of friends.”
“And what’s that for?”
“Travelling the multiverse.” He nods. “I’m going to my buddy’s Earth.”
Wade scoffs. “You just travel the multiverse, like that? Whenever you want, no consequences? Is that allowed?”
“I don’t believe in rules,” retorts Hobie.
He types in ‘161’, and his finger reaches for the number 0 just as Wade says—
“If it’s not urgent—”
Hobie looks up at him, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah?”
Wade returns the glance.
“You hungry?”
To be fair, it’s not everyday you get to hang out on a completely foreign Earth, with a completely different appearance and a completely different atmosphere than your own. Hobie couldn’t refuse Wade’s invitation of spending just a bit more time on it.
He led him to a fast food just next to a subway station, and ordered for the both of them since the poor person at the counter almost passed out upon seeing Hobie, animated and all. For this exact reason, they also chose to eat outside – though, they ended up attracting the looks of passersby anyways.
“You know,” Wade says, handing Hobie his shawarma, “I took my boyfriend here after we saved the world.”
“You have a boyfriend?” Hobie raises an eyebrow.
“Why so shocked?” Wade frowns.
“Oh, I’m not a bigot,” Hobie says, “I’m just surprised anyone would date you.”
“Wow.”
“No offense, of course.”
“None taken. I was lying anyways,” confesses Wade, biting into his shawarma. “It’s more like a situationship kind of thing, you know?”
“Oh, I know that all too well,” Hobie snorts.
“From experience?”
“Nah, I don’t do romance.” He waves his hand absently as he chews. “Just—” he continues between bites— “I have these two friends who are so annoying about their feelings, and will not do anything about it. Our friend group is constantly trying to come up with new ideas to help them, but it’s like they don’t want to be helped. It’s so frustrating.”
“Mmm. Must be hard.”
“You have no idea…”
A silence falls upon them as they both eat. A few people pass them on the street, most stopping to stare in dismay at Hobie. At each of them, Wade waves his hand to tell them to keep walking. It’s funny, if not even a bit endearing.
“How come you ended up here?”
“Hm?” hums Hobie, mouth full.
“You said you were on your way to visit a friend, right?” Wade asks. “I don’t think this is their Earth. What brought you here?” He squints, trying to guess. “Fate? Destiny? Or maybe a horse?”
“A malfunction in the watch.”
“Wow. I would think inventions like this can’t fail.”
“The ones the Spider Society made couldn’t,” Hobie says. “But mine can, because I made it from scratch. I have to bear with it at times.”
“Why make it from scratch? They didn’t give you one?”
“’Course they did.” Hobie smirks. “I just quit.”
“Aw, what a rebel,” Wade snorts. “Why though? Sounds like quite the elite group. Why wouldn’t you wanna be a part of it?”
“I don’t believe in elitism.” Hobie pauses as he chews. “And anyways, they weren’t all that. Except for my friends, I don’t talk to anyone from there anymore.”
“Ooh, drama.” Wade wiggles his eyebrows. “You wanna spill the tea?”
And, for some reason, Hobie does want to tell him everything.
So, he does.
As Wade absolutely devours his own shawarma, Hobie explains everything that’s happened to him since joining the Spider Society, all until now.
He explains how he was sought out, not by Miguel, the bastard, but by Jess, he talks about meeting Pav and Gwen, making his small little friend group and living the life; then he tells him about how the Spider Society casted Miles out, and how it felt to meet him knowing he was doomed, then doing his best to help him; he talks to Wade about Earth-42 and its differences to Earth-1610, about how he and his friends rescued the multiverse, how the Spider-People found a way to ultimately save the day.
He doesn’t feel the need to keep talking, but Wade urges him, so he speaks some more. He tells him about the worlds he’s seen; about the watercolors that define Gwen’s Earth, while Spider-Noir’s is just black-and-white, about how Pav’s India is the busiest of them all, about the bustle of the streets in Miles’ universe, the cyberpunk vibes of Margo’s mostly-digital and Peni’s futuristic worlds, the tranquil of Earth-616 and how Peter B. still does his job so well after two decades.
It’s not intentional, but as Deadpool’s eyes sparkle upon hearing of these universes, Hobie can’t help but marvel at them as well. What a privilege it is, to have the ability to travel them all; when he says so out loud, Wade dreamily nods. He also briefly explains some of his travels to other dimensions and timelines, and goes on to tell a small side-story about some asshole named Francis that gave him his powers and his scars. As soon as he’s done, though, he asks Hobie to continue his own stories.
