The apartment smelled like old wood and memories they didn't own anymore.
Alex sat on the armrest of a dust-covered couch, remote in one hand, other hand clenched unconsciously over the Infinity Gauntlet now dulled to a dim, humming gold.
The TV buzzed static, then clicked on.
"Mayor Fisk announces expansion of the Clean Streets Act—targeting vigilante activity with harsh penalties. In other news, the Thunderbolts were seen earlier today near the remains of Avengers Tower…"
Click.
Deadpool switched the channel.
"Sam Wilson, formerly known as Captain America, has filed a class-action lawsuit against the Thunderbolts for unauthorized usage of the Avengers branding..."
Click.
"Tony Stark—still alive, but rarely seen. Rumors suggest he's operating from offshore..."
Alex rubbed his temples.
"Two f***ing years," he muttered.
Hughie sat on the floor, laptop in his lap, blinking at article after article.His voice cracked.
"We were gone for two days. Just—two. How?"
Deadpool casually drank expired beer straight from the can."Mmm. Notes of sadness, regret, and a hint of moldy hops."
Butcher leaned on the window, arms crossed. "I don't recognize this bloody place anymore."
Frenchie scanned through old voicemails on a long-dead phone.Kimiko sat silently, eyes locked on the flickering skyline.
Later — Nightfall in the Apartment
The power had barely come on. They huddled around the low glow of the TV and a few working lights. The city outside buzzed like it didn't miss them.
Alex finally broke the silence."I need to talk to Strange."
Deadpool spat out beer. "Pfft—Good luck! He's probably halfway through an acid trip in the Mirror Dimension. Or dead. Or BOTH!"
"No seriously," Alex leaned forward. "If anyone can explain this time thing… this messed-up shift we're in—it's him. I have the Gauntlet, but I don't even know how to use it properly. He's the only one who can help."
Butcher raised an eyebrow. "And what makes you think ol' Gandalf's still kicking around?"
Alex shrugged. "I don't. But I've got nothing else."
Morning — A Plan Forms
The next day came with the smell of burnt toast (thanks to Hughie) and a semi-working fridge.
The group actually laughed again.
Deadpool danced shirtless in pajama pants, humming "Stayin' Alive" while Kimiko pelted him with stale cereal.
Frenchie and Hughie cleaned the living room while Butcher found his old leather coat and muttered, "Still fits."
Even Alex smiled—just for a second.
Then reality came knocking again.
Around the Table
They sat together, scattered around the kitchen.
"Okay," Alex said, tapping his fingers. "We head to the Sanctum tomorrow."
"Why tomorrow?" Hughie asked.
"Because," Deadpool grinned, "tonight we drink, curse time travel, and watch bad reruns from a timeline we didn't live through."
Frenchie raised his glass. "To missed years."
Kimiko nodded solemnly.
Butcher looked out the window, jaw clenched. "And to the bastards who ran this place while we were gone. We'll see 'em soon."
Deadpool slouched back, legs on the table. "So what's next, Gauntlet boy? After you talk to your sorcerer therapist?"
Alex looked down at his hand, the Gauntlet resting faintly.
"…We find out what broke this timeline."
That night, the apartment was loud.
TV blasting. Laughter. Shouting. Dumb arguments over whose turn it was to fix the bathroom door.
But under it all—
The city watched back.
And somewhere, far off, under heavy magic and shifting powers—
Doctor Strange was missing.
And time was still out of place.