quipsandthwips | [PSL] The Vinsmokes vs. Spider-Man

[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.

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[... Weird.

Not weird enough to seem suspicious, or Sanji doesn't give Peter anything besides an arched brow as he pulls back, allowing the other guy to exit the storage room. He's already halfway to tuning Peter out when he hears the thing he currently hates most in this world.

A question]

No.

[S t a r i n g at him like he expects the question anyway, he just wants to see what Peter does after being shut down.]

[The look Peter has when the guy turns to him is... not quite as chipper as it usually is. Not angry, either, but — more serious, more earnest, and perhaps a little exasperated. It's the kind of look you get from a man who genuinely wants an answer, a filling one that eases whatever skepticism he has.]

... Look, I'm gonna be honest with you, Alessandro. You're obviously not a people person, and you're not leaping to make friends; when you're not quiet and hiding out on the sidelines, you're abrasive, and I'm pretty sure maybe allergic to positive reinforcement.

So I have to ask — why'd you decide to volunteer here?

["And why is that any of your business?"

... Is what he nearly asks. Perhaps if Peter hadn't admitted how special this place is to him, Sanji would've let him have it with both barrels. No, he's not here to make friends, and he'd argue the only person he's been an asshole to is Peter, who seems determined to not give him any space.

Maybe leave him the fuck alone before making judgement calls, eh?

...]

I like to cook.

[That's it. That's all he offers. A neutral statement he knows won't help Peter come to any conclusions besides maybe mark Sanji as an asshole, but that's fine. Peter's goodwill isn't something he's eager for. Another beat where he stares the other down before turning away, as if finished with the conversation]

What, afraid I'll be a problem here? If you're worried, get me fired before I start. Pretty sure if you blew the whistle on me for not liking you, Gloria would kick my ass out. I won't even take it personally. [Walking along at a casual pace]

But if you don't, let's get something straight. I'm here to be professional, not dick around because you think you're hot shit. Stay out of my way and you'll get to see me be perfectly reasonable towards everyone else.

[Sanji almost seems like he's gonna get away from this after that, Peter's silenced hesitation palpable.

But then:]

— You're right.

[The man blows out a breath, shoulders relaxing.]

... Not too long ago, we had someone working here who seemed to have good intentions. He was a friend, and I cared about him... but then we saw another side of him, and before I could do anything to protect this place, he — hurt a lot of the community here. Detached himself from all the good that he had in him and helped fill this place with hospital beds and sick people.

[Devil's Breath. An epidemic in New York City, one that left FEAST full when hospitals couldn't take anymore people in. An outbreak that took lives that Spider-Man couldn't bring back. Including one of the most precious people in that stupid hero's life.]

I guess I, um... I'm more protective now... I prod a lot, just to be sure... who to trust into this place. But I shouldn't make you feel unwelcome here. It's as open to you as it is anyone else.

[More sincerely:]

I'm sorry.

I'll stay out of your hair.

Edited 2019-01-07 22:25 (UTC)

[...

...

...]

Eh?

[Yes Peter just dropped a load of sentimentality on him but that pales in comparison to that last part. Was that an apology? Is that was those sound like?

Sanji wouldn't know. The last one he heard was ten years ago.]

Tch, whatever.

[Doubly annoyed now, except it ... doesn't wear on his expression like it once did. More the face of a man who is uncomfortable, suddenly, and with only one coping mechanism to his name. Noticeably, his pace picks up.]

We don't know each other, so I'd kick your ass if you trusted me or some dumb shit like that. I'm a bum off the streets, probably would've come at you for pocket change at some point.

[Glowering, hands in pockets, wishing he had a cigarette right now]

So stuff your apology. You didn't do anything wrong.

[...]

Besides be annoying.

[So fuck you, he guesses, annoying do-gooder]

[Heh. He turns on his heel, to go the other way.]

Alright, you got it.

... Sorry for apologizing.

[You can practically hear the wink in that bastard's words. But he's gone, and — he does as he says. He leaves Sanji... or, uh, Alessandro alone. Let's him do his own thing. But he does make sure to try the food when mealtime rolls around, and... It's actually...

Really good.

What a plot twist and a half.]

[A week goes by, and Sanji ends up pretty much handling the kitchen on his own. It still kind of wigs Peter out, the thought of a mob boss' son having full control over the food people get here (so many scenarios go through his head, so damn many). But he keeps the faith, that this isn't some... trick, some way to hurt people. Sanji seems focused on the job. Really, really focused. It's like a spark of something new and foreign comes over him.