So the boy then goes on to ramble about his friends, describing all of them in detail. He complains about how impossible Gwen and Miles are, and groans when Wade finds himself relating to Miles, stating he ‘has someone similar, you might know him, his name’s Logan, he’s the Wolverine’. He smiles as he tells him of Pav, his courage and will, and how funny he is. He admits he finds Margo incredibly cool, and that the two of them sometimes sneak away together just to have a breather and a heart-to-heart; and he also talks about Peni and her badass inventions, how she lets him do whatever around her world, putting her trust in him. He finds himself grinning as he describes Peter B., Spider-Noir, and even Porker.
When he finally feels his shawarma’s gone cold, Hobie stops talking with an awkward chuckle. Without saying anything, he takes a bite. Rarely does he feel embarrassed, but now is one of those times, face flushing slightly.
“Wow,” is all Wade says as he stares at him. Then, with a grin, “And I thought I was a talker.”
“I’m s—”
“No, no, don’t you dare apologize.” Wade holds up a finger to shush him. “I liked that. All of that. You’re maybe, like, the third ever person to ever get me to shut the fuck up for more than five minutes without having to momentarily kill me.”
“I’m assuming one of those other two is Logan?” Hobie quirks an eyebrow, smirking slightly as he eats. Seeing Wade didn’t care about having his mouth full while talking, he decides to drop the decorum too.
“He and my ex, yeah.”
“Your ex?”
“God, she’s amazing.” Wade nods. “We’re still friends, though, so it’s all good. We’re on good terms.”
“She?”
“Is it so hard to picture me with a woman?”
“Just thought you were gay, is all.”
“Oh, not at all – I am so with you on the ‘fuck everyone’ train, just in a much different way.”
Hobie chokes on his shawarma, and Wade laughs.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he coughs out. “Oh my God.”
“Yeah, I’m a riot,” nods Wade.
“You so are, mate,” Hobie laughs. “Fuck’s sake—” he chokes again. “Shit.”
“Deep breaths.”
“I’m trying—AURGH—”
“Y—yeah, yeah there you go—you got it, lil’ guy? Yeah you got it. You got it.”
Despite himself, Hobie finds himself cackling, especially as Wade also cracks up. Even though he’s dangerously close to dying by fucking choking on a shawarma, he feels absolutely euphoric.
It takes a few slaps on his back from Wade to stop choking, but by no means does that mean either of them shut up. Their laughing lasts for another good minute, until Hobie’s stomach hurts and he has to hold onto it. Neither of them notice the dirty looks of passersby, feeling too good to stop and care.
Hobie wipes a tear from his eye with a few last chuckles. Wade grins as he crumbles up the paper bags in which their food came in.
“So, how do you like Earth-10005?”
Hobie looks around. Despite the sting of pollution, he also smells numerous street food vendors. The walls of the otherwise boring, recycled-design buildings are covered in colorful graffiti, and he hears the distant sound of car honks, civilians shouting at one another, and children screaming in glee as they run and play.
He takes a deep breath; then gives a soft smile.
“Yeah, it’s not too bad.”
Wade returns the smile.
“I think so too.”
He aims for a trashcan on the opposite side of the road and launches the trash into the air. To Hobie’s surprise, he makes the shot.
“And rookie sensation Wade W. Wilson strikes again!” exclaims Wade, singing his own praise. “D’you see that?”
“Sure did, mate.”
“You’re gonna vouch for me when I go into my basketball career, right?”
Hobie chuckles.
“You can count on me.”
Wade grins.
“Cheers, man.”
His eyes fall on his watch. Hobie follows his gaze.
“I think you should get going,” suggests Wade. “Not kicking you out, obviously, but you said you gotta meet Miles. Wouldn’t want him to get worried; you’ve already been gone for a longer time than you told him.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
Hobie taps his feet on the sidewalk a few times before finally getting up, hands in his pockets. He looks at Wade, who continues to sit.
“Well, thanks for everything.”
The man nods; Hobie fidgets with his watch.
“You’re cool, y’know?” the boy tells him. “Like, really cool.”
“Really?” Wade asks, genuinely surprised.
“Yeah,” smiles Hobie. “I mean, I know you’re no super-hero exactly, but I could see people looking up to you regardless. You’re a pretty nice guy, Wade.”
The man smiles back, wide and true.
“You’re not too bad yourself, Punk. And hey,” he adds, “if you ever find yourself bored between your Spider-Man duties and visiting your friends and being the coolest kid on Earth-138, you can always drop by.”
Hobie perks up. “Really?” He was, funnily enough, too shy to ask himself.
“Yeah, why not?” Wade grins. “My dog would love you.”
“Fuck off, you have a dog?” Hobie gasps. “You should’ve just started with that. Now I’m definitely coming back.”
“Not for me?”
“Partially for you, mostly, if not entirely for the dog though.”
