Nowhere Man

Someone with far too much time on their hands and far too philosophical a nature came up with a metaphor: Life is a Highway. That same someone put the line to paper, got it on the radio, and likely made enough money to repave most of the potholed highways that crisscrossed America. Chances are that influx of cash meant they could afford a superhighway that took them over and past all the lesser people still puttering down the regular, bumpy highway, but one thing united everyone be they rich or poor: eventually they'd all be getting off the highway. Didn't matter your financial status, your religion, nothing. Inevitably everyone took that Last Exit.



Well, almost everyone.



For Johnny Blaze life was not a freaking highway. It was a series of uneven, dusty back roads that jarred him sharply when he least expected it and that nobody with half a brain would choose to take when there were far safer paths. Half the time these roads were unpaved, filled with dangers ready to break bike, body, and soul. They lacked anything like the fancy streetlights so many were accustomed to, with only a single headlight to pierce the never ending darkness. These roads were not like the metaphorical highway, there was no shiny vehicles hoping to get past the next a second faster. No they were filled with dirt and decay, with weeds always threatening to break through the gravel and retake what they thought was theirs. And like the rust of the old vehicles that were on it, that decay that ate away at the body wanted to slip into those who dared ride down those roads and maybe, just maybe, make it back to those shiny highways to tear them up too.



Perhaps worst of all was the exit. There was none, not that Blaze could see anyway. There were days when he wanted nothing more than to find that Last Exit sign and put petal to the metal to zoom past it knocking off the post as he went by. But he knew that was a pipe dream because someone...no something else, would never let it happen. He'd be out there, driving blind, riding those roads for eternity. Forever damned.



The only human to ever complain about being immortal. Your waxing on about this is vexing Blaze.



Bite me. I haven't slept in three days and when I do the things I see in my dreams make me wish I hadn't. So lay off. I just want to make the next town, find somewhere to crash, and hopefully make it to Mesa Verde in time for that jump.



This is pointless. What does yet another stunt show accomplish? It does not serve vengeance.



Johnny sighed. It serves my need to eat you daft bastard. I can't eat vengeance, I can't refuel on screams of the damned. 



This routine, arguing with the Rider, was frustrating, but at least it was an improvement over the early days when the Rider assumed complete control of his body. The arguments were less vicious now and more like a familiar song, almost comforting in the sense that at least someone was always there to talk to. Blaze knew it was sad when the entity possessing your form was the best company you had, but it was something at least. Otherwise the loneliness of these endless roads could get to a guy.

In fact he could have sworn that's what was happening to him when he saw what he thought was a woman in a white dress walking alongside the road, barefoot and hitchhiking. He blinked and she was gone though. Compared to the usual horror show that was his life it was almost mundane and so he dismissed it as result of his exhaustion. That is until he heard the screams.

Zooming ahead he saw taillights as a pickup truck swerved violently. He could just barely make out the shadowy forms of a driver and passenger, but the nearly illuminated form between them was unmistakable. The ghost woman he had seen seconds before was in the cab with them and she was tearing into the driver. That was all it took.

His bike began smoking, the wheels spitting sparks. His face turned red, the skin bubbling and cracking as it burned away from within. An eyeball liquefied as the other burst like a boiled egg. The smell of sulfur filled the air and a painful rasp passed through his burning lips as his lungs scorched lungs incinerated. Seconds later Johnny Blaze was gone and the Ghost Rider rode again!

Zooming down the road, a trail of fire in his wake, the Rider leapt into the bed of the truck, smoking hand punching through the window and grasping the spirit woman. A single yank sent her flying out of the vehicle, blood spraying from where her fingers had clawed into the driver. The shower of glass however did nothing to the spirit, her expression fading from shock at the Rider's ability to grasp her to one of anger as she faded from view only to appear in front of the truck once more. Ghost Rider, familiar with fighting actual ghosts however, was ready. Vaulting over the roof of the vehicle he landed directly in front of the spirit, chain in hand.

And that was when he heard the crash. The Spirit of Vengeance did not bother to look, but Johnny couldn't not. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the truck off the road and upside down, smoke coming from beneath it.


Oh $#*! We have to help them! Blaze insisted.

The Rider was hearing nothing of it. Vengeance must be served!



Stepping forward, hellfire dancing down the chain, The Rider prepared to swing at the spirit in an attempt to ensnare it. But his arm came up short as Johnny took control.



