Peter Parker | Spider-Man (PS4) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
quipsandthwips) wrote2018-10-07 12:32 am
quipsandthwips) wrote2018-10-07 12:32 am
[PSL] The Vinsmokes vs. Spider-Man
[Peter Parker is doing fine.
Let him re-phase that: he's adapted and adjusted accordingly. Look, it hasn't been easy. Deciding to remain friends with MJ and still finding himself without an actual job or home to speak of doesn't beat losing both his mentor and his last surviving family member. There are empty spaces in his life that he tries not to linger on too long — but god, he misses May's smile, her voice, her kindnesses. It had taken so long to accept Ben's death... and now it's, just... it's hard. It's easier to just be Spider-Man for a while.
Crime doesn't sleep, after all. So yeah, homeless. That's no biggie. He's been there before. He mainly just works at FEAST with the homeless (he relates, and the new head honcho Miriam knew Peter was on the streets somehow, so he makes his keep there by volunteering. He, um. He gets to sleep in May's old office. It's... nice. There are still pictures and stuff hanging up that nobody had dared move.
So he's only sort of homeless now.
Anyway. Not important. What is important is keeping tabs on the villain activity around here. With most of the villains locked up aboard the Raft (not gonna even think about Dr. Octavius right now, because it still hurts too much), it's mainly these little obnoxious crime families and gangs; Kingpin had been the leader of all the gang activity before his arrest. And now it's this crime family. The Vinsmokes. Hard to get them arrested, and they've got so many secret strings being pulled all over. It makes for a real pain in the ass to deal with. He hasn't gotten a chance to catch the head honcho with anything criminal yet, but boy oh boy has he busted soooo many drug deals, weapons manufacturing, stolen goods deals — and so on.
Most of the grunts are easy-peasy. The literal family are all a bunch of super-powered heathens like him. Cool. He's gotten, like, three of them locked up on the Raft... only to have them somehow bought out, or released for shoddy police work, or something or another. Now there's just one locked up, but it's only a matter of time before Daddy Vinsmoke does his magic.
Ugh. He hates it.
2:30 a.m., and he's down by the docks and sticking against a nearby wall as fake money exchanges hands.]
Hey, do those work on any vending machine?
I'm dying for a bag of Doritos right about now.
Let him re-phase that: he's adapted and adjusted accordingly. Look, it hasn't been easy. Deciding to remain friends with MJ and still finding himself without an actual job or home to speak of doesn't beat losing both his mentor and his last surviving family member. There are empty spaces in his life that he tries not to linger on too long — but god, he misses May's smile, her voice, her kindnesses. It had taken so long to accept Ben's death... and now it's, just... it's hard. It's easier to just be Spider-Man for a while.
Crime doesn't sleep, after all. So yeah, homeless. That's no biggie. He's been there before. He mainly just works at FEAST with the homeless (he relates, and the new head honcho Miriam knew Peter was on the streets somehow, so he makes his keep there by volunteering. He, um. He gets to sleep in May's old office. It's... nice. There are still pictures and stuff hanging up that nobody had dared move.
So he's only sort of homeless now.
Anyway. Not important. What is important is keeping tabs on the villain activity around here. With most of the villains locked up aboard the Raft (not gonna even think about Dr. Octavius right now, because it still hurts too much), it's mainly these little obnoxious crime families and gangs; Kingpin had been the leader of all the gang activity before his arrest. And now it's this crime family. The Vinsmokes. Hard to get them arrested, and they've got so many secret strings being pulled all over. It makes for a real pain in the ass to deal with. He hasn't gotten a chance to catch the head honcho with anything criminal yet, but boy oh boy has he busted soooo many drug deals, weapons manufacturing, stolen goods deals — and so on.
Most of the grunts are easy-peasy. The literal family are all a bunch of super-powered heathens like him. Cool. He's gotten, like, three of them locked up on the Raft... only to have them somehow bought out, or released for shoddy police work, or something or another. Now there's just one locked up, but it's only a matter of time before Daddy Vinsmoke does his magic.
Ugh. He hates it.
2:30 a.m., and he's down by the docks and sticking against a nearby wall as fake money exchanges hands.]
