WHO: Peter Parker and Tommy Shepherd WHAT: When sandwiches attack (but we do not eat them) WHEN: Today, sometime around lunch WARNINGS: Just some soggy bread STATUS: Complete!
As far as Peter was concerned, there was nowhere that could compare with New York in terms of pizza or deli sandwiches, but the sandwiches at Elva’s Teahouse and Sandwicheria were pretty good regardless of that fact. The sandwiches were unique, at least, and Peter was determined to work his way through every single one of them: if May had taught him anything, it was to try new foods as often as he could.
He’d been looking forward to his Fu Man Chu – Asian pulled pork, ginger cranberry chutney, goat cheese – all morning, and when lunch finally came to Stark Industries, Peter all but ran outside, found a bench in the park, and unwrapped his sandwich.
He opened his mouth, and bringing the sandwich closer, but just as he was about to bite the sandwich, it bit him.
“Ow!” Peter yelped, yanking the sandwich away from him and throwing it away from him. “What the –” he touched his lip, and then stared at his fingers: he wasn’t bleeding a lot, but whatever had bitten him had drawn blood.
He turned toward where he’d thrown the sandwich, not really sure what to expect (a really flat mouse? Some sort of bug? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been bitten by a spider), except… the sandwich wasn’t there anymore. He stood up, and then hopped onto the bench to get a better view, and then he spotted it.
It was scurrying away – the sandwich, not whatever was supposedly inside the sandwich – and was already the size of a medium-sized dog. And as he watched, it grew bigger and bigger, until it was towering over the trees in the park, razor sharp teeth growing from the bread, standing guard before the pulled pork and chutney inside.
It had somehow grown eyes too, olives perched on top of its head like an alligator – a water-based ambush-predator, his brain supplied unhelpfully. He should probably move, or do something, except he was a weird mix of confused and horrified (had his radioactive blood made a carnivorous sandwich giant?) that left him, for the moment, unable to move.
Sometimes, when Tommy was bored—which was a lot, his energy was a fickle creature, and his attention span even more so—he would run around. Just to waste time until Billy stopped being a comic nerd at the shop, or Toph stopped being a mechanic, or his mom stopped offering tea to people. Being his own one-man courier service tended to allow him way too much free time, and no responsibility. He could decide to work for five seconds that day and make bank.
So today, while Tommy was being an absolute "slacker", he had been making unhelpful circles around buildings and parks, leaving flyers (god, marketing) that claimed his service was the fastest (it was) and if you were too indecisive about your order he was allowed to cancel it (he would.) But when he came around one of the parks, a giant something—really, what the fuck was that?—was looking menacing over the trees, and people were now running.
Superhero shit he could do.
He quickly, literally, started grabbing people and moving them a few dozen yards away from the sandwich within a blink. He could tell it was a sandwich now, and he was now rethinking every food he had ever consumed and wondered if they were sentient monsters that he defeated before they turned into that.
Tommy zoomed until he went to grab Peter, and came to an abrupt halt realizing who it was almost a second too late. "Oh hey, you. Sup. You need an out or are you gonna web that—" Tommy gestured at the sandwich that was letting out a gurgling roar. "Fuck, is that pulled pork? Ugh god does it have eyes?!"
Peter was jolted out of his shock when Tommy grabbed him, coming back to himself. Right, he should probably do something.
“No, I’m good, I’ve got this,” Peter said. He pulled his mask from his pocket and pulled it on over his face. He’d wasted enough time gaping at the monster that he figured he probably shouldn’t waste any more by getting changed. Maybe it was silly trying to keep up the secret identity thing when so many people knew exactly who he was, but it didn’t really feel right otherwise. “That’s my lunch,” he complained as he made sure the mask was secure over his neck.
The problem with parks though was that there really wasn’t anything to swing from, so he got ready to sprint. “Do you think you can distract it? I’ll try to web its mouth closed.”
"Your lunch?" Tommy sounded downright alarmed. Then again he also knew that it wasn't Peter's fault, but it would be a missed opportunity not to give everyone he knew shit in some way. "Was it like this before or after you ordered it? Did you buy it like that or did it just, like, manifest it into reality like my brother would when he's trying to—" Snap, snap, snap went the trees as the sandwich lumbered forward, dripping goat cheese in its wake.
Right, distraction.
He was good at distractions, and nodded enthusiastically as Peter pulled out his mask. "If I become a sandwich snack, you gotta defend me. And tell my mom that I did something cool." And zip, he was off, defying speed (and sometimes gravity) running up the side of the Mega-Wich—name pending. But what he didn't account for was running on bread was way different than running on asphalt. Or honestly any solid ground. And he slowed considerably for a speedster.
"Hey hoagie brain," Tommy shouted at the sandwich, grabbing fistfuls of yeasty bread, and tossing it over the side, like a weird snowball fight. Mega-Wich seemed unphased by the small destruction Tommy was wrecking on it's side. Head? Did it have a brain? "Dare you to try and take a chomp out of me, you disgusting loaf!" The sandwich spat chutney in retaliation. Eugh, no thanks.