He also fights him again, at one point. As Spider-Man. Nothing too bad, he gets away with scrapes and burns he can hide pretty easily. It's actually an entirely different situation in which he finds himself in an unfortunate position. And so, at midnight, he climbs onto the second story through a window, panting in pain and struggling to keep himself quiet; there's a red spot on the left-hand side of his stomach where a bullet definitely grazed him. Sometimes that just happens, you know? Sometimes you fight a gnarly villain with a lot of tricks up their sleeve, and you get yourself shot in the side. It's not — life threatening, just a graze more than anything. He's more worried about the swollen cheekbone and split lip, honestly; it's harder to hide.

He has to be really careful not to wake any of the sleeping people downstairs, though. There are still people awake, even, and he covertly gropes along the darkened walls of the upstairs, towards May's office. He starts to draw all the blinds there the moment he staggers in (knocking over a lamp, oops).

No blood trail. Good, goodgoodgood.

But he's definitely bloody.

He shucks off his Spider-Man suit and stuffs it away from sight, flopping backward in his underwear and clumsily slapping around for some pants — and, uh, first aid. Need first aid. He's not in danger of passing out or anything. It's really just chump change in terms of injuries, when it comes to being Spider-Man; it'll be healed in a few days, tops.

Lucky that he got through this without any attention, amirite?]

[Sanji's not a man who makes many promises -- it's why he keeps to the ones he does have. Peter leaving him be as per their agreement gives the man ample chances to prove his worth, both in the kitchen and as the newest hire of FEAST. He doesn't speak much to anyone, barely tries his hand at being friendly, and has been told off twice for how much he cusses...

But damn, his food.

His food.

One day in and Gloria just hands him the reins, no questions asked. By Friday, the joke is that FEAST is living up to its name. Just look at the lot of them, eating better than the big wigs, practically kings and queens with the way Alessandro feeds them. And when a little girl with pigtails murders his name with unintended prejudice, trying to thank him for making her favorite kind of chocolate cake, someone pipes up that they should just call him "Sandy" already; ain't none of them Italian enough to pronounce his name otherwise.

So congrats, "Sandy", guess you're not so much of an asshole that people dislike you.

And he... relaxes after that. Grins a bit more. Allows one or two of the kids to get away with teasing his eyebrow. Still a little closed off, and good luck getting a straight answer from him about anything personal, but he takes up his place as the favored kitchen staff without complaint. Whatever you want, he'll make -- just don't go tattling to Gloria because he's double dipping into supplies.

His schedule is a bit of a mystery. He shows up when Gloria needs him, first off, though outside of that set-in-stone timeline, Sanji appears at odd hours, only to leave just as quickly. Makes him even harder to pin down.

... Midnight isn't out of the realm of possibility, though.

Hope Peter doesn't jump out of his skin when he turns and finds Sanji ... there. Leaning against the doorway frame, with his brows shot up into his messy hair, looking vaguely perplexed by what he's seeing. He twirls a spatula through his fingers]

Shithead, I thought you were a burglar.

Edited 2019-01-07 23:41 (UTC)

[Peter totally regrets putting a modicum of trust in Sanji, in this very moment, because it means he's... much easier to sneak up on. He curses internally, flopping backward into the desk chair and looking like a crazy person in the dark, with his murky features. But it was the first thing that came to mind, the fastest he could try to mask the bloody gash under his hand.]

San—

Sandy, uh. What're you... doing here? It's midnight.

Should I put a request in for a new watch for you, man?

[Sounding a little breathless there, bud.

(Boy this almost sounds like Sanji caught him jerking it, that's embarrassing, huh.)

... But then there's the scent of blood, hovering bleakly in the air.

So not such a great cover.]

Cooking.

[Why the fuck else would he have a spatula in his hand? Sanji almost sounds insulted by the question.

... he should also probably backtrack quick because uh, yeah, sounds like he found Peter in a compromising situation, and heck no they're not close enough to swap jerk off stories. (Do people even do that? Shit, Sanji doesn't know, he doesn't do friendships, this is gross, someone save him)

-- Until he catches that scent of blood. That's more than familiar territory, and the reason Sanji flips the switch to the room, mouth narrowed in disapproval]

Are you kidding me? Did you get your ass beat aga--

[... Lord have mercy

dem abs

listen Sanji doesn't really swing any which way, thank his crippling depression and inability to connect with other people, but the shock at seeing Peter fuckin Parker sporting himself a six-pack took years off of his life.

He holds his hands up like Peter might shoot him with those guns alone]

Uh.

Should've knocked.

[The battered and bruised 23-year-old scooches closer to the desk defensively, hiding more of his particularly startling abs — and of course the source of the blood-smell along with it. Hopefully he'll have no reason to lift his hands over the desk at any point, because he definitely hasn't had a chance to clean them off.