Hey, do those work on any vending machine?
I'm dying for a bag of Doritos right about now.
no subject
[Yeah, the dumb joke king. That's him.
Let's back up a little, huh? To the beginning of a new night, where Peter Parker's clothes were left in his stupid duffel and Spider-Man came to life, all with one goal in mind: to take down the Vinsmokes, collect concrete evidence for Yuri to commence a full investigation, and maybe knock out a few goons along the way. Fisk had been tough to take down, and Peter had learned the hard way it took real police work — involving people with power that a vigilante hero didn't have.
Fair enough.
He'd gotten a load of interior shots of the Vinsmoke's place of work... which by the way? Horrific stuff, would rather not investigate again. It'd all been taken and is currently in the process of being directly downloaded into Detective Yuri's hands when things go poorly for the ol' Spider.
That is, a bunch of Vinsmoke kids beat the fucking shit out of him.
So he ends up on the ground, drugged, blood in his mouth and too many bones already busted — and then they're dragging him into a chair, roping him into it while his super-strength's drastically diminished by — by whatever's... coursing through him... God, it's so hard to think. He can hear the others shuffling around, bitching and moaning about extra work, and judging from their chatter, they must know he'd sent credible intel to someone in the city.
"We'll just beat it out of him," one says.
"That's not how you torture a man properly," another says.
Spider-Man's head lulls left and right, red spittle seeping through the bottom of his mask. As footsteps fade, he can hear one person left to keep an eye on him — one that wastes no time in peeling his mask back. "Now let's see who this dreadful Spider-Man is—" the woman (he knows that voice) says... and then she freezes. Peter opens anvil-heavy eyelids to look at Reiju's unusually surprised face.
She pulls the mask back down.
They return. Fingers move to his mask again, and he jerks slightly at it, his senses only barely returning enough that he's aware of what danger lurks with the touch. Reiju speaks up: "Ah-ah-ah. I received word from father, and he's adamant that he'll be the first to see the identity of Spider-Man. You wouldn't want to anger him now of all times, would you?"
And so Spider-Man's left as-is.
And though his strength isn't returning in full, he seems to remember how to use his admittedly numbed mouth:]
... Gotta say, your decor here is a nightmare...
[And here we are again.
Tied to a chair, wheezing in pain, the red-headed nightmare circling him like a vulture. Which is just par the course for him, isn't it? "He didn't say hurting him a little more for information was off the table, did he? It's more than imperative we find out who he's reporting to, hmm?"
At that, Reiju has very little to say.]
1/2
Sanji says nothing at all.
He is present, like he promised he would be, but holed up in a corner of the room like he's the only thing supporting the walls, and has watched in vague disgust as Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji took turns pulverizing their newest toy. Sanji would've told the masked idiot to not underestimate how paranoid his father is; there are cameras watching the cameras, and sneaking in is virtually impossible.
-- Which, to be fair, Arachnid Boy is now aware of. Tch. The blond scoffs under his breath, eyes turned to drill a hole in the wall. Just because he's here doesn't mean he's gotta give a shit about the proceedings.
"... Are we boring you, Sanji?"
Ichiji glances over his shoulder, a small pocket knife worth as much as a new car being casually flipped open and shut while he stands next to Spider-Man. There's a smile on his face that doesn't come close to reaching his eyes.
"Daydreaming of your boyfriend?"
It's like the glow of a laser pointer suddenly shifting between prey, and Sanji wills himself not to visibly stiffen. The snarl in his voice is palatable]
Fuck off, Ichiji. Be useful or some shit.
["Oh, but I am."
Spider-Man isn't being forgotten, make no mistake; his punishment has just been delayed ever so slightly. Even with the future of the Vinsmoke legacy on the line, Ichiji is a confident man, dripping with calm efficiency. He rests a hand on Spider-Man's shoulder like they're old friends, drums his fingers over the tattered suit.
"I noticed your Peter Parker declined an invitation to Father's facility. I wonder why."
Reiju speaks next, voice calm but with an underlying warning from where she stands -- "Alessandro's questionable taste in men has nothing to do with extracting information, I would think."
"Of course not; but I'm not fond of traitors." Ichiji's slight smile widens an inch. "Neither is Father."
