Deadpool Syndrome - Chapter 1

***PETER***

Mr. Jameson might actually have a good reason to constantly gripe about my journalistic skills, or lack thereof in his eyes. It could be the reason why I’m only the photographer for the school paper, and why I don’t get to write any articles. The last time I tried to write one was my movie review for The Amazing Spider-Man 2. I mean, I’m a lifelong fan of ol’ Webhead, so I’d like to think I know his cinematic exploits back to front.

Usually, Jameson doesn’t watch movies. He’s too high-strung to sit and relax for any length of time, which explains why he’s never around for first-period journalism class. He just doesn’t have it in him to sit and preside over a classroom for an hour every morning.

I guess he saw this one, though. Because in a perfect echo of Cade Clarke’s assbutt boss, he replied to the e-mail in which I’d sent my glowing movie review with a simple, bold statement: “WRONG!!!”

In a way, though, I was wrong in my review. Public opinion on that movie was nowhere near as positive as my own. Something that, at the time, was news to me.

The good thing was, at least I’d made sure to read no other reviews until after submitting my own, to make sure my review was as unbiased as possible.

The bad thing was, too often, news had dropped into my lap, sometimes with enough force to at least bruise my balls, if not bust them.

That review was just one such example.

Another one happened less than an hour ago, while I and my only regular journalism classmate, Clint Barton, were in class putting together the next issue of the Augustine Avenger. We’d been visited by the school’s star athlete - well, one of them, anyway. And not lacrosse captain, football captain, all-around Captain Awesome himself (if you’ll excuse the Chuck reference), Steve Rogers. No it was the less all-American boy wonder of Augustine High. The ultra-rich, ultra-elite, ultra-blond Brit twit known as Thor Odinsson.

All right, I’m painting Thor in a hella bad light here. To be more fair, he’s pretty damn aloof. Guy can barely crack a smile, not even when he’s hit his latest game-winning home run. Probably because he knows Steve, who’s a few shades more skillful than he, is letting him get the glory. It’s only nice, because baseball is the only one of Augustine’s HATS trick (Holy American Trifecta of Sports - I can thank the ever-witty Tony Stark for that one) that Thor’s even remotely skilled at.

Today, though, Thor wasn’t in a sporty mood. He was here for two reasons. One, to drop off his written statement about the upcoming baseball championship match. The second reason was for him to say to Barton, “And just so you know, I won’t allow my brother to hurt you again.”

“Damn straight,” Barton laughed. Then Thor’s words really sank in. “Wait, what?”

Thor did a double take, his ponytail swinging wildly. “Erm...you didn’t know? Loki’s just come back.”

I looked at Barton, and we both mouthed the same foul swear word. Neither of us could believe what we’d just heard. After all, Loki Odinsson was every bit as malicious and trickster-y as his Norse-god namesake. What he’d done to Barton last year had been more than enough to prove that - and to land him in a plush “rehab center” for “troubled” rich kids way down near LA somewhere.

“When did this happen?” Barton asked, his eyebrows knitted.

“Yesterday,” Thor said. “His year-long stay was up, so, er…” He stood there for another awkward moment - a rarity for him - before turning to leave. “Like I said, though,” he added while he was halfway out the door, “I won’t let him do anything to you. Or anyone else, for that matter. I know...I know to keep my guard up on him now.”

Barton let out a very long, very fake laugh as soon as we were alone again. “Yeah, ain’t that somethin’, Petey? There we were in the city yesterday, Skye Hamada bein’ her flirty self with you again...and there was Loki, comin’ back here as if nothing had ever happened.”

I could tell Barton was shaken by Thor’s revelation, because he was able to mention my sort-of stalker without remarking on how jealous he was of me for catching her fancy. Or how not-her-type I was.

“Sooo…” Barton drawled. “What were you sayin’ again before Thunder-Arms interrupted us?”

I spared a moment to laugh at Thor’s ridiculous, but surprisingly appropriate, nickname. “I don’t even remember,” I lied. “Whatever it was, it’s probably not important.”

“Sure it is,” Barton said. “That’s about as true as Thunder-Arms bein’ seventeen.”

