Season 2, Episode 1:
Assemble
I
"You guys sure you're not gonna come?" Violet asked, returning the last of the clean dishes to the upper cupboard.
"We want to, sweetie," her mom said, packing another Tupperware container into Violet's school bag.
"But we discussed it," her dad added, looking up from his ironing and offering a firm but encouraging smile.
"And we think it'd be good for the three of you to join a super-team on your own. We didn't have super-parents to help us with our powers; we had to figure it all out ourselves. We want to make sure you can become the best hero you can be, but we think you should all have a chance to do some independent hero-ing like we did."
"But we can come if you want us to," Violet's mom said.
She smiled. Violet smiled back. She wanted them to come. She felt like they should after all the Heartless business. But she felt like her dad was right. She felt like her mom thought so, even if she wouldn't admit it. It was still some time away for her brothers, but it wouldn't be long before Violet would be living her own life. That meant that, sooner or later, she wouldn't be able to call on Elastigirl and Mr. Incredible for help, and she would have to get used to it.
In a way, she'd been used to it since she'd first donned her mask on Nomanisan Island. Now it was only a matter of being willing.
"We'll be fine," Violet said. She hugged her mom.
"You guys gotta keep Municiberg safe while we're gone."
"And we will," Violet's mom replied. Though it was her father who possessed super-strength, whenever her mother hugged her, Violet thought that she did, too.
"But remember you can call us if you need us."
They parted. Violet looked into her mother's face, radiant with pride and fragile with tears.
She considered telling her about her nightmare.
"Wow!" Dash exclaimed from the living room. "We get to ride in that?!"
"How does he get them to move?" Jayjay added.
"Sounds like they're here," Violet said.
Her mom zipped up Violet's bag and handed it to her. "There's spare suits and some food in there, just in case."
"Thanks, Mom."
"Well," her dad gave an impressed and bewildered chuckle as he peered out the window.
"Give 'em points for style...You sure the skeleton guy's alright, Vi?"
"Jack's cool," Violet answered as she slung the bag over her shoulder on the way to the door.
"He wouldn't have helped us against the Mistress if he wasn't."
Silence followed as Dash joined her with Jayjay on his shoulders. Violet tried not to react to how she had referred to Maleficent. Nobody else seemed to notice, but Violet could tell that they did.
She could feel it just like she could feel that faint whisper slither through her ears again.
The Incredibles shared a hug. They had not done so since they had awoken in Maleficent's ashes only a few days prior.
They had each had to take five showers that night.
"Say hi to Lucius and Karen for us," Violet said as she opened the door.
"And you say hi to Bruce," her dad replied. "Ask him how he keeps the cape outta trouble."
"And to Ellie, too, if you see him," her mom added.
"You got it."
Violet led her siblings outside to their awaiting escorts.
Living in the solitudinous hilltop house which Winston Deavor had been providing for them all these years, Violet had always been comforted that nobody was ever around to witness the Incredibles' comings and goings.
Today, she was especially thankful for that secrecy. She could only imagine the fuss that would be caused by the floating carpet on her driveway, as well as the Arabian prince and two Chinese soldiers sitting cross-legged upon it. And any passers-by would surely be traumatized by the suited skeleton and his uniformed rabbit and fox companions, let alone the eight grinning reindeer skeletons towing the coffin they sat in.
They all smiled and waved when they saw the Incredibles. The carpet wiggled its tassels. The reindeer stamped their hooves.
"Hey, guys," Violet chirped.
"The Incredible Parrs," Jack cheered. "Prince Aladdin and I have a wager that we need your help with!"
"Oh?"
"Yeah," Aladdin added. "To see if you guys wanna fly by reindeer or carpet!"
II
Bullseye.
"Golly bob-howdy, Woody! That's four in a row!"
"Would ya expect anythin' less, Slink?"
Woody went to retrieve his dart from the circular board. It perfectly outlined the fingernail-sized center, as though it had been carefully placed there.
Which was, in a sense, exactly what Woody had done.
His dart was bordered by three others; two neighbors and another around the corner, respectively belonging to Jessie, Slinky, and Buzz.
Woody took the darts and turned to face the saloon, which was empty save for his friends.
Buzz stood across from the dartboard. He had changed from his green and white armor to a purple jacket with shin-length tails. Apparently, this was considered fashionable on the planet Zed.
Sylvester Earnest was a long, skinny fellow with long, skinny brown hair and a long, skinny mustache that was more like a lonely pair of whiskers. He wore a black jacket and hat which somehow made him seem even longer and skinnier. It was because of his longness and skinniness, as well as because of all the times Woody had seen him crawling through tall grass to sneak up on bandit camps, that he had been dubbed Slinky Sylvester, or more often, simply Slinky.
Jessie always wore a white coat, a bright red stetson to match her ginger ponytail, and a prize-winning smile. Woody saw it much more now than he did years ago.
It saddened him to remember the story of Emily, but he always perked right back up at Jessie's smile. It had him think that, wherever Emily was, she was smiling, too.
Woody looked for Bo but found that, once again, she had vanished.
Before the Sheriff could ask the others where she had gone, he felt something curl around his neck.
"Bo," he laughed. "If One-Eyed Bart n' Betty were as sneaky as you, the Bank of Andes Rume would be cleaned out." He turned around to face her.
As dirty as she got shepherding, which was only somewhat dirtier than any citizen of Andes Rume got in their profession, Woody always thought she was perfect.
