Epilogue

A young man named Peter Parker sat on the edge of a tall building, gazing into nothingness as the coldness of an autumn evening slowly began to settle in. So much had happened and so much had changed, and finally it was all over now.

“You okay?” the familiar warm voice of Doctor Strange asked. Peter had not heard him approach, yet here he was, suddenly floating beside him; perhaps he had come straight to the building’s wall; ah, the benefits of magic. 

“Everywhere I look I see his face,” Peter sighed, staring up at an enormous billboard on the building across the street, which depicted the smiling and cheerful image of Pom Pom.

“It’s not like they died or anything,” Doctor Strange protested, “But yes, I know what you mean. The memories of it all are still fresh. And they feel like you and I.”

“Are we though?” Peter asked, “Are we real?”

“In the strictest sense, we are not,” Doctor Strange replied honestly, “But to many people out there, children and adults alike, we are, and so are our adventures. And now at last things have been put right again and we can entertain them again, as we were meant to be, be it in comic form, as a cartoon or even in the MCU.”

“That Tom Holland is really something,” Peter smiled.

“Yes,” Doctor Strange nodded, “But we can’t use his name more than once in this story, else Disney’s lawyers will have our hide.”

“Once is enough,” Peter smiled, “So, what will happen now? Will we always remember?”

“The memories will fade,” Doctor Strange replied, “When you wake up tomorrow, everything will probably be as it has been, and everybody will find their happy ending, their resolution, as they were meant to be, outside the realm of fan fiction. Even for those who might end up playing the part of the villain, they will be cherished, they will be loved; plenty of people always love the underdog. So in that sense, they too will find respect and happiness, as they deserve. After all, what is a hero without a good villain?”

“Or a villain with the potential to become the hero,” Peter smiled.

“Exactly,” Doctor Strange said and smiled again; at last the boy understood.

“Will any of this ever happen again?” Peter asked.

“That all depends,” Doctor Strange replied.

“On what?”

“On him,” he said, and pointed at the screen, where one sat typing, “If he cooks up another mad story such as this.”

Peter nodded, and smiled. It was a Strange answer in every sense of the word, but somehow he felt okay with that, felt that it just had to be this way. And as the sun began to set in the distance, he smiled and stared down at a city at peace. Maybe this story was done and closed, but his own story, it was still going strong, and had barely even started yet. 

The End.