I didn’t blame Barton for trying to defuse the tension with the weird sense of humor we sort of share. Especially with another popular running joke at Thor’s expense. Everyone assumes he’s in his mid-twenties at least, like a 21 Jump Street cop, or an actor playing a teenager in a movie. Having at least two days’ worth of stubble on his face at all times doesn’t help.

“Seriously, what was it again?” Barton asked. Guess he’s done feeling sassy. “Something about a nightmare?”

I was saved by the bell - literally. “Shit, I gotta go,” I said. “I’ll keep an eye out for Loki, all right, man?”

“You don’t gotta waste your time, Parker,” Barton said. “I’ll be fine. Okay?”

“Yeah, sure. See ya later.”

We headed off at that point for our next classes, going in opposite directions.

I’m now sitting in the back of second-period Calculus, and my mind’s been turning over the events of the last ten minutes or so. I look up just as the bell rings again, and as usual, Gwen Stacy catches my eye. She’s closing a book and putting it away in her bag. I recognize the cover right away, even at a distance of fifteen feet. I have a copy of my own of that one - Red Rain. The author, like me, is a big Spider-Fan. So naturally, he packed it full of Spidey references, and that book instantly shot to the top of my favorite list.

Speaking of Spider-Man, in this moment, I do basically what Cade does when he’s looking longingly at Sarah Reagan when they’re sitting down for class in the first Amazing Spider-Man movie. My eyes lock with Gwen’s, and right away, I lower my head, too nervous to keep looking at her.

I force myself to look up, though. Sure enough, she’s still there, smiling at me. She even adds a little wave hello. I smile back - oh God, why did I just do that? Gwen’s smile is sweet and endearing, while mine is...neither of those things. There’s a reason why I much prefer to be behind the camera, people.

My smile doesn’t get Gwen to look away, though. What does do that is a certain late arrival.

“Peter Parker!”

I cringe at the sound of the horrible fake British accent. I mean, I shouldn’t judge - I’ve had Barton fall off chairs many times with my lousy Thor Odinsson impression. But Skye Hamada, when she tries to copy Thor’s accent, sounds truly god-awful. Like a drunken Cockney girl, not at all the refined sound everyone hears come out of Thor’s mouth.

“Oh, Peter, my darling,” Skye coos as she lays a serious power-hug on me. “I haven’t seen you since we were at SFMOMA yesterday! How’ve you been?”

I roll my eyes, making sure she doesn’t see me do so. As much as I don’t like her, I don’t want to seem rude. “Like I left my heart in San Fransokyo,” I say. “Now could you get off me, please? I can’t see the board.”

“You silly boy, you,” Skye says, pinching my cheek before moving over to her seat.

Immediately, I bury my flaming red face in my hands. I don’t think I’ll ever understand why this girl fixates on me, of all people. God knows there’s plenty more attractive - and more responsive to her advances - specimens out there.

While the teacher starts talking about our next lesson (“Introduction to Integrals”), I take the occasional note. But most of my attention is focused on Gwen.

Only two movies have ever given me nightmares. One, indirectly. Ever since I first saw Inception, I’ve always dreamed of places that looked familiar, but weren’t, because they were arranged like a maze, or made with impossible geometry. So, about 99% of my dreamscapes, good or bad, look like scenes from that movie.

Among the other one percent was the nightmare I had last night.

In the dream, I was in the middle of The Amazing Spider-Man 2. But not in the middle of watching it - I was in the thick of things, seeing things from Spider-Man’s point of view. The worst part was the scene my dream was in - the one where Sarah Reagan dies.

Except it wasn’t Sarah falling to her death, but a different, prettier blonde girl - Gwen Stacy.

So, as Spider-Man, I did everything exactly as it was done in the movie. But it felt really mechanical, because it was something I’d seen so many times before, and I knew how it would end. I somehow knew that no matter what I did to try and change things - fire off my webline earlier, and manage to catch Gwen/Sarah before she hit the ground, only to snap her neck as a result - the end result was inevitable.