The knife is thrown at Sanji's feet in that moment. Niji smirks and Yonji hoots. Reiju's mouth purses into a thin line as Sanji's expression turns stony and cold. Everyone in that room knows damn well that Ichiji is only baiting him, maybe even preparing to use his own brother as a scapegoat should Spider-Man refuse to talk. But more importantly--
Spider-Man's suffering comes second to Sanji's. And his softhearted fool of a brother won't refuse this, not when another's life is on the line.
... When Sanji drops his head, numbly picks up the knife without a word, Ichiji nods in satisfaction and steps away from the chair.
"Oh, I'll pick up your slack once you fail, of course. But I think you owe everyone proof that you remember what family you belong to."]
no subject
[Sanji only speaks when he's kneeled in front of Spider-Man, visible eye void of all emotion. Keeping his voice down? A waste of time. Everyone in the room can hear him, and Sanji knows all Ichiji really wants is a good show before he decides Sanji's too incompetent to see this shit through. Then he'll tattle to their Father, Sanji will be punished (or perhaps at last, killed), and the whole shitty cycle gets to start over.
Wordlessly, he flips the knife between his fingertips. Old kitchen trick he used to show off to Peter when he was in a good mood. It turns his stomach and fills it with bile, but that's easily ignored in the moment.]
-- Also, your mask is stupid.
[Punctuating that remark by driving the tip of the knife directly into Spider-Man's thigh, watching idly as it slides through the muscle like butter.]
Anyway. Talk. Who'd you send information to?
[... And now, much softer, leaned in next to the hero's ear so it's a voice only he will catch:]
I suggest you hurry it up unless you want Ichiji doing this instead.
no subject
A strangled, wounded sound escapes him, tapering off into a miserable whimper he can't quite stave off in his condition. Despite that — he's not going to talk. Unfortunate for everyone involved, isn't it? He's really, really good at just suffering.]
... Y're face... is stupid...
[He's not really sure what other option Sanji has. It's not his fault, anyway. Spider-Man busted in, and Spider-Man's getting his ass grilled by the baddies, and Sanji was unfortunate enough to be born into it. And despite Sanji's whisper into his ear, the trembling figure just shakes his head.]
Sanji... This isn't you...
[A dull pain knocks around in his head. His arms and legs ache. Ribs aren't great. At least his fingers are pretty put-together? He's managing consciousness... sorta. Heh. Shitballs. He whispers quietly, blood blooming further on his lower mask from a torn lip and bit tongue — ]
... Can be... better... than them.
no subject
[it's said without heat or passion, the tone of a man whose been thrown into this type of chaos before. He watches Spider-Man twist and whimper in his seat, and pretends to be beyond it all.]
Ain't gonna pretend I'm not the nicest of the bunch, but...
[Pulling the knife out of his thigh, and blood splatters in response, soaking into the other's costume. Sanji's jaw works as he watches. Funny, how superheroes bleed just as easily as a civilian.]
You don't talk, you lose an eye next.
["... That will be unnecessary, Alessandro."
Without warning, the knife is plucked from Sanji's hand, and Reiju stands behind him with an unreadable expression. There's a mutter of disapproval that ripples behind her -- Ichiji takes a step forward as if to intervene, only to be cut off with a look of warning, the authority of the eldest sibling.
"Ichiji, your amusement comes second to our goals." Pocketing the knife away before folding her arms, facing the rest of her brothers. "If Alessandro were to slip up, rest assured I would be informing Father of who guided his hand, even slightly."
It's a bold, dangerous statement to make, and the already cold room turns frigid with irritation. Reiju hardly blinks.
"We'll continue this when Father arrives. No one is to touch Spider-Man without his permission, given none of you seem capable of interrogating him without bleeding him dry."
"... Hm. If you say so, Reiju."
Ichiji responds with a chilly smile, a shrug, turning away from her and Sanji with his eyes on the door. "I trust you will be first in line when Father asks for volunteers."
"But of course." She glances at her nails, heels tapping as she waits for the rest of her brothers to file out. At no point does she spare Sanji or Spider-Man a glance. "I'm much better than you when it comes to extracting information."]
... Reiju.