Peter opened his mouth to respond to Tommy, though it might not have been immediately noticeable under the mask, but Tommy was, obviously, much faster at talking than Peter, and before he had a chance to say much of anything, he was off. Not that Peter could necessarily blame him for being revved up: it wasn’t every day when you got the chance to fight the world’s meanest pulled pork sandwich.
Peter blinked after him, and then started running. He was faster than the average human, but couldn’t come anywhere close to Tommy’s speed, and by the time he reached the sandwich, Tommy was already hauling chunks out of it. His Tingle tingled, and he stepped out of the way of a blast of chutney.
“Whatever you’re doing seems to be pissing it off!” Peter said encouragingly, swinging his way to the top of a tree. He took a split second to make a plan of attack, and then shot webbing out of both of his web-shooters, blinding the Mega-Wich in both of its olive eyes.
He jumped down from the tree, swinging between its spider-like toothpick legs. He couldn’t quite swing the whole way, and had to resort to running until he could come up behind it and jump on top of it, and then, with all his strength, he pulled.
The sandwich nose-dived, or crust-dived, or whatever kind of dived something did when it was a sandwich into the dirt, its upper slice being pulled firmly into the lower.
Pissing off bad guys was Tommy's specialty, but to be fair he had never pissed off a sandwich. There was never any codebook for superhero things—and he wouldn't have read it anyway. Billy would have and then been shouting directions on what to do. Now it was just him and Peter attempting to figure out monster food. He'd rub it in Billy's face about being an innovator on superhero deeds.
But Tommy rode the wave, as Peter webbed the mouth closed and tugged it down. He grabbed more fistfuls of bread, but not to tear off only to hang on. But as the mouths came together, Tommy too the opportunity to dive off the front —and stupidly in biting range, but he didn't think that far ahead and Peter had webbed it together, so it was fine— and rolled off the front of the Mega-Wich onto the ground.
It seemed pissed and was starting to thrash pulled pork and other fixings around into the park, like a weird game of dodgeball. "I don't know what we're supposed to do? Eat it?" Record scratch. No, no, no. Voice of reason, Tommy, do not try to eat the sandwich.
...but he could.
He tried to focus on the spider-toothpick legs. That would stop it from moving around. He shouted to Peter, "We have to do that nerdy Star Wars shit on the snow planet! You know, around the legs, or whatever!" Tommy bee-lined toward the legs. He could probably take out one, or distract the sandwich to step on him, while giving Peter more time.
“Eating it’s probably not a great idea,” Peter said. He didn’t really know what eating a sentient sandwich was going to do to their digestive system, but it probably wasn’t great, especially not if it had turned into a giant sentient sandwich because of his radioactive blood.
But what were they supposed to do? How did someone kill a sandwich? Did they… take it apart? Or would that just lead to sentient sandwich ingredients. Was that worse?
He thought it was probably worse.
He looked around, looking for inspiration, and then his eyes fell on the fire hydrant at the edge of the park. There was nothing that would ruin a good sandwich faster than a bunch of water (you know, aside from the good sandwich turning evil and trying to eat him and the other citizens of Vallo City).
Peter jumped down from the sandwich and landed next to Tommy. He didn’t know if the sandwich could understand them (or even hear them? Did a sandwich have ears?), but he didn’t want to risk it.
“First of all, yes, love that, I’ve always wanted to be like the rebel army. But we should see if we can lead it closer to the hydrant first,” he said, pointing at the hydrant in question.
The moment Peter landed next to him, Tommy knocked his shoulder—in that stupid macho guy way that meant good job for the sandwich web-mouth-trap-thing—but his attention was on the irritated layers of meat and bread lumbering in their direction.
"Dude, freaking catnip, nerds and Star Wars. I knew you'd be down," Tommy said, looking back to the hydrant in question, then to Mega-Wich. "But sure, yes, yup, got it. Soggy lunch incoming. Just be ready to rip the, fuck I don't know, whatever the side valve thingy is. If I do it I'm just gonna explode the whole thing and we'll get a fountain instead of a blast hose."
And then with extreme slowness, for Tommy at least, he stepped to the side toward the hydrant. Then another step back and back and back. He definitely did not look obvious at all about where he was going (read: super obvious.) But the moment he felt like he was far enough away from Peter, and close enough to direct the sandwich toward him, he started waving his hands around and jumping up and down, like a delicious, but speedy, snack. Tommy didn't want to overthink what monster sandwiches ate.
"HEY! You oversized turd biscuit!" Tommy screamed, and the olive eyes rolled from Peter to Tommy. Could olives look mad? "You might have been tasty as an actual sandwich, but now you're just a slimy garbage heap!"
And as the Mega-Wich started his angry, tooth-picked legged descent toward him faster than before, Tommy gave chase toward the hydrant.
Peter grinned at the shoulder punch. It was nice to be able to do some superheroing with someone else, even nicer to do some superheroing with someone his own age. Back home, all the other heroes had been older than him, even the other hims.
