FIc: Excelsior
It was one of those rare, wonderful New York City days. The heat and mugginess of Summer had passed, leaving the crisp air of Autumn. In Central Park the leaves were changing, bright reds and oranges and yellows, turning the trees into sunbursts. It was going to be, the man knew in his bones, a perfect day,
He walked down the walking path towards Belvedere Castle, a spring in his step he hadn't been able to manage for what seemed like thirty, no sixty years. A great smile grew underneath the bushy grey mustache he sported, and his stride grew longer. His bones no longer ached, the dark cloud that had hung over him the past year seeming to have disappeared under the bright New York sky.
He frowned, his steps slowing, even as the smiling, happy crowd moved around him. Wait, what was he doing here? He'd been in their house in LA, hadn't he? Their empty, lonely house, the only visitors nurses or doctors, or worse, lawyers, who only wanted to talk to him about the mess with their daughter.
"What's going on?" he asked out loud, tugging his aviators off and looking around. "Why am I here?"
"You know why," the most beautiful woman in the world said behind him. He turned and saw her, and the smile suddenly returned to his face. Everything was all right now.
"Joan, sweetheart," he said, gathering his wife up in his arms, letting out a deep sigh of relief. "I'm so sorry I made you wait. I'm so sorry."
"It's all right, Stan," Joan replied, giving him a tight hug. "I knew you'd be along when you could."
He buried his face in her shoulder, still holding her close. "This past year, you don't know how hard it's been without you."
"I know, I know," she said gently. "But you're here with me now, and that's all that matters."
He kissed her cheek, letting go her except for a tight grip on her hand. "But if we're both here… Oh, man. There are people I gotta talk to!"
"Stan!" he heard another voice call out. A barrel-chested man walked up towards them, his black and grey hair topping a face that would have been homely, if it weren't for his wide smile. He held out his hand for Stan to shake, his fingers seemingly too thick and meaty to have drawn so much powerful art over the years.
"Jack!" Stan greeted, smiling back, trying to hide his worry. "I'm glad I saw you first. Oh, man do I owe you an apology. People look at what we put together and they think it was just me, and didn't do enough to correct them. I guess I kinda let it go to my head. I'm so sorry."
"Eh, don't worry about it, Stan," Jack replied, slapping him on the back. "You may have been an okay writer, but you always a great salesman. We needed a face for the company, and you were it. Nobody wanted to look at my ugly mug."
"Thanks," he said in relief. He looked around. "If you're here, are the others too?"
"Yeah," Jack replied. Stan and Joan followed him down the path and he started back towards Belvedere castle. "Archie, Steve, John, they're all here waiting for you. Along with the rest."
"The rest? Who else is there?"
They reached the castle, and Stan stopped, eyes widening as he saw the crowd waiting for them. He'd written a lot of impossible things over the years, but nothing like this.
"Hello, Stan," the bald man in the wheelchair said from the front of the crowd, as a blond man with the wings of angel (well, at least that was appropriate) pushed him forward. "It's so good to meet you in person."
"Good to see you, sir," a young man also greeted, as he held onto the arm of a beautiful woman with shoulder length red hair. He could only smile as he saw their wedding rings. At least that was right.
Stan shook the professor's hand, looking around at the rest of the crowd. All four of the group's greatest family were there, standing next to the captain, along with a powerful African man with the stance of a king, another wearing a gold and red suit of armor, and of course the big green guy. And the others, so many others!
"What's going on, Jack?" he asked, even as he finished shaking the professor's hand. "How can they be here? They're not real."
"We are here because we are real," a man with a black mustache, wearing a red wizard's cloak trimmed with gold, said. "Your imagination, your heart, made us real."
"But I didn't create all of you!" Stan protested. "No one man could!"
"No, but you created a world for us," another man in armor said, the suit grey metal, covered with a green cloak. "Filled with meddling heros perhaps, but one where others could bask in my glory!"
"Where I could fight for my beliefs, and learn from my mistakes," an elderly man in purple said.
"Where one could look over a world, filled with wonder," a being with an enormous head, and wide eyes that watched all, concluded.
"I guess I did did," Stan agreed softly, squeezing Joan's hand. "I guess I did pretty good after all."
"Excelsior, Stan," Jack said softly.
He stepped forward into the welcoming crowd, home at last.