[Muttered some seconds later when it's only the three of them inside the interrogation room; Sanji's voice remains blank even as his expression darkens with some emotion that's almost as unreadable as Reiju's flippant disinterest. But she stops him before he can say more, tossing an exasperated glance his way. She also walks through the door.
"You have thirty seconds. Try not to be anymore of a blind fool than you are."]
no subject
In his drugged state, it doesn't come as easily as it would. The common sense behind it, anyway. Reiju knows about them. Reiju saw his face. She stopped Sanji... gave them a brief reprieve. But god, his head is so hazy right now — eye hurts, the other wants to slide shut, but there's that distant thump-thumping pain in his thigh as blood drips on the space under his feet. He shudders at the coldness of the room; this whole place, it feels cold, nothing like FEAST or his couch, sitting next to Sanji —
He'd sure like to do that again. Felt nice.
His head lolls, and he blinks hard, breathing though it aches.
Sanji stabbed him. Sanji threatened to take an eye.
He doesn't look all that scary to him, regardless. Funny how that works.]
... S'okay. S'not your fault. You can do it... do anything you wanna.
You're — your own person... Even if you're a big ol' asshole sometimes... I...
[God, what's he even going on about?
He groans. His head droops forward as he slouches, held upright only by the binds on him.
Gosh, it's so quiet in here. Too quiet. Or maybe his hearing's just all wonky.]
... Hey... Talk t'me...
[His voice drifts into a pained whisper, feeling defeated:]
... Sandy... please.
1/2
He lacks Reiju's cold efficiency or his brothers' unrestrained cruelty, and even when he tries to match them and be the Vinsmoke they expect, a slight hitch in a plan brings him buckling to his knees.
He couldn't pretend to act unmoved when his father had shot Wolfwood in front of him.
He can't pretend now, either, as a numbness washes over him when he hears that nickname, clamming up his skin like a sickness. Staring at Spider-Man, Sanji feels the weight of every month that's passed since he first walked through FEAST's doors, every moment of happiness he managed to steal for himself --
Reiju is right like always. He's nothing but a blind fool in the end.]
no subject
[A broken, jaded statement that might as well be the truth as he tips his head and stares at the ceiling, blinded by hurt and exhaustion. A camera in the corner watches on as his arms drop helplessly to his sides]
And after I told you not to come.
[Peter Parker never did listen to him when it counted, did he? Heh.]
... Oi. Just rest for a sec.
[The numbness means it doesn't even hurt to say it, and Sanji's voice, suddenly, is almost kind. Warm. The person he was probably meant to be in a sweeter world.
He rubs at his neck and glances at the camera, still recording.
It explodes in a mess of fire, the debris falling like ash to the floor. Not even a second later, an alarm blares.]
... It'll be fine, Pete.
[The ropes securing Peter in place snap free -- another casualty of a well-placed flame before Sanji walks over to him, all business, and hoists the guy over his shoulder.
Even if he hates him a little for betraying him this whole time... it'll be okay.]
no subject
S — sorry. I'm sorry, I'm...
[He's going to make this worse. Could get Sanji killed right now. But there's really no way he's gonna be able to walk out of here on his own; he's so hurt, he's honestly just trying to keep conscious. The wound in his thigh seeps immediately into the front of Sanji's shirt. He's talking too quiet to hear every word, but at least two slip through:]
... messed up...
no subject
[Match made in heaven, aren't they. Both of them just constantly hounded by their shitty mistakes as they desperately pretend to be better people than who they are -- or, no. That's only Sanji's excuse, isn't it? Between the two of them, Peter's always been the bleeding heart, reaching out a kind hand to whoever needed it.
The half-shredded mask over the guy's face only proves what Sanji knew the whole time. Peter Parker and him were always meant to be worlds apart.]
C'mon already, shut your mouth. Stay conscious. It's gonna get bumpy.
[With no time to be gentle, Sanji power walks to the doors -- expensive, durable, and heavy enough to suffer a bomb blast and live through it, but even on lockdown with the alarms blaring, a Vinsmoke is a Vinsmoke. Sanji still has full access to the facilities. All the pad to the right has to do is scan his face and a second later, the doors slide open.