STOP THIS! BLAZE, VENGEANCE MUST BE--


Yeah, yeah heard you the first fifty thousand #@$&ing times, but those people are going to die while you punch Casper!


The argument was ended quickly as the woman in white whipped her head sharply and telekinetically flung the Ghost Rider away. His chain, still ablaze, flew from his grasp and his the the weeds just beside the overturned truck. Landing a trail of leaking gas was lit and the explosion tore through the truck, a fireball jumping into the night sky. The Ghost Rider, Johnny at the wheel stared at the burning wreckage that nobody could have survived, his hand curling, tearing into the dirt where he was thrown. The driver and his passenger were dead, burnt alive in an explosion that could have been avoided, could have been stopped if only the Rider was not so damned stubborn!


Rage burning hotter than the flame around his head he stood, chain flying back to his hand, only to find the street empty of all save his hellcycle. The Woman in White was gone, vanished into parts unknown.



Several Hours Later...







Blaze sat in a dive bar filled with truckers and a few locals, some good old boys out for their nightly round of drinks. Dwight Yoakam's Guitars, Cadillacs was drifting through the ancient jukebox as booze flowed freely. Johnny himself threw back his second...thirteenth...whatever shot. He found his surroundings appropriate. The bar he had noticed was called NIL. He was pretty sure it was actually NEIL'S once upon a time, but the letters had burnt out and fallen off. NIL however meant zero, nonexistent. That was exactly what he felt inside after the run in with the Woman in White. Nothing. An empty void sat inside the pit of his stomach. He'd had said it was a vacuum in his soul, but he wasn't sure he still owned that. These days it seemed a crap shoot as to whether that was Heaven or Hell's property.


He'd sat at the bar, drinking his pain and anger away, and listening to some of the truckers mention a local legends. They'd used some descriptive slurs towards Mexicans when telling the tale of ghostly hitchhiker, comparing her to the myth of La Llorona and explaining a series of mysterious deaths, crashes, and disappearances in the area. It sure sounded like the thing he had encountered. Didn't really give him anything new to go off of, but it did seem as if this legend hadn't been active until recently. Much like the alleged hellhounds he encountered several days ago it seemed as if something greater was stirring the supernatural waters.


She got away, he lamented for the sixth time in an hour.


Yes, because YOU interfered! Vengeance must still be served!


They were in danger! At what point does the cost of vengeance grow to high? he snapped.

Never. You are the host for the Spirit of Vengeance. There is no limit to what you can pay. And they might have been saved. BUT. YOU. INTERFERED.

Blaze was just about to tell the Rider where he could stick his vengeance when he heard the commotion behind him. It wasn't a surprise, not really considering the personalities assembled in the bar, but he turned to look anyway. It had to be better than seeing Zarathos' reflection in his shot glass. What he saw though made his stomach flip.

Deadpool. The Merc with the Mouth. He'd been so wrapped up in his own worries, his own grief that he didn't even notice him when he walked in. Now that he saw him he wondered if the Rider guided him to this particular rat hole on purpose, looking to work out some aggression on somebody who definitely had it coming. Still, he couldn't blame the red and black clad merc. He'd heard the insults leveled at him, the bigoted harassment sent his way. Hell, before he'd even known it was Wilson he was ready to intervene, break a few heads if need be. He only hadn't done so because he knew how aggravated Zarathos was at losing his prey earlier in the night. He didn't know if he could control the Spirit of Vengeance and that meant a lot of people could get hurt.

From the looks of things that was exactly what was going to happen anyway. Deadpool was going to kill the men. And while they were scum that had it coming, if things escalated, a lot more innocent people could be harmed. Besides, mean words didn't give Deadpool the right to use deadly force. He was worse than the lot of them combined, the stink of death on his person not just the result of his condition. He killed. He'd killed a great many in his life. And for money. Somewhere along the lines someone was certain to deserve vengeance. Even before the thought finished running through his mind he could smell the sizzling flesh...


A whoosh of flame later and the Ghost Rider stood tall, flipping over a table and shoving a man to the side hard as he approached the mercenary.

"DEADPOOL! VENGEANCE IS CALLING! TONIGHT YOU PAY FOR YOUR SINS!"