I knew it hadn’t actually happened, especially after I woke up. But the dream had been so vivid, and so familiar. Like an actual memory. I’d been dreading coming to second period today, and not just because I knew Skye would be there. Also because if Gwen were to not show up, I wouldn’t know what to think.

Probably the first thing I would think, though, is Why didn’t I get to know her sooner?

I’ve spent all of this year in the back of Calc with Gwen always in the next row over, two seats ahead. I haven’t been performing nearly as well in this class as I would like, because every day, I’ve seen her sitting there. Studious, attentive...and very beautiful.

And me being my awkward, dorky self, I haven’t been able to work up the courage to so much as talk to her.

In the end, I don’t really have to, though. Because she’s the one who actually comes up to talk to me first - during the break between second and third period. I guess she follows me to my locker, because just a second after I open it and switch out my Calc book for my History and English ones, I hear her call me.

“Hey!”

I look around and see Gwen hanging around behind me. I then look around to see if there’s maybe someone else she’s saying hey to.

“Yeah, you,” she says with a smile. “You’re the photographer, right? What’s your name?”

I tug at the neck of my shirt. “Um...uh...you don’t know my name?”

“Oh, I know your name,” Gwen says. “I just wanna know if you do.”

I close my locker, laughing nervously. Resisting the urge to ask her if she’s seen The Amazing Spider-Man (she has to have seen it, because where else would she have gotten that line from?), I say my name for her. And bonus - I manage to say it without tripping or stuttering. Mental pat on the back there, Petey, I think when Gwen says her name back to me, even though she knows that I know her name just like she knew mine.

“So are you gonna be there for the science fair?” Gwen asks, making a vague gesture in the direction of the gym.

I look over there myself. “Oh...oh yeah. Yeah, I gotta...I gotta take pictures, don’t I?”

“Nice,” Gwen says. “So...well, I’m here to tell you that I don’t care what you take a picture of, as long as you don’t capture Tony Stark tryin’ to kiss me in front of everyone.”

“Again?” I ask, frowning sympathetically. Other than the whole Loki-gate thing, the single most memorable event of last April was Stark’s painful attempt to kiss Gwen onstage as she accepted her first-prize award.

“That’s why I’m not competing this year,” Gwen says. “Well, that and the fact that Tony says he’s got something that’s really gonna knock everyone’s socks off.”

“Haha. Not literally, I hope?”

Gwen’s smile widens. “Knowing that guy...who the heck knows?”

“I know, right?”

We both laugh a little more, then we start standing there, not saying anything else. I hate to admit it, but I have a bad habit of...well, not really biting my lower lip, but sort of sucking it in at one corner. It’s hard to describe, but basically, it happens whenever someone I don’t really know all that well tries to talk to me. And, since a lot of people come to me with out-of-the-blue requests for school paper pictures, that happens very often.

“So, uh...are you gonna be there, though?” I ask. “Even...e-even though you’re not doin’ any projects?”

“Yeah, why not?” Gwen says. “I gotta see what everyone else does. Especially Tony.”

I nod. “Uh-huh. Yeah. And I’ll be there too. Without any project. Yeah.” More lip-sucking from me. God, why don’t I just shut up? This is exactly why I don’t talk to Gwen - I’ve always been afraid it’s going to end up like this.

The bell rings again. “So, uh, I guess I’ll see you there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. See you there, Peter.”

“Ha. Yeah.” I start walking backwards slowly, so I can keep my eyes on Gwen for another few seconds at least. We wave to each other, then she turns around and moves on down the hall, back into the science wing. I, meanwhile, head for history, skipping merrily. Again, like Cade Clarke in the first movie. He and I have much in common.

A few hours later, after sixth period, it’s time for the science fair. I bring my camera to the gym, where all the displays are already set up, and kids are showing their parents around. It’s not just for Augustine students - it’s for students of all ages in San Castiel. So there’s a lot of grade-schoolers running around. I take pictures of some of the better projects in this section - my favorite is a wind turbine, much like the one made by the little kid in The Amazing Spider-Man 2. I’m almost surprised the name of the real kid behind this real project isn’t also Eduardo, but instead Jorge.

In the middle-school section, there’s nothing to hold my interest.