He's got 30 seconds, tops, before his brothers show up.
So he runs. Down the hall, trying desperately to be mindful of the bleeding man he has tucked over his shoulder, ignoring the confused shouting of goons who don't even realize what's happening. They see Sanji and scurry to get out of his way, not realizing it'll be their death sentence once Ichigi finds out who let his little brother pass]
Two floors left. Hold on.
[Just up two flights of stairs and through the front doors to freedom. Maybe, maybe luck will be on their side tonight.]
no subject
He's had worse. Not his first time being this screwed up, and he's still breathing.
He speaks up, suddenly, voice weak.]
B-blood trail.
[He's not sure if it even matters. But the moment his eyes focus, he notes the plip-plip of the occasional red dot just behind Sanji's footfalls. From Peter's thigh, from his mouth and nose, seeped through the mask; he's pretty sure that's not internal bleeding — it's just a busted face. He fades out again, eyes closing. He's floating. Arms and legs are limp, floppy, almost lifeless. Startles back awake with a shiver. Blurry, bobbing vision tries to adjust.
... Mask? He paws at his face, trying to curl the mask back up.]
no subject
[Spoken a little breathless as he continues to double time it down the hallway, Sanji already starting to feel the exertion of escape hit his system. Figures that the moment the stakes are high that his performance dares to drop.
But thank the shitty gods, he can see the door to the stairwell within distance. Even if it's not clear of his father's subordinates, they'll be too discombobulated to put up a fight, and that's assuming they even bother aiming their guns. The only luck his family name has ever brought him -- no one dares to challenge a Vinsmoke to battle.
"-- Well. What do we have here?"
-- Scratch that. No one dares to challenge a Vinsmoke except another fuckin Vinsmoke.]
Goddamnit--
[Hissing under his breath, voice thin and sharp as his heart makes a mad escape from his rib cage. Some days all his brothers sound the same to him, but only Niji can nail such an ugly combination of sadistic delight. And from his peripheral he already sees it -- a smooth patchwork of ice that climbs along the walls, following almost as fast as Sanji can run.
Nope. Scratch that again. Concern for keeping Peter stable on his back slows down Sanji's pace, and the ice outperforms him in the last inning. The blood drains from the man's face as he watches the door freeze over.
Ah.
So he has less than a second, maybe, to make a decision before his brother is upon him, huh?
Rush the door. Stop and fight. Give up Peter and beg for mercy.]
-- Sorry about this.
[It's all the warning Peter is allowed before he's unceremoniously tossed right off of Sanji's back. Every broken bone or cracked rib will likely feel the impact of him hitting the floor, but Sanji's got bigger problems on his hands -- namely pivoting on his heel and taking the full brunt of a punch against his calf in defense, his body buckling as his brother gives a manic grin.
"Going somewhere?"]
Sure fuckin was, asshole! [Not one of his best comebacks. Kinda squeezed dry for material. But Sanji tries his best to grin back and keep his gaze away from Peter, forcing himself to stare his soulless brother in the face knowing one of them's probably gonna die in the next half-minute...
Surely Peter can fuckin stay put in that amount of time.]
no subject
Get thrown around, get his bones jostled, maybe squeeze out a few pained tears. He can't exactly stop the strangled sound of pain that heaves out through his teeth, laying on the ground and trying not to see watery spots in his vision. His mask is curled partway up his face, revealing that pink-tinged grimace as he fights to stay awake. Focus on the weird throbbing in all your limbs, he thinks. Yeah, that oughta do it.
He can't really focus that well on what's going on, but he knows it isn't great. Violence — fighting, two people going toe to toe. Probably literally, knowing Sandy. Sanji. There's a warm patch of blood under one leg, and he feels cold all over, shivering as he pulls his mask back down over his discolored lips and chin.
He thinks he hears Sanji make a sound of pain.
... Webshooters. They took the ones on his wrist. Didn't realize he has a spare in case of this very situation. Sneaky, sneaky spider, right? He slowly applies the bracelet-like cuffs to his wrists, locks them into place, rolls himself onto his side. Niji? Niji. He's flying into action — Peter's not sure in his haze where Sanji's at in this picture, but all he needs to know is Niji's shooting forward to attack him.