... Again, this could not sound more Freudian if I tried.]

You definitely should have! Shame on you.

[Very convincing, isn't he? He sighs.]

I'm just a little roughed up. But I'm good. I can handle it.

You should get back to whatever weird... night-cooking you're doing.

-- You are so full of shit, asking me what gym I go to.

[A SLIGHT HE WILL NEVER FORGET, PETER PARKER.

Also once the shock wears off and his schools his expression back into its usual judgmental neutrality, he hooks his foot around the door and pulls it shut... so no, he's not leaving.

... Pretty sure this could count as the start of a porno.]

Roughed up how? That ain't from a wooden bat this time.

[Placing the spatula on a nearby table, he approaches, irritable]

Get over here.

[... Well, this is getting more and more complicated.

He laughs awkwardly, fully caught in that dumb comment (yeah, okay, he did ask him what gym he went to, didn't he?) and tries to think of... some logical way to get out of this. Because as much as Sanji was growing on him, he also wasn't exactly eager to have the guy help him like this. Especially when he's sometimes the reason Peter is injured to begin with.

Not that he hates their little game outside of FEAST. He tolerates it with jovial enthusiasm, the kind he reserves for foes who have some wisp of a good intent. Like Felica, or Herman. Ugh. Don't let this guy get under your skin, Pete. And yet he relents, standing up and moving toward the other side of the room, where the couch is that he sleeps on; on the table next to it, a framed image of Peter and the woman they called May sits, clean and well-kept.

He has one of his hands around the handle of a first aid kit he'd retrieved from somewhere around the desk, trudging along with it in a way that implies his whole body hurts. He might as well be an old man right now, with creaky bones and hex to put on the guy he sent to the Raft (maximum containment, thank god).]

Just the wrong time, wrong place. Wrong people.

A mugging, huh...

[Sanji hums out his assumption as he watches Peter move, knowing damn well it could be a million different things. Still, petty crime like that is a dime a dozen in this city. It's the most logical conclusion.

-- Or it would be if Peter wasn't fuckin ripped. Muscle alone isn't gonna save you from getting your ribs cracked in, but it helps. It helps a lot.]

You owe people money?

[He's careful to wrap that question up in nonchalance, an indicator that it doesn't matter what answer Peter gives him. Rather than follow him to the couch, the man stands a few paces into the room, hands in his pockets and glancing about the room. It's his first time here, after all.]

[The room is — mostly empty, but there are... photos around.

In fact, every surface space seems to have enough room for a framed picture. One of him and his friends, Harry and MJ. One of his uncle Ben and him when he's just five or six, as he helps nail a board. There's some of May and him in FEAST, taking photos together... And the back wall has a corkboard covered in old children's drawings (PETER PARKER: AGE 8), as well as pictures of a pretty but unfamiliar couple smiling from in front of a lake.

And many more there, of Peter through the years. Seventh birthday, him on the first day of fifth grade (a major dork in his glasses, too), and college graduation. The rest of the place seems devoted to filing papers away that he's overseeing, as well as a busted up laptop and a savings jar.

... That is completely empty.

The only other signs of living here is a duffel bag, messy clothes leaking out the top. Sanji might've heard utterings about Peter's technical homelessness, maybe. If he was keeping an ear out. But if he didn't then, it's more obvious now: it's clear he lives out of that duffel more than anything, not truly settled in FEAST, and he just sleeps on the couch as is.

The same couch he's sitting tenderly on, hand curled around his side as he starts popping the first aid kit open with a grimace. What should he say? Something cautious. It'd make sense to be cautious, anyway.]

... I'm not exactly rolling in it.

So — maybe.

Hn. I can see that.

[Can't pass up the opportunity to be an asshole, can he? Or maybe that's just the way Sanji talks about everything -- cruelly dispassionate, like he exists on one side of the mirror, where emotion isn't welcome unless it's a reason to be angry.

... But he heard what happened to the woman called May. Through the grapevine. Usually subtle pleas that "Sandy" be careful to not bring her up without reason to Peter. Stupid shit he wasn't going to ask about anyway, so he doesn't know why they bothered telling him in the first place.

This room tells him enough of the truth. Eyes closed, Sanji turns his gaze away from all of the photographs.]

You need a better way to protect yourself, kid.

[Peter sighs through his nose, wiping blood away with gauze pads before he starts in on the suture kit; it's an awkward angle, but it'll heal a hell of a lot faster on him if he makes sure the wound's sealed up like anyone else. It should only take a few days to go away — the perks of spider powers, and if Sanji dare study the man in his underwear, he'd note that, other than typical little moles, the guy is completely scar free. Smooth as a baby's butt, yep.