Johnny ignored the wide eyed stares of absolute horror that he was receiving from every patron in the bar. It was funny how when the Rider made himself known even the hardest of men turned into a stammering mess. Funny as it was, Blaze wasn't laughing. A good number of souls in that bar deserved some kind of vengeance or another and he'd be lucky to keep the Rider from taking them all down that long, dark road to Hell. Strangely thought the Rider was focused almost solely on The mercenary who, despite his reputation as a stone cold killer without fear, was running at marathon speed away from him. That was unexpected. Sure anyone with half a brain would have done the same, but Deadpool was not widely known for rational thought. in fact most of what he had heard indicated that Deadpool was, for all intents and purposes, insane. But running? Well that was just plain smart.



Not that it would help him.



In the long run the Rider always got his man and in this instance it was what the Rider needed to get over the sting of losing the spirit earlier in the night. He could feel the Rider pushing him forward, begging him to mete out vengeance on the Merc with the Mouth. Blaze didn't argue, not because he had learned any kind of lesson about questioning the Rider but because it was better that someone deserving of his wrath be on the receiving end. Many of the people in the bar were scum to be sure, but they paled in comparison to Deadpool.



And so he marched forward like a heartless machine on a mission, tossing a burly trucker through the front windows, another hard enough to lift off his feet and crash through a pool table. Marching through the entrance he saw the Merc running for all he was worth, but knew it wouldn't be enough. Focusing for a moment his bike flared to life, the Harley morphing into a flame covered chrome beast straight out of the pit. Roaring across the parking lot, dust turning to glass under the Hellfire wheels, it drove over a pickup, shearing it in two burning halves before skidding to a stop, cutting off Deadpool's escape.



The delay was only a few seconds long but it was enough for Blaze to catch up to the red clan lunatic, his flaming chain swinging overhead like a lariat at a rodeo.



You can run, but it won't save you. Nothing can now. This is long overdue mercenary.





With that the chain whipped out like the tail of a scorpion, almost alive as it aimed to strangle Deadpool.

In battle things can change in an instant. Even for an entity as powerful as the Ghost Rider the slightest misstep can mean the difference between victory and defeat. Given how many times Johnny Blaze had been in a fight, be it on his own or as the the Spirit of Vengeance he should have been ready for anything, should have known not to underestimate his opponent.



Unfortunately he was cocky at the best of times, dense at the worst, and could of, would of, should of meant nothing in combat. It was the reason he found himself staring, skeletal jaw agape, as Deadpool grasped his chain despite the Hellfire coursing through it, and took it right out of his hands. Before he could even begin to realize his mistake the chain came whipping back at his and struck him, first along the jaw, dislocating it, and then right between the eyes. Knocked backwards by his own weapon he hit a parked pickup truck back first, flipping over the now severely dented vehicle.



For a long moment it seemed as if he was not going to regain his feet. From where the mercenary was standing he'd likely be able to make out the skeleton biker laying face first on the gravel, the flame on his head sputtering and going out. The prone form of the Ghost Rider was completely still, no sign of life within him. Then slowly a hand curled, gravel peeling up as it clenched into a fist. The flame crackled back to life, lit anew and in a darker, deeper shade of red. Suddenly, the Rider rose, back on his feet without ever bending his knees. He glared at Deadpool over the hood of the truck and cracked his neck to one side and then the other, the sound echoing in the parking lot. A swift kick twisted the truck around and out of his way as if it weighed no more than a plastic shopping cart. It was clear that Johnny Blaze was no longer at the wheel. The safety had been turned off and the Spirit of Vengeance alone was now calling the shots. 







The Hellcycle instantly roared to life once more, revving for a second before slamming into Deadpool's back, sending the mercenary stumbling forward where he collided with the Rider, the sound like that of someone hitting a solid brick wall. Slowly and methodically the Rider knelt down, grasped Deadpool by the throat, and lifted him off the ground with a single hand while using his free hand to tear the mask off of Deadpool's face, revealing the man beneath. Where most people would be repulsed by the look and smell, the Rider showed no emotion.



"FOR TOO LONG YOU HAVE ESCAPED THIS, HAVE RUN AMOK WITHOUT REALIZING THE FULL EXTENT OF WHAT YOU HAVE WROUGHT UPON THE EARTH! IT ENDS NOW BOUNTY HUNTER. LOOK INTO MY EYES!"