Wheezing tiredly, he presses one hand to the ground under him. Maximum sticky.
With the other, he fires a long string of web, aiming to hit Sanji's brother in the ankle with it.
And once it finds purchase —
He yanks it, hard as he can.]
no subject
Ha. Kinda stings, doesn't it, having concrete proof that his flesh and blood would kill him if just given the chance.
"Goddamn, when'd you get so pathetic at fighting, eh?!
A manic laugh followed by a punch that catches Sanji's shoulder, and he grimaces, sliding back on his heels and tightening his core to keep his balance. The pain is a minor issue; that he can feel the tendrils of frostbite eating into his skin? That's, uh. That's no good. Kicking someone doesn't do shit if he falls over because his right arm can't catch his weight.
Damn it.
And his psychopath of a brother knows he's got Sanji trapped, too. The red glow from the alarm system catches the gleam of Niji's manic grin as he charges, arm pulled backward to deliver another blow.
Before he subsequently falls straight on his face.
... Mm.
It's. It's something out of a comic book -- slapstick, banana-peel nonsense, because the good guys always gotta win, right? -- and Sanji almost gives a weak laugh at the height of his adrenaline rush. Saved by Spider Man. Saved by Peter. Gods, he hates this day.
Well, business first. With detached efficiency, he aims a kick at his brother's head, watching the other's shock immediately bludgeon into unconsciousness. One Vinsmoke down. And he doesn't have time to be smug, to be disappointed, just powerwalking over to where Peter is while clutching his arm that's nearly a block of ice.
He drops to one knee, and with his functional hand pulls the mask more securely underneath the other's chin.]
Oi. Tell me this suit's actually fireproof for once.
no subject
[Sorry, but he did try his best, okay? It's better than nothing. He feels kind of distant, his brain is fuzzy. It's not a new feeling per se, not in this line of work, but it does slowly concern him; usually this kinda means he might die? One of those times he'd have texted MJ to remind her he loves her, or the time he'd text May to remind her she was an amazing person and he was proud to be her nephew. It's probably... not as bad as it feels. Or maybe it's worse than it feels? He's not sure.
But... just in case...]
Sanji — if I don't make it out, I just... wanna apologize — for everything...
And — and tell you I, uh...
[Unless you want to hear a lot of sappy, dramatic shit, best to shut him up now, bud.]
no subject
Fine. I'll wait.
[Wait for what, he doesn't elaborate. He's already moving to pull Peter over his back again, hissing when his sore muscles protest against doing this shit one-handed. Niji's out for the count (leave him there on the floor, he convinces himself, don't kill your brother, you're not that desperate yet, idiot--), but Ichiji will soon be upon them if they don't hurry the fuck up outta this building, so they gotta... they gotta...
The fatigue is starting to hit him. Sanji can tell. His mind clicks like an unarmed gun, shooting blanks, his heart beating double time in his chest. In the haze of his thoughts, he swears he hears Peter talking, apologizing, saying a bunch of nonsense Sanji doesn't want to hear right now, and--]
Shut the hell up.
[Damn right he means to be unkind, but instead his voice comes out wounded, and that just increases the hurt. The blond grits his teeth as Peter's weight settles against his back once more]
Don't you feed me some half-assed confession like you're about to die.
[One foot in front of the other. Shit he's done every day of his life, no matter how many times his own family tried to break his spirit, or kill anyone who dared consider him a friend, or even when his mother died--
It's gonna be a bumpy ride, kicking through that frosted door and barreling up the stairs, but just like before he coaches himself: one foot in front of the other until by some miracle, they sprint right out of the building's side emergency exits.
The front door? Would've been suicide. And he might be desperate, but Sanji likes to think he isn't an idiot yet. A side exit might buy them a couple precious seconds to find a hiding spot, give Sanji a chance to inspect the worst of Peter's wounds... and so he recites his plan like it's the only recipe for survival he's got on hand, bracing against New York's biting weather as he steals down the first alleyway he can find.