"I think we'd be just fine as long as Sheriff Woody's lookin' out for us," she said, unhooking her crook from around him.
They kissed.
For a second, Woody envisioned the wheat field blanketed in the dragon's ashes. Despite his relief, there had maintained a notion of terror, as if Maleficent had stalked him even into the TARDIS and back home. Only when he saw the small, neat wooden streets of Andes Rume again did the chilling feeling fade. It faded further when his friends, his deputies, and Mayor Dolly Davis gave him an ecstatic and relieved welcome back.
When Bo kissed him, the feeling left him entirely.
"You sure about goin' back out there?" Bo asked.
"Sure I'm sure," Woody said. "There's lots out there, Bo. Much more than Buzz or Star Command or even Maleficent...And they're lookin' at us. At me. I'll betcha any of 'em are just waitin' to jump on us, so I gotta jump on 'em first."
"It's a big universe, Sheriff. You know where to look?"
"Aladdin's friend," Buzz added. "That Genie; he says he can remember some visions he had while he was trapped in the Doctor's ship. We're going to rendezvous with them and figure out where to go."
"Ya sure ya don't want us to come with ya?" Jessie asked.
"We need you here," Woody replied. "Gotta keep Andes Rume safe on every front." He put the darts down on the table, trading them for his lasso, which he slung over his shoulder.
"Jessie, you're in charge 'till I get back."
"How come ya never leave me in charge, Woody?" Slinky questioned.
"'Cause he's the Sheriff, Slink," Jessie teased. "It's up to him."
"Actually, you make a good point, Slink." Woody picked up one of the darts, twirling it between his fingers.
"Tell ya what; I'll make it fair." He turned to the dartboard, then, in the same turning motion, snapped his arm out towards it.
Bullseye.
"Whoever matches that is in charge while I'm out."
Jessie and Slinky scrambled eagerly for the darts.
Woody tipped his hat to them as they took aim, then left the saloon with Bo and Buzz.
The dirt streets of Andes Rume bustled as they always did in the early morning. Glancing around, Woody saw Mr. Hamilton, the portly, sharply-dressed banker, tipping his bowler hat to Mayor Davis. She straightened her bright orange lapels before tipping her own hat, revealing her six pigtails.
"Mornin', Mayor."
"Mornin', Hamm."
Down the street, the Sheriff found Trixie and Reg rehearsing their next play. He couldn't see their faces, but any time an elaborate costume made from woodwork, barrels, and other amenities was worn in Andes Rume, it was safe to bet that Reg or Trixie was inside.
It seemed this one was about dinosaurs.
Woody turned; another of his deputies seemed to have teleported beside him. His jacket, trousers, boots, and hat were all the same dark shade of green. He was only an inch shorter than Woody, but he had an intense look. Not a mean one; just one that said that he was paying very, very close attention. His face and his head were clean-shaven.
"Sir! Will you be heading out now, Sir?!"
"I am indeed, Ermey," Woody smiled at him. He made sure to always do so. It was a life goal for him to see Ermey smile one day.
"Myself and the others give our regards, Sir!"
"Thank ya kindly. Jessie or Slinky's in charge while I'm gone. They're sortin' it out now. They'll let ya know."
"Sir, yes, Sir!"
"Can I count on you to keep the town safe?"
"Always, Sir!"
"That's what I like to hear. Dismissed, Sarge." Woody saluted.
Ermey's lips twitched at the nickname as if wanting to smile but being held back by the rest of his face.
Almost, Woody thought.
"Sir!" Ermey returned the salute, then resumed his march down the street.
"Have you told him that he doesn't have to act like that around you?" Buzz asked.
"Several times," Woody answered. "Everyone's got their way. That's Ermey's way. And if it helps him get the job done, I'm all for it."
They made their way to the stable by the Sheriff's office. Bullseye perked up and stamped his hooves at the sight of Woody. Buttercup shook his golden mane. Buzz's white-and-green pod waited right where it had been left. The triumphant blue wings of the Star Command emblem gleamed in the morning sunlight.
Bo took Woody's hand. "You boys be careful out there."
Woody turned to her. They kissed again. It came as naturally to the Sheriff as a bullseye.
Woody savored it. He savored the friendly voices echoing around him, the sound of hooves against dirt, and the warm fresh air.
He knew that he had to go to protect it all. He also knew that, as soon as he left, he would be back to the wheat, the cold, and the ash.
III
"We're here."
Marty jolted awake, suddenly aware of two fluffy presences; one behind his head and another on his chest.
He looked down his body, laid flat against the Delorean's reclined passenger seat. He found Stitch curled up and sound asleep on his torso, having settled into a shallow nest in the creases of Marty's jacket and shirt. He was smiling like sleeping was the greatest pleasure he knew.
Marty wished he could feel as comfortable. As he blinked himself awake, he had a chilling and disappointing realization that the ash-covered wheat field clouding his mind's eye had, in fact, not been a dream.
Stitch purred and opened his eyes, looking at Marty with his unchanged smile.
Marty instinctively went to pet him. Just as his fingertips met the silky blue fur, a thick, slimy tongue popped out, prodded the tip of Marty's nose, then retreated into Stitch's lips before Marty even knew it had come out.
With a mischievous giggle, Stitch rolled off of Marty and swung out of the Delorean on the rising gull wing door.