He followed behind the sandwich on foot. It was usually Peter who was irritating enough that the bad guys kept their attention on him, but he was happy enough to pass that baton on to Tommy in this particular fight. It didn’t take long for Peter to judge that the sandwich was within range of the fire hydrant.
“Tommy!” he called, shooting his webs between the sandwich’s legs toward the other teen; it was Tommy’s idea in the first place, and he seemed better equipped to be able to tangle up the legs and get out from under the giant before it fell.
Billy was going to lose his shit, and Tommy was going to rub it in his face that he was: a) fighting monster crime with The Peter Parker, AKA Spiderman, and b) getting to recreate some nerdy shit where Billy couldn't see and therefore scream See, you did pay attention to Empire Strikes Back!—which duh, of course he did, it's the best fucking one in the original trilogy, but he didn't want Billy getting too chummy about nerd stuff. He'd swear Peter to secrecy after.
Quick as a whip, Tommy snatched the flying webs, and then sped off, around the sandwich's legs—two, three, four, five times (for good measure) before ending up right back where he was next to the fire hydrant. If one didn't know any better, they probably would have thought he hadn't moved at all.
The Mega-Wich, confused and still really pissed, tried to free its toothpick limbs from the tangle, only to make things worse. With a gurgling, chutney-filled noise—and doubly webbed in its mouth and feet—the monster sandwich came tumbling down toward Peter, Tommy, and the hydrant. Right in watery range.
"You're about to be toast," Tommy said, gesturing at the hydrant. Wait, no. That wasn't right. And Tommy visibly blue-screen, leaving the final blow to Peter, while he tried to find a better insult that was on the level of toast.
“Wow, that was even cooler than I’d imagined it,” Peter breathed in a way that implied that, under his mask, his eyes had stars in them.
Which quickly dissipated when Tommy said the sandwich was about to be toast, because he was pretty sure that it was about to be the opposite of that. “That was kind of crummy,” Peter said. “Though I guess to be fair, there aren’t a lot of soggy bread puns.” He turned his attention to the sandwich, and, with pride, he said, “Don’t be so sour, dough. You’re all washed up.”
And then he easily snapped the cap off the fire hydrant, releasing the burst of water that very quickly hit the sandwich. It made a mournful, gurgling cry as it dissolved into a shapeless mass of pulled pork and wet bread.
He placed his fist over his heart. “A moment of silence for my fallen lunch,” he said, mournfully.
"Ah, shit, dude that was a good one, sour, dough," Tommy said, smacking Peter in the shoulder again, right before Peter unleashed the water from the hydrant, hosing down the sandwich. While this was easily one of the wackiest villains—was it a villain or just misunderstood?—that Tommy had ever battled, he still wasn't sad to see it turn into a wet lump.
He mimicked Peter, putting a hand over his heart, shaking his head in mock solemnity. "RIP, Mega-Wich. You would have been awesome if not for the fact that you were a giant, angry, pain in the ass. What a waste of good pulled pork—oh shit." Tommy had a lightbulb moment, and turned to Peter. "You got that from Elva's? Man, that sandwich is fucking awesome, you gotta get it when it's not trying to eat you back."
And then his eyes narrowed, because now that they were not fighting freakish food, he had a chance to ask, "Okay but like, how did we get from 'fits in your hand' to 'fifty feet tall'?"
"I definitely will need to get it again, but maybe some other day." His stomach gave a low, threatening grumble though. He'd been hungry before the whole "saving Vallo from an angry sandwich" thing, and now he was starving. "But I think I'm going to need to ask Mr. Stark for an extended lunch now. I need some actual food that will just lie down and let me eat it."
He was glad that his mask hid the nervous, uncertain expression on his face at Tommy's question though. "I don't know? Maybe it was my blood that did this." Peter didn't always like talking about the radioactive properties of his blood, generally, but Tommy didn't seem like the type to harvest him for it, so it was probably safe. "But that doesn't explain how it bit me first. Man, this is like a nightmare I've had before."
"You have some fucked up nightmares if that's true. Getting chased by food is the worst. The betrayal," Tommy said, shaking his fists at the sky in order to curse an unknown deity on behalf of Peter. But he also could have been acting like a theatrical dipshit, it was up to interpretation.
He made a face at the lump, formerly known as a sandwich, once more, and then slung an arm around Peter's shoulders leading him quickly away from the mess they made. Birds were already inching out of their hiding places to have their own watery lunch. He and Peter fought the thing, were they supposed to clean it up? Nah, nah.
"Look, you and me are going to get some normal food, you're gonna walk me through all the shit you did right before Mega-Wich went postal, and we're gonna rule out your blood because dude, could you imagine you get cut in battle and then suddenly everyone is the size of the Statue of Liberty like Godzilla and shit?" Okay, that sounded kind of cool, but now was probably not the time to talk about critically terrible situations.
"C'mon, I'll buy, for all the sweet web slinging action you did."