The high-school section contains only one project - a large inflatable white thing with a weirdly cute face consisting only of a pair of wide, round black eyes. Standing next to it are two Asian guys - one tall and broad-shouldered, the other shorter, skinnier, and younger.

I don’t recognize them at first, until Skye Hamada sails up next to them. Then I remember who they are - they’re her brothers. Tadashi, a senior; and Hiro, a freshman.

I want to bypass them, but I have to make sure they get their pictures in the paper, especially since they’re the only ones I see representing Augustine. So I walk up to them and hold up my camera. Immediately, Skye gushes all over me, but I gently push her away so I can get the brothers in frame with their balloon-man project.

“So who made this one, huh?” I ask after taking the picture.

“He did,” Hiro says, pointing to Tadashi at the exact same time his older brother says, “I did.”

Tadashi then adds, “You wanna see what he does?”

“Sure.”

Tadashi picks up his tablet, swipes the screen, and presses a few buttons. The balloon man then wakes up, its eyes blinking. “Hello,” it says in a high, sort-of male-sounding voice. “I am Baymax. Tadashi programmed me to heal the sick and injured.”

“Whoa,” I say. I wave to the robot. “Um, hi?”

“Hello, human,” Baymax says.

Tadashi taps his tablet again, and Baymax shuts off. “Aww, really?” I ask. “I was startin’ to like this guy.”

“His battery doesn’t last very long,” Hiro says. His voice is unusually deep for a kid his age - it sounds almost like mine. “We’ve been tryin’ to fix it, but so far, we’ve got nothing.”

“Too bad,” I say. “Well, I bet you’re gonna win, anyway.”

Tadashi shakes his head, pointing up to the stage, which has its curtains drawn. “Tell that to Tony Stark,” he says. “Nobody knows what he’s got this year, but it’s so huge it’s gotta be up there instead of on the floor.”

“Sounds like someone thinks they’ve got victory in the bag already.”

I look up to see Gwen coming our way. “Hey, Gwen,” I say. “See anything you like?”

“A few things,” Gwen says. “What about this?” She points to Baymax.

Tadashi activates Baymax again, and he runs through the same intro routine he did with me. “We’re also workin’ to get him to say different things when he’s turned on,” Hiro explains.

“Work in progress, huh?” I ask.

“You have no idea,” Tadashi says. “I actually wanted to put him in the fair last year, but I couldn’t get him to do anything at the time.”

At this point, the speakers by the stage nearly blow out as they start playing the extremely loud strains of AC/DC. “Shoot To Thrill,” if I remember my classic-rock radio correctly. Then the curtains open to show Tony Stark standing next to a table with a Microsoft Surface sitting on top of it.

“Hello, San Castiel!” Stark calls out over the loud music as it finally starts to fade. He starts pacing the stage a bit, like Steve Jobs giving a keynote. (Yeah, I’m aware of the irony there, a Windows user doing a Steve Jobs thing.) Unlike Steve Jobs, though, Stark is very definitely dressed to impress. Black tux, with a red-and-gold-striped tie. Gryffindor colors, I note with appreciation. And SF Dragons colors as well.

“I bet you’re all wonderin’ why I’m up here today, instead of down there with all of you,” Stark says. “Well, it’s ‘cause I’m above you in so many ways, it’s not even funny.” He pauses to let a bit of laughter issue from the crowd. “But also because my project is something a little more special. Something I’ve spent so long working on, I can’t even remember a day when it wasn’t in my life. Today, I present to you...the world’s first-ever artificial intelligence. I call it...Ultron.”

He types a few commands into his Surface, then stands back. The screen goes black for a split second, and is accompanied by a loud noise from the speakers. It’s like someone took that AC/DC song and sped it up so the whole thing played in only two seconds, then jacked up the volume in the process. It sounds like a demon escaping from hell.

“Not to worry,” Stark says, holding up his hands. “That’s normal. Ultron’s just waking up now, look.” He gestures to the screen, showing how it’s coming back on, displaying a normal desktop. A window opens up, showing a wavy line running across it like on an oscilloscope.