Him and his 1, 2, 3 whole chest hairs.]

I can handle it all just fine, promise. You can get back to your work.

Just... If you can, don't tell Gloria or Miriam? I know they worry enough as it is.

[He starts setting up the suture kit, wincing.

His shoulder hurts like hell. Landed funny on it.

Can't villains and criminals relax for just one week? Just one!]

[Eh. Shock's worn off. Sanji's stare is now blatant and observant, noting how scarless this asshole is. The relative strangeness of it doesn't escape him, either; everyone's got scars, and he was so certain that Do-Gooder Peter would be riddled with them on his constant crusade to be helpful.

... Sanji's not used to being wrong, either, so the detail sticks in his head like an irritating riddle. Even when the guy isn't trying, Peter just pisses him off.]

It ain't my business. [Meaning he's not saying shit so long as no one grills him. He gives a shrug, stuffs his hands back into his pockets]

How much money do you owe?

[Pretty nosy guy for someone who just declared this ain't his business]

[Record-skipping sound, hello; it's been a while, old friend!

He stares for a moment, mouth hanging slightly open—]

10... [Okay, that seems like a good start! Oh god, Pete, what are you getting yourself into? He clears his throat and sighs, looking back down to his wound; thanks to his hyper-healing, the blood has at least coagulated. Awesome. Now to just go full-on knitting granny mode and close it up.] ... 10 grand. But like I said — I can handle it.

[He wrinkles his nose at Sanji, suspicion showing.]

Why're you asking?

[... squinting at Peter, looking partially flummoxed.]

Oh.

[That’s it, huh... and here Sanji had assumed it was a real emergency, not chump change. Must be some small time crooks bothering him, Sanji guesses. No one under his family name, either. The Vinsmokes pay too well for their services and have an image to maintain.

He’s still working through a list of the typical suspects when Peter asks his question, to which Sanji responds with his usual shrug of nonchalance. And much like a cat who no longer cares for attention, the man starts for the door.] Was curious.

[grabbing his spatula, walking out the door. Bye, Sandy, I guess B|]

[... Well, he's not surprised. But he's also a little worried now, because the very last thing he wanted was to draw attention by Sanji of all people. He'll just have to completely vanish from FEAST when he's hurt — can't afford to bring it back here, where connections can be made. Once he's properly stitched himself up, he drags on a t-shirt and sweatpants and lays down with a wince on the couch.

Though he's thrown his arm over his eyes, he's not sure he'll be able to get to sleep; too busy worrying what may or may not come of this little unwanted meeting. Did he give anything away? Did he create a seed of doubt? What's Sanji's game?

Ugh. Maybe he shouldn't be living here. It's not like he can't find a roof to sleep on.

A groan leaves him, and he checks his phone.

MJ had sent one text —

'Still waiting for the next flight. Airports are a nightmare. U ok?'

'Oh I'm good. Same ol same ol.'

'Sometimes same ol = bad, considering what your 'same' usually is. :/
Just take care of urself, Tiger.'

'scout's honor, I'll be good.'

God, he misses her sometimes. Even more now that she's reporting in another country. With a little smile, he sends a handful of embarrassing emoticons and drops his head back again — and then he feels the faintest tingle of his spider senses: Someone approaching the office. Who now...?]

[Relax, Pete, it's no one who plans on staying long.

He's going to hear a knock on the door -- two knuckles rapping sharply on wood, and then the sound of something solid being placed on the floor. Then, footsteps clicking away from the door.

It's up to Peter if he feels like catching the perpetrator, but when he opens the door, there will be a tray in his way, with a bowl of... soup of all things. A hearty combination of butternut squash and thick spices, freshly made. But wait, there's another plate, too, this time with a "simple" sandwich on top a couple of napkins, and finally a glass of water (because fuck you, no special treatment, alright?).

Honestly it's best not to ask questions. The answers probably wouldn't make any sense.]

[Well... shucks. He takes his time to get to the door, but it doesn't take much of a scientist to see who had left it behind — and even though he's dizzied from injury and exhausted, his stomach (with it's unfathomable, bottomless metabolism) gurgles and growls at the sight of the food. He picks it up with care, looking down the hallway with a little smile.

'... Boy, I sure hope this isn't poisoned.'

But guess who has two thumbs and eats it, practically licking the bowl?

This guy.

And then he promptly passes out on the couch, pale and jittery from the night — but full and sleepy and feeling a little better (paranoia about Sanji Vinsmoke be damned). It's much better than staring at the walls like he does some nights, tossing and turning and wondering what to do with himself.

... Now he just mumbles about butternut squash in his sleep.]

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rofl that icon, I am dying

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