Marty wiped his nose against his sleeve, irritated for a few seconds, but Stitch's laughter seemed to hypnotize him, replacing his irritation with a soft chuckle.
Marty pulled the lever at his side to raise his seat. He felt a set of fuzzy lips blow a raspberry into his cheek. Angel then hopped out from behind his head, following Stitch and imitating his giggle.
"Wish I could wake up that quickly," Marty muttered.
"Sleep well?" Doc asked, unbuckling his seat belt.
"Yeah," Marty answered after a moment. He watched the Experiments rolling and somersaulting in the sand outside, then turned to his friend.
"I thought they wanted to ride on the roof."
"They did," Doc said. "But those two saw you napping and wanted to come in and join you." He pulled the driver's door up.
"Seemed to do you good. You sounded like you were having an unpleasant dream. But once they got comfortable with you, you relaxed immediately." He disembarked.
Marty followed shortly after. As he did, he became aware of the ghost of a word in his throat.
Mistress.
You are more remarkable than you think, Mr. McFly.
Marty was suddenly outside. He felt like he had slept walked out of the Delorean.
The sand was soft; like walking on bundles of freshly washed blankets. Ahead of him, a quaint, red-roofed house smiled down at him from the end of a long staircase that would make a perfectly grueling P.E. activity.
Hawaii was as hot as he'd expected, but Marty didn't mind. His body was still cold.
Suddenly, he was picked up in the way that butch heroes always carry helpless damsels in action movie posters.
"Flying car is fun," Sparky snickered. "Now try flying Sparky!"
Marty was astonished at how effortlessly the thigh-high creature kept him aloft. More astonishing was the speed with which Sparky flew him up the marathon of steps. If the electric Experiment carried a flux capacitor, he could have time traveled in two steps.
Marty thought that the others would have to catch up, but once he stood up, he found them already beside him, having used Elastico's elongated leg as a zip line. Elastico himself came in right after them, carrying Doc just as Sparky had carried Marty.
"You alright, Doc?" Marty asked as his friend stumbled out of Elastico's arms.
"Quite alright, Marty," Doc said, straightening his jacket. Then, in a whisper, "What I wouldn't give to meet these creatures' creator."
"Careful what you wish for, Doc," Marty whispered back. "I get the feeling these guys didn't get along with their parents."
He found the Experiments piling into the front door. Leaning inside after them, he found them gleefully climbing all over their ecstatic human family.
He started to feel the Hawaiian heat.
"Aloha, Marty."
He looked down and found Lilo smiling up at him. Stitch sat on her shoulders, smiling as well. They hugged Marty with six arms.
"Thanks for bringing my ohana back," Lilo said.
Marty felt a unique sort of tightness in the hug. He could recall only one other time when he had experienced it, but he could remember when down to the minute; November 12th, 1955, 9:57 pm.
"Well," Marty said after a moment. His hands wandered over Lilo's sleek hair and the tuft of fur on Stitch's head.
"We had a lot of help."
"I know," Lilo said. "But I wanna thank everyone who helped."
Marty looked down at them. Stitch licked his nose again.
He caught a glimpse of Doc being hugged by Nani and David. His arms hovered at his sides momentarily before he reciprocated.
There was a rapid wooden thumping from inside. Marty looked through the doorway and saw Angel sliding down the staircase banister as if on an invisible skateboard. She carried a white electric guitar with purple streaks bordering the strings.
Angel leaped off in a flawless front flip, then used Clyde and Elastico's shoulders as stepping stones to get to Marty. Her cousins barely flinched.
"Can you play for us, Marty?" She held the guitar out to him.
"Actually, we'd best be going," Doc said as Nani and David released him. "We've already been out of our own time for far too long."
"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?" Angel grinned, showing Marty all of her teeth.
"Just one song?" Stitch pressed his chin against Marty's chest to look right up at him with expanded eyes. His drooping ears slapped Marty's elbows.
The Experiments swarmed Marty, tugging at his jacket, climbing on his shoulders, and pleading for even a few bars.
It was Marty's favorite kind of audience.
"And besides," Dib added from the sidelines. "You have a time machine, right? You can be back anytime you want."
Marty took Angel's guitar. The cheering crowd dispersed to let him enter the house.
"It's alright, Doc," Marty shrugged as he turned around to face his audience. "How much irreparable damage to the space-time continuum could one song do?"
Doc sighed and smiled.
Marty strummed a few chords, pleasantly surprised at how similar Angel's guitar felt to his own back in 1986.
He looked at his audience lined up in a crescent around him. They smiled at him in a way that Marty had never seen in an audience. They weren't judgemental sneers hiding behind masks of excitement. They were sincere, promising that they would adore him even if he only played random notes.
Marty knew just what to play for this type of crowd. Something he had written himself. Something they wouldn't get anywhere else.
He pointed to the ceiling, waited, then, when the air felt just right...
"Tell me, doctor! Where are we goin' this time?!"
IV
Dr. Egon Spengler, Ph.D. looked over his notes.
What he wanted was an organized recollection of the crisis that had just passed. Maleficent. The Heartless. The TARDIS. The Time Vortex. Everything he knew about it all extracted neatly onto paper.
What he had was a drawing of a dragon.
Its jaws erupted with inky fire. Its white, blue-lined eyes glared up at Egon.
He leaned his elbows on his desk, staring into the drawing and trying to understand why it was there.