-- And then quickly changes his mind, deciding no, he best not stop at all if he hopes to escape. Right back out of the alleyway he goes, his frozen arm stiff against his side. It's hard to keep track of how long he runs -- Sanji's too busy focusing on avoiding the pedestrians still walking about this time of night. They might be New Yorkers but Spider-Man is still Spider-Man, he'll gather plenty of attention draped half-bloodied and bruised over some blond dude's shoulder, but neither can he take to the skies when Ichiji knows that's his favorite way to travel.
Just keep running. Just keep running]
-- Peter, I gotta-- you need bandages, so I gotta set you down somewhere--
no subject
[It comes out surprisingly firm and sure, despite how weak the rest of him is. He knows that Sanji's basically the only way he's gonna get out of this alive — he couldn't stand on his own two feet right now if his life depended on it — but he's more worried about Sanji getting caught or hurt far more than him. So he grits his teeth, forces his vision to clear for the moment, and clenches a fist in Sanji's shirt.]
Don't stop 'til — we're out...
[Out of danger, out of the situation, out.]
... Loew's... 46th St. Theatre... I've got emergency supplies inside.
[What better place to put an emergency area than an abandoned theater? Sure, they're probably gonna turn it into something else someday, but he can appreciate the secrecy it provides for a Spider-Man with a burn or a cut. Or... a lot of broken bones, stabby spots, and general hurtness. We're not gonna focus on that right now.
His voice is tight, pained, as he pushes on:]
Can you make it there?
no subject
There was only a 50% chance Sanji would have come back anyway with his family on the prowl.]
Yeah. Just hold on.
[Amazing how much calmer he sounds when there's a plan in place besides "run like your life depends on it." There's no way they could've escaped to FEAST, or Peter's apartment, or any of Sanji's usual hideouts. So an abandoned theater will do nicely, and Sanji maps the way out in his head, still careful to avoid whatever crowds are in their way.
It'll... take a while for that reason. Peter's blood on his back and his frozen arm are issues they need to address, soon, but it'll be for naught if Sanji gets caught. Nerves and anxiety are discarded for a more methodical approach, until at last the theater slowly blooms into view.
Not a soul in sight. He steals through the doors and breathes a sigh of relief when his voice is the only thing that echoes in the empty spaces of the theater.]
Alright, where are the supplies?
no subject
[He laughs weakly, and 'holds on'. Or rather just dips in and out of consciousness. There's no immediate reply to Sanji's question; Peter just hangs limp, a boneless ragdoll, and it feels unnaturally still for a moment before Peter sucks in a short breath. Someone startled out of an unpleasant sleep, almost, and he tries to shift himself on Sanji's shoulders. Sanji can probably feel a few of Peter's ribs pushing unnaturally from the pressure as he adjusts nervously.
Don't sweat it, bud. Spider-Man's broken dozens of bones in his life, all over the place, all the time. Totally no different than usual! Kinda. Well, having someone you're currently having feelings for really puts a wrench in things, Pete thinks.]
R — right.
13G.
[He waves his hand toward the direction of the row and seat, and if the other man decides to go investigate, he'll find the entire thing lifts up out of its screws and demonstrates a handy little hiding space full of medical supplies. And a few wrappers from the last time Peter had to come here.
There's a soft cough, strained.]
... Feeling tender.
Put me down... please?
[This is not a very conductive way to nap.]
no subject
He doesn't lift shit, just kicks the poor seat wide open and watches the supplies tumble forward like the world's cheapest slot machine.]
Huh. Not bad, Arachnid Boy.
[A quick scan shows that there's enough supplies to take care of most of his injuries -- well, strike that. What Peter needs is a damned hospital bed with an IV drip, but beggars can't be choosers today. They're scrapping by as is. After he finds a relatively dust-free patch of aisle to work with, Sanji makes good on setting Peter down on his back.
... And finally survey the damage. Who knows how that suit manages to stay put on the best of days, but right now it's a half-shredded mess of cloth and technology, doing little to hide the wince-worthy angles of Peter's ribs. For a moment, all Sanji can do is stare and feel his mouth turn to cotton at the sight of so matted blood...]
The-- the suit's gotta come off.
[Forcing his voice to remain calm, all business again, as he briefly leaves Peter's side to fetch some of the bandages and gauze.]
If you can't wiggle yourself outta it, I'm ripping it off.