Wade shrugs. “A win is a win.”
Hobie chuckles as he finally taps in ‘Earth-1610’ on the watch. As soon as he punches in the final digit, a portal, as inconsistent and colorful as him, opens up in the middle of the street. It mixes with the vibe of Miles’ world, and he swears he can faintly hear Post Malone’s music on the other end.
He turns to Wade one final time.
“I’ll see you around, then?”
Wade nods.
“Yeah, catch you later, kid.”
Hobie walks up to him and extends his arm out; his hand is stretched into a fist. With a smile, the man fist-bumps him.
“Bye, Wade.”
With that, Hobie jumps through the portal.
As suspected, when he makes his way through the fabric of time and space, Sunflower welcomes him to Earth-1610. He knows his modern artists, alright.
He finds himself landing on the floor of Miles’ bedroom, with an unceremonious ‘oof’ as he hits his back. An even less ceremonious string of cuss words follows.
“Hobie!” he hears a familiar voice. “Where have you been? We were starting to get really worried, you know!”
Pav helps him up, almost cracking his hand in the process with his unintentional force. Hobie groans; he spots Miles’ phone on the bedside table, playing the song he heard earlier, as he stretches out and adjusts himself.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he assures. “Just got into a little, uh, what would Miles call it… a side-quest,” he clicks his tongue. “That’s the word.”
“Did your watch malfunction again?” Pav scoffs when the other shuts up, giving him the obvious answer. “I told you I could get you a better one.”
“I’m alright,” Hobie pats his shoulder. “Really.”
“You’ve got blood and grime all over you,” comes another voice from the other end of the room. “I doubt you’re anywhere near alright.”
Gwen leans against the doorway, Miles closely behind her like the lovestruck teenager that he is. Hobie also spots Gonzalo, and he sees Peter in the kitchen talking to Rio and Jefferson. He smiles upon seeing them all.
“Hi, guys.”
“Don’t hit us with that,” Gwen scoffs, “now I feel bad for wanting to scold you!”
“Oops,” grins Hobie.
“What Earth did you end up on this time? And seriously, why are you so dirty?”
“Just any other Earth,” he dismisses with a shrug, taking off his guitar case and stripping himself of his vest. “You know, uh…” Quickly, so they have less chances of understanding, “Found myself on Earth-10005.”
“On what Earth?” Gwen scoffs, apparently educated in every world there is, the nerd.
“Oh my God,” gasps Gonzalo, the even bigger nerd. “That’s the X-Men Earth,” he adds, gently tapping the fourth-wall. “Dude, you went to the X-Men Earth!”
“What’s that one like?” Miles frowns.
“Woah!” Pav’s eyes light up. “I’m so jealous! That’s one of those alive worlds, isn’t it?”
“Live-action, Pavitr,” solemnly corrects Gonzalo, “live-action.”
“You have to tell us everything!” Pav shakes Hobie by the shoulders. “Who did you meet? Did you find their Spider-Person, and what are they like? Who did you beat up, because you definitely beat someone up, and also, how—”
“I think we should give Hobie some time to shower, and then he can answer our questions,” intervenes Miles. Then, with a frown, of course, pretend, “Won’t you, Hobie?”
The boy grins.
“Yeah, every last one of ‘em, mate. I’ll even tell you the part where I met Deadpool.”
“Deadpool?” ask, in the funniest choir, his four friends.
“I’ve never heard of the guy,” Pav frowns, “who is he?”
“And why is his pool dead?” Gwen quirks an eyebrow.
“You met Deadpool?!” Gonzalo shouts, and his voice is so obviously laced with jealousy, Hobie has to physically hold in his laughter.
“Who’s Deadpool?” Miles confusedly raises his hand.
Hobie smirks as he leaves the room, hands in pockets, attitude Wade praised moments ago on point.
“I’ll tell you everything after that shower,” he says, the grin audible in his voice. “Won’t I, Miles?”
He can’t contain his laughter anymore as he hears Pav start to berate Miles, hilariously passionate about needing answers. Gonzalo, on the other hand, tries to get Pav off Miles, not because he particularly wants to protect his other self, but because he’s trying to do the explaining himself.
He taps his watch and enters the settings app. There, he scrolls down a list he specifically designed for his watch and his watch alone.
Under five other entries, he adds one more.
Favorites:
– Earth-50101B
– Earth-65
– Earth-1610
– Earth-616B
– Earth-42
– Earth-10005
He takes off his watch, his smile never leaving his face.
Already, he finds himself awaiting his next encounter with Deadpool. Hopefully, next time, he can learn more about him rather than endlessly ramble on about himself; and maybe, just maybe, he’ll let him come into his own world instead, and even give him his own watch.