He felt cold. He remembered what it felt like to be consumed by Maleficent. It didn't feel like being consumed by Maleficent. It felt like being Maleficent.
"Dr. Spengler, I presume?"
Egon darted to attention, feeling as if his spirit had just dropped back into his body after a brief ethereal stroll.
Standing over his desk was a black-bearded man with the dress sense of a lawyer but the laid-back posture of a high school student. Egon momentarily considered the possibility that Peter Venkman and Walter Peck had been merged into a single entity, then immediately dismissed the thought.
"Afternoon, Mr. Stark." Egon stuffed the drawing into his pocket. "I was working." He did not mean it as an apology, but once he had spoken, he knew that Stark would interpret it as such.
"No worries." Bingo. "So, didja wanna show off your toys?" Like his appearance, Stark had a voice for the boardroom and words for the playground.
"Yes." Egon stood up, beckoning Stark to follow him to the stairwell to his right.
"I'd also like to discuss this contract that you mentioned to my associate, Dr. Stantz."
"I like you," Stark said. "You get straight to the point. We want you guys on the team."
"The team?"
"Yeah. We're still working on the name. Best we've got so far is Avengers League, but it doesn't really roll off the tongue. Too clunky for a battle cry. Avengers League assemble. Bleh. But we'll get there."
"Names aside," Egon replied, raising an eyebrow. "What exactly do you expect us to offer your team? Many of them possess supernatural powers. A few are descended from literal gods."
"Well, don't be too modest now. Dr. McCoy tells me you and your boys did remarkably against the evil shadow dragon lady."
"Thank you, but as I pointed out before we crossed over, that was only to keep our more powerful assets safe until we could neutralize the Heartless threat. For your average superpowered threat, why would you choose us over your Superman or your Captain Marvel?"
"That is an excellent question which you are going to answer." Stark snapped his fingers and pointed at Egon.
The Ghostbuster exhaled through his nose. He found Venkman's snark an invaluable weapon against mortal and supernatural foes alike. Now he felt like he was feeling all those foes' irritation at once.
At the bottom of the stairs, they reached the lab and ghost containment facility, which, with Egon and Stark inside, was nearly half full.
"I realize it's not as refined as your own facilities, but it's sufficient for us." Egon meant to acknowledge it before Stark could make a quip about it, but, once again, he anticipated it being interpreted as an apology.
"Hey," Stark shrugged. "What super-genius didn't start out by tinkering with scraps in a dingy old basement?"
Egon made another nasal sigh.
"But I've gotta admit," Stark continued. "I expected a little more from over a decade of business."
"Expenses pile up," Egon explained like he was telling a child why the sky is blue.
"As profitable as paranormal investigation and elimination are, after damages, maintenance, salary, food, electricity, therapy, car repairs, insurance, and taxes, there isn't much left over for tremendous upgrades."
He watched Stark as he eyed the ghost containment device on the wall. It was a bulky red box with a handle on each side and three buttons on top; round red and green ones and a square blue one.
Stark lifted a hand to touch it. Egon smacked it away. Stark turned to Egon with a sarcastic and accusing look.
"Don't touch that," Egon said. "That's where we keep them."
"Keep what?"
Egon hit the blue button and a speaker underneath the box crackled to life.
"YOUR SKULL WILL BE MY CROWN, EGON SPENGLER!"
"YOU AND YOUR PATHETIC FRIENDS WILL BE DROWNED IN THE INFESTED SEAS OF THE DARKEST COSMOS!"
"I WILL RIP THE IMBECILE VENKMAN'S TONGUE FROM HIS HEAD AND HANG THE FOUR OF YOU FROM IT!"
"WHEN WE ESCAPE, YOU WILL FEEL EVERY MOMENT OF ANGUISH AND DECAY YOU HAVE PUT US THROUGH IN THIS BOX OF-"
Egon released the button. He rolled his eyes at the threats and at Stark's silence.
They were all talkers until they remembered what they were dealing with.
Stark raised a finger, stroked his goatee with it, then raised it again at the containment unit.
"They're all in there."
"Yes," Egon nodded. "If you need proof that it's not just a pre-recorded hoax-"
"Oh, no," Stark said with surprising urgency. "I...I can feel them."
"Mm-hm."
"So they're in there and they're not getting out."
"Indeed."
"You made this in here with whatever you could get your hands on and they can't get out of it."
"My answer won't change with more specific phrasing, Mr. Stark."
At this, Stark put his hands in his pockets. For several seconds, he said nothing, his eyes locked on Egon's.
"Suppose electricity and therapy and all that stuff wasn't an issue," he finally said. "Suppose even after doing your duty as an American taxpayer, you still had plenty to build and improve your toys as much as you wanted."
"What exactly are you suggesting, Mr. Stark?" Egon folded his arms, waiting for the bribe so he could reject it and get back to work.
"Nothing," Stark shrugged. "Just tell me; what would the Ghostbusters be if it could be exactly the way you wanted."
Now this was a rare commodity in New York; an interesting question.
Egon needed only a second to consider it.
"First of all, a different headquarters for each city in the country. In the world, if we were allowed. And at least four teams for each one, working in six-hour shifts; morning, afternoon, evening, and night. Second; a training facility where my colleagues and I could properly educate new recruits. On the technological front, I'd have satellites which could detect any supernatural presence and pinpoint its exact source. It may take some testing, but I believe I could also make them paralyze phantoms and demons in an energy field until a team could arrive to contain them."
