***PETER***
Ever since I was taken by the Vulture, my body's been running on pure adrenaline. Now that it's finally getting a chance to wear off, I'm reminded that I busted a rib or two when I fell earlier, and the pain is...well, not exactly excruciating, but, at the very least, annoying. Whatever injuries you've had in your life, they've probably not included the bonus of making it actually hurt just to breathe.
When we finally reach the crowded Boudin bakery near the entrance to the pier, I lean against the wall, sticking my hand under my jacket and feeling my ribs. It's like, why do I actually want to feel the pain? Maybe because it's been missing for a while? Even when we were in flight and Gwen nudged me in the ribs to stop me screaming and whooping it up like a kid on a roller coaster, it didn't hurt like this. Not even close.
"Hey," Gwen laughs, tapping my hand - she and the other girls are looking at the menu, which is posted in front of the steps leading down into the bakery. "They got fish tacos. Sourdough fish tacos."
"Sounds interesting," I say, bemused, "but if you're okay with smelling like an Atlantic salmon farm..."
She almost elbows me in the ribs again, but she stops herself at the last second. Instead, she resorts to the tried-and-true favorite tactic of NCIS - the Gibbs-slap, upside the head.
"Don't do the tacos, actually," Sue says. "They're tiny and overpriced. Stick with the sandwiches. Or the bread-bowl soup. I recommend the tomato."
"Not the clam chowder?" Gwen snickers.
How could I forget how much she loved fish? Even that first time she invited me to her place for dinner, the Stacys were having branzino. I looked like such a prole, being the only one there who went in with absolutely no idea how to eat a whole fish like that. (And they say I'm a genius - but there's a reason why I was salutatorian to Gwen's valedictorian. A reason that runs deeper than me slipping up slightly on my grades here and there throughout junior and senior years due to my secret life as Spider-Man.)
"I say let's order two bread bowls, one of clam chowder and one of tomato," Wanda says. "And we all share them. How's that?" She pauses, then says, "Enough with the communist jokes, guys! Believe me, I've heard them all before."
"What, you mean like, 'In Soviet Russia, bank rob you?'"
Taking a swipe at me and forcing me to dodge her hand, Wanda growls, "Never say that again until you learn how to do the accent properly! Jesus, you sound like Helena from Orphan Black."
I chuckle at the thought of my favorite psychotic, blonde-curled Ukrainian cherub. "Don't you kinda wish Orphan Black were real too?" I ask all three girls. I don't know about Sue, but apparently Wanda's into it too, and I'd gotten Gwen to watch the first season and a half before we graduated.
"I wish," Wanda sighs. "I'd love to meet all the sestras. And Felix. You cannot not love him; it's impossible!"
"'My work here is done,'" I say, channeling my own inner Felix. "'Adios, dragsters!'"
"How is it that you're able to do a British accent right when you imitate Felix," Gwen asks, "but you can't do an Andrew Garfield impression to save your life?"
"Maybe 'cause I've known the source material longer for my Felix impression?" I ask, still in character.
"Good point," Gwen says. "Now if we could get Peter Parker back, Fee?"
"Tomato soup?" I ask. My voice is still very chirpy, but I've reverted to my normal accent.
"Why do you not seem to like fish?" Gwen asks as we finally get in line.
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Deadpool Syndrome - Spider Soulmates
FanfictionPeter Parker's no longer the only one who's been bitten by a genetically-engineered spider. Norman Osborn has improved his formula and used not only himself, but also Harry and Gwen, as guinea pigs. And they're far from the last test subjects Norman...
