The doors opened and the young man took his leave, thus allowing the old man to watch him take those next steps that would undoubtedly lead to the rest of his life.
With one last wave, JD entered his vehicle with backpack and proper supplies in tow. The old man waved back. The car door shut, the vehicle revving its engines as the headlights spurred to life and illuminated the massive driveway. As the car backed up, the old man kept his weary but experienced eyes trained on the vehicle and the driver behind the wheel. It slipped into the street, giving one more pause before driving off into the night.
Until all was quiet, until the darkness settled over all his world, Stan Lee patted his doorframe and returned to the inner confines of his humble abode.
He had grown meticulously more cautious with each step onward. He wasn’t as sprite as he used to be, and it showed with each slow footfall down the towering hallways. Retirement came well and it came with its perks. Even then, even if he didn’t have to, Stan always liked to inspire the next generation of brilliant and imaginative minds out there. Like the young man who always visited, who showed just as much energy and hopefulness for storytelling as Stan once did in his youth. He had no doubt the kid would show just as much enthusiasm with his peers. And then, maybe if they were lucky, they would find that spark to create even more stories amongst themselves, continue the legacy that Stan didn’t have the strength for any longer. Not just JD, but all of them.
They would all tell their own stories, live their own lives, and begin new legacies. That’s all Stan really wanted anyway.
Stan stumbled throughout the dark halls of his home, gazing to the walls mounted with pictures, memorabilia, and rewards of a past life filled the magic unlike any other. His cautious hand rose up and caressed those pictures, comic books framed well and showcasing his work throughout the ages. And with the many, many people he worked with over those years, they had crafted and managed to leave behind a story unlike any other. Stan took in a deep breath and sighed, that saddened but warm smile on his lips being more than enough to ease his tiring spirit.
He was so very tired.
By the time he entered his office again, he hardly even noticed who was waiting for him.
“We’ve been expecting you, Mr. Lee.”
Turning to the voice, Stan instantly caught the dark figure hiding in his own shadows, the light of the fireplace bright and welcoming behind him. He was concealed by the dark, the brightened outline of his figure showcasing a man sitting in a large, leather chair. He rolled his wrist and clinked the ice cubes in his glass of scotch, raising the glass to his lips. The mask he wore prevented the scotch from entering his mouth and instead painted his chest in the liquid. Stan raised a brow at that.
Crossing his legs over one another, the suit he wore cried out in protest, but he hardly cared. He tossed the glass of scotch aside and let it crash against the floor, turning back to Stan with that unreadable face. It was hard for Stan to decipher just who was hiding in the shadows. The image was difficult, but the voice was not.
It all clicked after he said, “We’ve just become part of a bigger super-duper universe… we just don’t know it yet.”
After putting the pieces together, Stan Lee smiled. “Oh, is that right?”
The figure kind of nodded. Kind of didn’t. Somewhere in-between. He said, “Well, I know it, but that’s beside the point. Gotta drum up some tense final teaser. Already got the best parts; mysterious figure cloaked in the shadows, coming into the light and telling the hero the end is just the beginning. Classic sequel bait, you know, marketability and all that. BUT… we can’t do this alone.”
Rising up from the leather chair, the man stepped forward and fully entered the light of Stan’s office. Just as Lee expected, he wore that familiar red and black outfit covering him like slip-on onesie pajamas. From his trusty utility belt, katanas on his back, and a pair of 50 cal. Desert Eagles resting in their holsters, Stan could already tell he hadn’t arrived for old times’ sake. He was gearing up for a mission, for a business trip, or for a journey unlike any other. Anything seemed possible when it was him behind the wheel.
Narrowing the white orbs on his face, the man behind the mask stepped forward and raised his blackened glove. He pointed directly at Stan, approaching him steadily while he uttered, “You get that greased weasel back over here and we’ll get started on the next—”
To his surprise, Stan just raised his palm. And that was enough to cease his approach, to drop his finger, and to lose his voice.
“I think it’d be best if we slow down a bit, Wade. Take a break,” Stan Lee explained. Behind those large-rimmed, dark shades, there was tiny glint that told him all he needed to know, and all he didn’t want to hear. A glint of assurance, of wisdom… and magic. Stan smiled. “And maybe just… let the story pass on to another.”
Though he was mildly disappointed, Wade couldn’t really find a reason to argue. There was no point in arguing with brilliance. He dropped his white eyes, nodding weakly.
“Yeah, that sounds good, too,” he said. He suddenly got a spike of energy, pointing back at Stan with renowned vigor and hopefulness. “But it ain’t really a story without you! All you have to do is show up for the cameo anyway! Come on! And maybe I’ll whip us up a couple of chimichangas for your thoughts.”
Wade was relieved to see that curious but rising smirk for Stan’s response.
It just got better when he said, “You read my mind.”
Sighing, Wade met Stan’s smirk and nodded. “We’re one in the same, you know that?”
“Not even close.”
“Pretty please?”
“Try harder.”
“I’ll be your best friend?”
“I said harder.”
“I can do this all day.”
“You’re not gonna leave, are you?”
“I locked the front and back doors when you weren’t looking.”
Stan Lee breathed out a chuckle at that, his rising smile unable to be hidden. As for Wade, he just started to get more and more giddy inside to see Stan’s reaction. Was he trying too hard? Maybe, but that was the fun part of it; you could never really try hard enough. It was all for fun anyhow. It was all to make a story out of something ridiculous and make it even more so, to bring the epic forces of superheroes and villains into a world of multicolored, magical ponies. It was all for fun, and he couldn’t wait to get started.
After all, the end was just the beginning.
Wrapping his arm over Stan Lee’s shoulders, Deadpool led the creator off to the kitchen to start working on those chimichangas.
“Come on, you beautiful old bastard. Time to make some sparkly friendship magic into reality.”
He closed the doors to the office, locking the world away.
Until next time.
And Discord, stretched out on the couch, held the comic book in his hands. The one that read “Infinity Era” on it. He gave it a longing look, a warm smile, and chuckled softly. Only after did he lift his eyes to the fire. Only after did he turn to the office walls, the bookshelves, and face an entire world of stories told and untold, as well as the people who would write and read them. It all looked back.
With a final, knowing smirk, Discord winked and closed the book.
THE END