Stark was attentive throughout. He spoke only when he realized that Egon was finished.
"So, basically, you'd be on their asses."
"Yes," Egon replied. "I'd be on their asses," he said so in a more rigid tone than Stark had used.
Stark puts his hands in his pockets.
"With these parts, I could make a suit with flamethrowers and flight at 100 feet. But what good is that against, say, a magical dimension-hopping dragon?"
He took out a checkbook and a pen and jotted away.
"They say a crappy smith blames his tools. I say a good smith deserves better tools."
He tore the cheque away, gave it to Egon, patted him on the shoulder, and strolled towards the stairs.
"Let's see if you can prove that."
When he left, Egon glanced down at the cheque. He blinked, thinking at first that he was seeing double or triple as many zeroes as there really were. He blinked again, thinking that he must be dreaming.
He had calls to make. He had to call his colleagues, the bank, the city council, and the local Chinese restaurant.
V
"Devil May Cry, demonic exterminations and armory. Ashley Williams speaking."
Ash would normally consider it unprofessional to answer the phone while a customer was sitting at his desk. This man, however, was taking so long to fumble for his resume in his blood-red costume (which had a similarly bloody stench to it) that Ash thought he could get away with it just this once.
"I'm afraid all contracts are final after signing," Ash responded the agitated grunts from the phone.
"I know there are exorcists that do it for free. But they deal with possessions by minor demons, not 50-foot-tall monsters like that frost giant you had chilling out in your stadium...Yes, Ghostbusters are cheaper, but they charge a distance fee if you're outside New York. Would actually make it higher than us...Well, if you'd like a refund, we can just do a quick resurrection ritual on Frosty...Yeah, I've already got the star painted and a sheep and some heavy metal ready to go...A discount? Yeah; I can just bring back a bit of him. Shall we start at the head or the feet? Hm...That's what I thought. Okay...Okay...H-...Okay...Okay. Have a devil-free day."
Ash hung up, sighed, and returned his attention to the red-suited man.
The man finally yanked a folded sheet of paper from under the top of his costume. He handed it to Ash with an embarrassed smirk.
His burned skin made Ash dread the pepperoni pizzas that Dante had ordered.
Ash unfolded the paper. It was written in crayon. Resume was written at the top in pink.
"Wade Wilson," Ash read aloud. "Preferred name: Deadpool. Also OK: DP, the Poolster, Poolie, Deadsy McPoolston, Spider-Man, Green Lantern, Ryan Gosling, Ryan Guzzling, the Notebook guy.
"Experience: Canadian military, Weapon X, on-and-off member of X-Force, Thunderbolts, X-Men kind-of-but-not-really, President of Golden Girls fan club from '92 to '96.
"Qualities: skilled in all sorts of close and long-range weapons, razor sharp wit, and...Devastatingly sexy."
Ash's eyes rolled up at Wade Wilson, whose awkward smile seemed burned onto his face.
"References: Cable; badass, time-traveling frenemy, and Goonie. Domino; super-lucky fellow X-Force member. Weasel; bestie, techie, and recovering alcoholic. P.S., by recovering I mean from a hangover."
Ash eyed Wilson again, feeling like he was reliving his elementary school days from his teachers' perspective.
"You forgot to add their contact info."
"I put it in the new one," Wilson shrugged in a way that looked like he was trying to bury his neck in his shoulders.
"Was in a rush on my way out. Must've grabbed the wrong one. But hey, this fanboy's bound to convolute a way for you to meet any one of those guys sooner or later. You can just ask 'em then about how kickass I am."
Ash squinted at Wilson. "The hell…" He stood up, pointing a metal finger at the smirking burned face.
"Listen 'ere, crispy! This ain't a friggin' after-school club! We're supplyin' a service here! We've got enough to deal with without babysittin' some thirty-something nutball runnin' around with crayon drawings and ninja swords-"
"Woah, woah, Ashley Jay…"
Ash turned around to find Dante strolling in from the back room. A magazine featuring an excited blonde woman holding up a bazooka was tucked under his arm. The title was hidden under Dante's arm, so Ash couldn't tell if the focus was meant to be the blonde or the bazooka.
"What's this guy doin' that's got my new partner so riled up?"
"Just looking for work," Wilson said. "And this seemed to be the place for wisecracking, gun-toting anti-heroes with cult fanbases. Plus, looks like I got to ya right between 3 and 4, which is where all the best hack-and-slash action happens."
"See, Dante?" Ash said. "And he comes in here with this so-called resume that oughtta be on his mom's fridge!"
"What do you mean between 3 and 4?" Dante asked, leaning on the side of the desk. He raised an eyebrow but kept his calm smirk.
"This is right before you pick up that weird coin motif, isn't it?" Wilson replied.
Dante shook his head. "Alright; craziness aside, how are you against a demon?"
"I can kick any ass you want. Or I want." Wilson stood up and threw an arm over Dante's shoulders.
"But that's not the point. The point is that you, me, and Bruce Campbell have been brought together for one reason."
He paused, completely ignorant of Ash's squinting, bemused stare.
"Fanservice! Look, I know you've got this whole middle-class-working-grind metaphor going on, plus a little PTSD on the side, but all that's really just bonus. The main thing we're here for is wacky team-ups that will never really happen until we all go public domain in a few trillion years."
"What the f-" Ash muttered.