And with that the sockets of the flaming skull was filled with glowing orbs as bright and as deep as the pit itself, the devastating Penance Stare taking hold...

One minute the Rider had been in complete control, using the Penance Stare as it had so many times before with Johnny a mere passenger watching events unfold, expecting Deadpool to be reduced to a whimpering shell of a man as he experienced all the pain he had caused others; the next Blaze found himself normal once again standing in an unfamiliar room.



For a moment he patted his chest and touched his face as if confused why they were not bony and burning. This was not like usual, not anything akin to when the Rider took him for long treks and he'd wake up in a ditch or clearing unsure of where he was, what he had been doing, or how long he'd been out. No this time he felt whole and normal, yet somehow weightless, like when a person was dehydrated or maybe even the dropping sensation you feel in an elevator. 



Glancing upwards he met the eyes of a young boy, a teenager, and heard him speak.



"You're telling me kid. One minute I was..." he glanced around wondering if Deadpool had landed here too and was pleasantly surprised to not see the mercenary leaping out to kill him. "I don't even know where here is. You...you didn't see some guy in red and black did ya? Guns like Rambo, swords like some ninja out of one of those Japanese cartoons y'all watch?"



Was I teleported? This some kind of magic trip Mephisto is sending me on again or did Deadpool have some kind of high-tech something or other? I mean I heard rumors he had some sort of teleportation capable belt but...



And that was when he realized that the Rider seemed out to lunch. Zarathos was not answering him, was not tickling the back of his mind or yelling about how simple he was, how frail and human. He was just...absent.

Blaze blinked in confusion a couple of times, still feeling incredibly awkward and out of place. He had been passenger for the Penance Stare before but this was definitely something new and...weird. The kid was talking as if he knew him, even recognized him as the Ghost Rider, but that made no sense. He couldn't or at least shouldn't have been aware of that, unless...

Wait a minute. The way he carries himself. The voice. I mean it is pitched differently, less gravelly, less smoky than it sounded before but...it couldn't be...could it?

"Deadpool?" he asked sheepishly, still not believing it himself.


Wade Wilson was always in that damned Spider-Man knockoff mask whenever his image appeared on television at the scene of some explosion. He was even wearing it right up until the Rider pulled it off for better access to his eyes, revealing the burn victim meets roadkill face beneath. This kid however was, well...a kid. Kind of lanky, the kind of face that was already showing signs of the looks girls would swoon over and would likely only get better as he put some years on it, and not annoying to the point of being glad you blacked out and had a supernatural entity hijack your consciousness. Still, his comments about the "spandex coming later", it being his "old neighborhood", and knowing he was the Rider kind of made it undeniable.


"F%$#!" he shouted. "Deadpool! What the hell is this? And don't give me this crap! The Penance Stare doesn't work that way! It shows the target their sins, makes them experience what their victims felt, all the pain they inflicted on others paid back tenfold, all at once!"


Turning around, hands grasping the back of his head he let loose a string of more swear words before spinning back to Wade.


"I dunno what ya did, but fix it now! I don't care if ya switched into a younger body or time traveled back to when you joined a freaking boy band, but this ends now! Whatever kind of train this is, I am hopping the hell off!"

Johnny sighed, eyes rolling as Wade spoke, paying little attention to the teenage Deadpool as he mentally screamed at the Rider.



Seriously? Nothing? You are always rambling on about something or another. Vengeance this and vengeance that and now that your favorite party trick has gone sideways you decide to take a vow of silence? Do your whole Clenched Fist of God routine and Star Trek my ass out of here! Beam me up or whatever it is you do, because whether this is time travel or me being stuck seeing a highlight reel of Deadpool's greatest sins I am already done with it! Are you listening Brimstone Breath?



Based off of Punkpool's comments he genuinely had no idea what was going on either meaning whatever had landed him in this Twilight Zone episode was likely something to do with the Rider's power. Seeing as everyone from Mephisto to Doctor Strange had lectured him at one point or another regarding his true potential and the inherent lack of understanding of the power he wielded, it wouldn't surprise him terribly if this was not a power malfunction and more of an unexpected consequence of accidentally tapping into something he didn't know he could do.



Receiving no response and feeling alone in his head for the first time in years, Blaze threw a right hook at the wall, just below a poster. There was a popping sound not unlike the opening of a soda can, but no sensation of impact, no dented wall, broken plaster, or injured fist. For a moment Blaze just stared at his hand, confused.