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... Cut me, Mick, I can't see.
[Hardy hardy har. He's so funny and you know it.
His eye flutters shut, as he steadies his breathing.]
Treat your arm first... Not gonna be able to treat me, if your arm's messed up...
[Really, he doesn't care much about whether Sanji can help him or not; he just wants to make sure the idiot doesn't lose his arm. The leg isn't bleeding anymore, at least? That's also thanks to Peter's weird, unnatural body and the way it processes injury. So nifty. Ignore the fact that he could really use some more blood right about now.]
... Arm first.
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Just like good ol' Peter. Never one for trouble. Always helpful. The type of guy the regulars at FEAST would fawn over like he was their collective son.
Sanji catches himself staring at the newly discarded mask, one he's seen more times than he can suddenly stomach, and his expression dims into a calculated stiffness. After the seconds have settled, he turns away from Peter and stares at the half-frozen lump dangling at his side.]
Yeah.
[Arm first. Sure thing, Spider-Man. A little questionable making sure your enemy's the one who recovers, but that's just the type of hero you are, eh?
He bites the inside of his lip hard enough to draw blood, and then begins.
Pumping heat back into an arm this fargone to necrosis? Frankly, Sanji should just cut the damned thing off and be done with it. Unfortunately he's gonna need two hands to look after the idiot who poked the Vinsmoke nest, so he bears through the process, sweat beading along his forehead and temples as he watches the previously frozen skin burn black like ash. It's stupid, really -- Sanji's not a magician who can heal from an ice wound on command. That's only for extreme burns.
... So it's just a manner of mangling himself in a way his body recognizes.
Luckily, the process doesn't require he completely wrap himself in flames - the moisture from the ice makes that a non-issue. Once his skin begins to knit itself back together, scabbing and healing over, Sanji barks out a breath that he didn't know he'd be holding, then winces from the fragrance of burn flesh. Nooot a smell he'll ever get used to.
Whatever. The deed's pretty much done. Only halfway healed, but it's enough to get his fingers clutching, his elbow creaking. His eyes slide back over to Peter]
There. Finished. Now I'm taking the suit off -- at least the top part.
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Sure thing.
[And while Sanji's busy with taking the top of the suit off, Peter's suddenly really glad he's wearing underwear this round. He tries to steady his breathing, feeling Sanji's hand brush his skin as he works. He sucks in a small breath, and then offers a smile.]
... You gonna draw me like one of your French girls?
[Will joking around help distract from how discolored and fucked up his torso is, currently?
It's fine. He's had worse.
He's pretty sure it won't kill him, and if it doesn't, it'll just take a few days to mend itself. It's nifty, right? Not a weird nightmarish concept at all, and Sanji's got no room to talk after he just burned his own arm to try and fix it. What a bunch of freaks we are.]
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[No, there's no amount of jokes that'll distract Sanji from this. Peter's chest is -- it's. It's. God. A patchwork of bruises, protruding bones underneath discolored skin, ugly lacerations peppered all around and an alarming amount of blood that's only half-crusted over. If Reiju hadn't told his brothers to chill the fuck out--
Ha. Where does he even start with this mess?
A sigh. And then a hand wipes down the front of his face before Sanji settles on clean-up first. Being gentle is just not in his DNA, so Peter's gonna have to deal with a firmer touch as the blood is moped up until his torso isn't drowning in its own bodily fluids.
It's a little simpler after that. Sanji can at least pinpoint the worst bruises now that he's working with a "clean" slate here. He dresses the worst of the wounds, tries not to burn through Peter's entire stock of supplies, and by the time he's finished, well--
Now Spider-Man's a patchwork of bandages. Progress]
Legs next.
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[He's surprisingly patient while Sanji treats what he can — his one good eye follows Sanji's face, watching with some quiet, subdued thought as the man works. Every so often there's a press against something broken or aching and a soft grunt of pain tries to flee through his lips.
Legs next. He nods, a bit more serious.]
Go ahead. You got this.
[Is he trying to be supportive while being the one treated?
... Yeah. Yes. Is that really a surprise?]
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CRIES I THOUGHT I HAD REPLIED ALREADY
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kicks down door 100 years later