"You make a good point," Dante patted Wilson on the back. "Mr. Williams and I will discuss it and get back to you."
"You sure? Because I think people could go for a nice giant monster fight right now."
"I'm sure they can." Dante stood up, guiding Wilson across the barren grey lobby to the door.
"And I consider myself an entertainer. And as an entertainer, I believe that it's best not to blow the star performance on the warm-up."
"Ah. Right," Wilson nodded. "Save it for the finale. Probably for the best. Don't wanna pump out obligatory testosterone as desperately as Dwayne Johnson."
"You got it." Dante snapped his fingers. "So we'll be in touch as soon as the time is right."
He opened the door and Wilson seemed to be pulled outside. Dante shut the door softly but urgently. He turned and smiled at Ash's bewildered expression.
"You're not actually going to hire that guy, are you?"
"No," Dante answered as he strolled back to the desk. "But I think he could be helpful on a freelance basis."
"What gives you that idea? The guy can't even write a resume. Put him up against the kinda uglies we tango with, best he could do is annoy them to death!"
"You never know," Dante shrugged, sinking into Wilson's former seat. "But I do know that sometimes you gotta out-crazy the crazies to beat 'em."
Ash opened his mouth to respond, then shut it nodded. He looked down at his metal fingers strumming the wooden desk as Dante's words echoed in his mind.
For a second, he felt dirt at his back and ashes at his front. The words still echoed.
The bell rung. Dante and Ash turned to the door and found Wilson returning with two flat boxes.
"Here's your pizzas. Sorry if they're a little cold. And smushed. And covered in poodle hairs. And half-eaten."
VI
Though the Batcave was cold and damp, its arrangements and artifacts felt as inviting as the TARDIS'.
The Doctor particularly liked the giant penny at the far west side, although he could not see any practical purpose for it. That may have been why he liked it.
"He might've let you in if you just asked," Jones said.
"Are you certain it's wise to invade the privacy of our newfound ally, Doctor?" Nanaki asked.
"Possibly," the Doctor spun into the revolving chair facing the Batcomputer as if it belonged to him. For the next few minutes, it would.
"Or it may turn out to be merely a childish suspicion."
"And you would risk these people's trust for a childish suspicion?" Leia responded.
The Doctor looked at his companions' reflections on the screen. They were arranged in front of the TARDIS in such a way that he felt inspired to paint them. Leia, Han, Drake, and Nanaki looked impatient. Luke, Cloud, Jones, and Croft looked skeptical. Romana, as always, was the only one who understood.
"There may be more at risk than you think, Chancellor," the Doctor said.
"You just wanna see if he's got any dirty pictures saved on there, don't ya?" Drake cracked.
The Doctor scoffed.
As he expected, the computer demanded a password.
At this, the Doctor's mind flooded with memories. He knew they were not his own, but he could see them as vividly as the face of his granddaughter or the burned orange skies of Gallifrey.
He could remember running from a boulder in a decaying temple, surfing many times over the sparkling Hawaiian waters, and crafting a prosthetic hand in a medieval smith's shop. He recalled inventing the flux capacitor, the proton beam, the Pym particle, several dozen suits of armor, and a coffin-sled. In his mind's eye, he was being stabbed by his brother, dismembered by his father, threatened by his deputies, and throwing his only friend into space.
Each image, especially the tragic ones, was terribly interesting.
They had been drifting through his brain since his 'heart' had been restored. He wondered if the others could see them, too. He figured that they must, but perhaps they only couldn't see them as clearly.
Advantages of being a Time Lord. Or perhaps only of being extremely clever.
One, in particular, caught the Doctor's attention at this moment. He remembered watching his mother and father being shot in an alleyway like rabid animals.
Such a senseless waste of life. It angered the Doctor, but he was surprised at just how much it angered him.
Instinctively, he knew that the password had something to do with this memory.
Pearls splashed in a puddle of rainwater.
The gun was a .49 caliber Smith & Wesson.
The murderer said something about dancing with the devil in the pale moonlight.
Pearls. Rain. Smith&Wesson. Moonlight.
All possible, but the Doctor was doubtful. If he were this Batman fellow, he wouldn't have chosen such a predictably trivial aspect of this memory.
He remembered harder. He remembered clearer.
In the reddening puddle between the scattered pearls, the Doctor recalled the reflection of a cinema banner.
The Mark of Zorro.
Good film. Rivaled only by the 2367 remake.
The Doctor typed it in. He grinned as the screen bid him welcome.
"How did you know that?" Cloud asked.
"You all know it," the Doctor smiled at him over his shoulder. "If you only think clearly enough."
He returned to the screen, where hundreds of files were lined up for him like soldiers. One cried out to him; Rainy Days. The Doctor opened it and was met with another squadron of files. The first was marked, Last Son. He opened it and was met with a familiar and triumphant red letter S.
"Hey, that's one of the super-people who jumped in to help us against dragon-lady," Han said.
"Which makes it very interesting that a good friend of his would have developed a strategy against him," the Doctor chirped.
"What?"
The Doctor's companions were suddenly surrounding him, locked onto the screen.
"A sample of green Kryptonite," Romana read aloud. "Provided by Superman himself, will incapacitate him with brief exposure. Prolonged exposure will, in all probability, be fatal...It is rather strange to keep things that you know could kill your own friends, isn't it?"
"Indeed," the Doctor replied. "But strange people are often the most interesting, I find."