Zarathos! Answer me damn you! What the hell happened? Why I am seeing this and how did I step out of a horror flick into a Swayze movie? The Stare is supposed to make the victim suffer, not me! Even as a teenager he doesn't shut up! The only person being tormented here is...



That was when he saw where the teenager was, really took stock of what he was saying and what he was holding. He knew right then and there what Wade was doing and his heart sunk. He had seen many people die and had even helped a lot of them along the way, but this, this was different. Suicide always was. It was senseless, it typically hurt the people around the victim far more than it did the person offing themselves, and he had seen it before.



Back before the Ghost Rider, before Mephisto, before his name was up in lights and his likeness plastered on posters, he was a kid. A punk kid slightly younger than Deadpool now appeared, he had seen his first suicide, his first hanging. A fellow carny had hung herself in the Ralph Quentin's trailer. The carnival owner had discovered her, but the door was left wide open and 14 year old Johnny Blaze saw everything before they cut her down. Usually the carnival life meant close ties, all the outcasts sticking together, but the life wasn't for everyone. A runaway before she joined the show her past was too much for her and she'd decided to punch her own ticket. That realization that people could be in so much pain they just wanted to end it at all costs had hit Johnny like a bus. It stuck with him even years later.



Then of course there was the whole Zadkiel affair. People with information that could have helped Blaze were being taken out by the rogue angel's forces and a young boy, so scared of going to Heaven amongst the fallen angels, opted to kill himself instead. Sure it was a gun shot and not a noose, but still it had an even deeper meaning for Johnny than before. Suicides went straight to hell, did not pass go, did not collect $200. That was the deal. Life was a gift, not one you could just decide to take away. And Johnny himself had been to hell, been trapped there for years. The pit was unimaginable suffering, greater than anything the poor bastards that did themselves in would have experienced topside. He never wanted anyone to have to go through that.



And so he ran, making his way across the room in barely two steps as he lunged for the young Wade. He would knock him down hard and yank the belt away before he could even get close to...



But it was all for naught. He fell right through the boy, his hands passing through air as if Wade were not even there. He stumbled backwards, falling on his backside as he stared up at the teen, helpless to do anything to prevent what he was watching unfold.



"Dammit! Deadpool! Uh...Wade? Don't! DON'T DO THIS! You have no idea what is on the other side of this. None. Trust me whatever you are feeling now is a walk in the park compared to where you go from here! Do you hear me? Just back away! Put it down man and back away!"

"NO!" Johnny shouted.



Just like his futile attempt to stop Wade moments before and his ongoing failure to undo the makeshift noose to lower the boy, his shouting was pointless. Not only could he not touch or otherwise interact with the environment, but evidently the man who had barged into the room to find Wade couldn't hear him no matter how much or how loud he screamed. Even though mere seconds had passed it felt as if time were standing still with Johnny a witness to the horror and nothing more. He fell back once more to the floor, sitting down hard enough that had this been the here and now he likely would have injured himself.



The man who had entered, a person Blaze was guessing was Wilson's father, seemed more angry than he did panicked at the scene, as if his son trying to kill himself was an inconvenience rather than a tragedy. It made Johnny yearn to become the Rider once more, to take revenge on the waste of space before him. Sure the events had already happened or so he was guessing, but it still made him angry.



Shutting his eyes tight to not have to see the sheer wrongness of what was happening he tried to not think on all the people he had failed: Zadkiel's victims, Roxanne, his kids. The list was long and the faces flashed before him in rapid succession. So many people, so many souls he had failed, people who died simply because they knew him. He may not have actually been able to change the events of Wade's past, but his the impossibility of it didn't stop him from feeling a failure once again.



He risked opening his eyes once more, glancing towards a mirror in the teenager's bedroom, and caught a glimpse of something flickering, like the light of a candle slowly dying. Standing he walked to the mirror, blocking out all else around him and focusing only on the flame. It grew and widened until he could make out a familiar form. Zarathos, sitting in a chair, staring back at him with those lifeless sockets glowing.



"DAMN YOU! Where the hell have you been? What is happening? Get me out of..."



And like that Zarathos was gone, not a word spoken, no explanation for this bizarre circumstance given. He simply vanished in a burning inferno that blinded Blaze and made the world fade away...