He looked to the bottom of the page, where the most recent files were.
Starkiller. Kingbreaker. Yamato. Bankruptcy. Chocolate Cake. Lightning Storm. Firefighter. Sephiroth. Wise Monkeys. Venom. Sabretooth. Sundance. Boxing Day. Tortoise. Kronos. Memphis. Bottle. Atilla. Lazarus.
The Doctor clicked on the last one and read aloud.
"Even after sharing the Heartless' hive mind with the Doctor and Romana, there is still so much I don't know or understand about them. What I do know is that they possess some psychic abilities, a machine capable of both space and time travel, and the ability to heal fatal wounds at the cost of physical and mental change. The last of these offers the most promising chance at defeating them thus far. Must investigate chemicals that can either negate the regeneration entirely or manipulate it to cause effects such as amnesia."
The Doctor laughed.
"With twentieth century Earth technology? Well, we would all be most impressed if you did, Bruce, m'dear."
He stood up, took his sonic screwdriver from his pocket, and aimed it at the Batcomputer. After a two-second-long whirr, the screen reverted to its original state and the screwdriver felt ever so slightly heavier.
"We can study the rest in the TARDIS."
"This doesn't make sense," Luke said. "We fought together to stop Maleficent. Why would he make plans to defeat us?"
"I don't believe Bruce plans to act on them without good reason," the Doctor replied. "It seems he's only developing them in case any of his new or old friends turned against him. Say, for instance, an evil sorceress stole their hearts and turned them into her own mindless minions?"
"He'd betray his friends' trust just to be a step ahead of a threat that might not come?" Croft questioned.
"Oh, it will come," the Doctor said, going to open the TARDIS doors. "Not today or tomorrow or even in ten years. But if it happened once, then it must certainly happen again. And when it does, I think we shall all be quite thankful for Bruce's foresight. Those of us who aren't a part of the threat in question, of course."
His companions turned back to the Batcave, looking around it with unease. The Doctor thought they might be waiting for the Batman himself to pounce at them.
"Seems the very idea has them shaking in their boots," Romana whispered.
"Well, in their defense," the Doctor shrugged. "They're still shaking off a rather unpleasant experience." He snapped his fingers twice, earning his companions' attention back.
"Come along, now. Back to Coruscant. Poor C-3PO must be rusting with worry for you."
VII
"Trust me, Bats," John Constantine said, tutting the fingers of his left hand and lighting his cigarette with his right.
"This'll be right up your street."
As Constantine, Zatanna, and Dr. Stephen Strange waved their hands in ways that Batman could never understand, the caped crusader wondered what Constantine meant.
He did not like seeing the Joker or the Scarecrow at the best of times, let alone unconscious on the floor beside the Green Goblin, Vergil, Boba Fett, the Master, and Zim. They were lain neatly inside what Batman assumed was the Sanctum Sanctorum's broom closet.
Their faces (Fett's was now that of a bald woman with blood red skin and pointed ears.) were fixated with looks of sadness and disgust that was familiar to Bruce. He thought it might be the same face with which he had looked at his parents' bodies in Crime Alley a lifetime ago.
He stopped thinking about it.
The three sorcerers stopped their ritual. Their smiles faded to looks of bemusement.
Batman turned and was met with the scornful yellow teeth of the Joker's grin.
He was holding two fingers above Bruce's head.
Bruce instinctively put his fists up. The Joker stepped back, revealing a body devoid of its usual color. He was a dark white. Bruce looked at his eyes and saw the gothic crimson foyer of the Sanctum.
The Joker threw his head back and cackled. Bruce heard nothing.
Batman looked around. The Green Goblin was screaming into Strange's face. Fett's grasping hands went harmlessly through Zatanna's neck. Zim reached into Constantine's chest, brought his fist out, then gaped at his empty palm.
Behind the Joker, Vergil, the Master, and the Scarecrow scowled at him.
"The good doctor is versed in the art of astral magic," Zatanna said.
"I don't know what that is," Batman responded, turning to the sorcerers, who seemed amused with the spirits' fruitless attacks.
"More importantly, what have you done to them?!"
"It's magic that pulls a soul out of a body," Constantine explained. "Always found it a bit incidental m'self."
"But by combining our powers," Strange added. "We were able to lock these cretins' astral forms out of their bodies. They can only wander the Sanctum and they can go seen or unseen as one wishes."
"Why can't they speak?" Bruce questioned.
"A little touch of my own," Zatanna chirped with a tip of her top hat. "They can speak. It's just that we can't hear them. And that works both ways."
"You wanted this lot where not even Maleficent could get to 'em," Constantine said. "How'd we do?"
Bruce looked between all of them again. He kept gravitating back to the Joker, laughing for the world and for every world beyond the cosmos and being totally ignored.
It was something which Bruce had dreamed about. Yet it didn't satisfy him. It saddened him.
"You can just do this to someone?" He asked the sorcerers. He kept focused on the Joker.
"It requires a significant amount of magic to do so to even one person," Strange answered. "But yes; together, we could."
"So what use is prison?" Bruce growled. "You can just remove people from existence if you felt like it."
"Hey, we wouldn't do this to just anyone, Bats," Zatanna retorted. "We only did this because you specifically asked for something just in case they changed back into Heartless."
"And I don't think the question is if we feel like it, mate," Constantine said. He had a puff before continuing.
"If you've got anyone in mind, just say the word."
Batman glared at Constantine's stubbled smirk. It was the kind of smile which one makes when they draw a royal flush. Bruce was familiar with it on Constantine. He was not so familiar with the feeling of being on its receiving end.
At the very least, he had been torn away from the Joker.
The Sanctum shook. Vases and picture frames fell from their shelves and wall spaces, halted in midair, and then neatly replaced themselves.
"Aw, bloody 'ell," Constantine sighed. "No rest for the wicked, eh?"
They dashed for the front door. Batman arrived first and flung it open.
Bleecker Street had gone up in flames.
VIII
"Chuck Berry; Johnny B. Goode."
"Okitaka."
"Huey Lewis and the News; Power of Love."
"Ooh. Sound good."
"And...One more...Right! The Penguins; Earth Angel."
Err-Thane-Gel.
"Mm. Like my Alien Angel." Stitch jotted away on his notepad, his black eyes glimmering and his feet rocking in their prints in the sand.
Marty leaned against the driver's side of the Delorean, trying to focus on the world in front of him. He tried to focus on the lingering rush of his performance, the way Stitch and his cousins had clapped on precisely the right beats, and the resounding cheers and applause that had ensued.
"Any more, Marty?"
He tried his hardest, but still felt a suffocating chill and heard a maddening symphony of noise, headed by a childish, mechanical singing voice.
I'm just a fool. A fool in love with you-ooo-ooooooooooooooo…
"Marty?"
Marty jolted. For a split second, he saw a black-furred monstrosity grinning at him with yellow teeth. He blinked and color was restored to Stitch and his pearly whites.
"You okay?" Stitch tilted his head.
"Yeah. Fine," Marty muttered.
"Maleficent?"
Marty looked at Stitch. His smile had faded. Marty had a strange feeling like he was looking in a mirror.
"I still feel her, too," Stitch continued. "Feels cold, right?"
"...Yeah," Marty said. "Freezing...Even in a place like this," he gave a feeble chuckle, earning the faintest and most short-lived of smiles from Stitch.
"I think...I think the worst of it knowing that when I-when we were with her...We liked feeling that way. And…"
He concluded with a sigh.
"And we think that way better," Stitch added. He hopped onto the window of the Delorean, his feet sticking to the glass as he knelt into a sitting position.
"Cousins think lots while flying. We think everyone has lots of people inside. Some Heartless. Some not. You get to choose. I can be Heartless Stitch. I can be good, cute, and fluffy Stitch. You can be Heartless Marty. You can be good, cool, awesome-guitar-player Marty."
Marty had to smile at this.
"We can always choose," Stitch continued. "Is okay to have Heartless inside. Okay if you want to be something else...But I am happy that you are cool, awesome-guitar-player Marty. And I am happy that cool, awesome-guitar-player Marty is my friend."
Marty's smile grew. He still felt cold, but he had become more aware of the cozy Hawaiian heat.
Stitch grinned. "You want hug. I can tell." He held his arms out.
Marty chuckled. "We can add mind-reading to your list of superpowers." He scooped Stitch up, scratching behind his ears just the way Einie liked back in 1986.
"I'm happy that you're my friend, too."
Stitch purred. After a few moments, he said, "You found my favorite spot."
Soon, Marty set Stitch down, feeling much warmer.
"Alright, Doc," he said. "I think it's time to go back to the past."
"Absolutely," Doc declared. He swung open the passenger door as Marty opened the driver's.
"Thank you immensely for your hospitality," Doc said, waving to the Pelekai family gathered beside the Delorean.
"We wish you the best in all your future endeavors."
"And hey," Marty added, giving them a pointing salute. "I'm 28 somewhere out there. Feel free to visit anytime."
They climbed in, pulling the doors shut and watching the Pelekais wave goodbye.
Marty had a wonderful feeling bouncing in his gut. He had felt it only twice before; when bidding farewell to his teenage parents in 1955, and when Doc returned to 1985 in his time-traveling steam train.
He felt Doc's hand on his shoulder.
"You sure you're alright to drive, Marty?"
Marty smiled at him.
"Never felt better, Doc."
Doc smiled back.
"Now," Marty started the engine, switched on the time circuits, and punched in; Sunday, November 2nd, 1986, 5:00 AM. The Delorean's beeping and whirring chimed up like the voice of an old friend.
"Let's give our fantastic audience an encore!"
He brought the Delorean off the sand, turned it towards the sea, and accelerated. The shimmering water leaped behind the time machine. Marty turned, gaining altitude as he did, and accelerated, bringing the speedometer closer and closer to 88.
As a barrier of sputtering blue energy coated the Delorean, Marty had one last look through the window at his new friends, who applauded as the time machine grew brighter and brighter.
Marty only wished he could see their faces at the twin streaks of flame coloring the perfectly blue Hawaiian sky.
ASSEMBLE, featuring Marvel, DC, Ghostbusters, Evil Dead, Devil May Cry, Star Wars, Doctor Who, Invader Zim, Indiana Jones, Tomb Raider, Uncharted, Back to the Future, Final Fantasy VII, Aladdin, The Nightmare Before Christmas, Toy Story, Mulan, Lilo & Stitch, The Incredibles, and Zootopia
Season 2, Episode 1 (9 overall)
NEXT TIME ON JUSTICE LEAGUE INFINITE!
The Beast has come to New York, and the only force standing in its way is the League, with some help from a band of ninjas from deep within New York!