“Hello, people of Augustine High,” a deep, hypnotic voice says. I can see the wavy line move around as the voice talks. “I am Ultron.”

Tadashi snickers to himself. “Hardly original,” he whispers out of the corner of his mouth.

“Tell me about it,” Hiro whispers back.

“I need a volunteer,” Stark says. He scans the audience, seeing a number of raised hands, but ignores them all. “Gwen Stacy, come on up!”

Gwen looks at me and rolls my eyes. I mirror her reaction, then follow her up to the stage.

“And who might you be?” Stark asks me, fixing me with a hawk-eyed stare. I notice that his eyes are brown, just like mine.

“I’m...uh…” I clear my throat. “I’m Gwen’s bodyguard.”

The crowd laughs out loud at this one - like I said before, Stark’s failed kiss is legendary, so everyone knows what I’d be guarding her body against. Even Gwen manages a chuckle, but she quickly stifles it.

“I won’t try to make any unwanted advances this time,” Stark says. “I assure you, my intentions are strictly honorable. Today, you’re here to help Ultron pick out your favorite song.”

“Is that all?” Gwen asks with a raised eyebrow.

Stark turns the Surface so Gwen can look directly at the screen. “Say hello to Gwen Stacy, Ultron,” he says.

“Hello, my dear,” Ultron says. Another window opens up in the corner of the screen, showing a view of Gwen’s face from the Surface’s webcam, like in a Skype call. “You are a most attractive young human.”

Gwen blushes, and I glare at the machine, as does Stark. “That’s not very polite, Ultron,” he says sternly. “Let’s just get on with the questionnaire, then.”

“Of course, Mr. Stark,” Ultron says obediently. “Now, Miss Stacy...what genre of music do you prefer the most?”

“Um…” Gwen taps her fingers against her sides. “I guess modern rock.”

“Interesting,” Ultron says. Behind the already-open windows, another one opens to full size, displaying an iTunes-like array of album artwork. “Now, when you say ‘modern rock,’ do you mean pop rock or alternative?”

Stark curses under his breath. “Almost forgot the camera,” he says, fishing a small one out of his jacket pocket. “Gotta make sure the people see what Ultron’s doin’, am I right?” He hands the camera to Gwen. “Just pin it to your, uh…” He gestures at his chest.

“I got it, thanks.” Gwen clips the mini-camera to her lapel and points it at the Surface. Now its display is being shown on a pair of projector screens on either side of the stage, in real time so the audience can see it properly.

“You didn’t answer my question, Miss Stacy,” Ultron reminds her.

“What? Oh, sorry. Um, alternative.”

“I like your taste,” Ultron says. The wall of album artworks shrinks, now showing only a small handful. I recognize some Coldplay in there, and some Muse, Fall Out Boy, Imagine Dragons...but not my favorite band, Arcade Fire. Some super-intelligent computer this is, I think. “Do you prefer softer or harder alternative?”

“What the hell, go harder.”

“Better, faster, stronger?” Ultron jokes, even throwing in a suspiciously human laugh.

“If you don’t know what that means,” Stark says, “ask your kids. I promise, it’s nothing near as embarrassing and inappropriate as it sounds.”

Ultron then narrows the music selection down to Fall Out Boy and Panic! At The Disco. “Before or after 2010?”

“After,” Gwen says.

“Heavy or light use of electronic instruments?”

“Let’s not get heavy. Light.”

The Panic! drops off the screen, leaving only Fall Out Boy’s Save Rock and Roll album. The graphic of the album’s cover opens up, like a book, and the digital pages flip around randomly until it settles on that super-popular favorite - “My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark.”

“How’d you know?” Gwen asks as the song starts playing, with a little graphic showing up on screen depicting a needle dropping into place on a vinyl record.

“I had a feeling,” Ultron says simply.

I turn to Gwen. “Is that really your favorite?” I ask, smiling hugely.

“Don’t act so surprised,” Gwen says. “Lots of people love this song. You do too, don’t you? Yeah, I can see it on your face.”

I hold up my hands. “Guilty as charged.”

“Excellent job, Ultron,” Stark says. “Now, for the second stage of this demonstration, I’m gonna show you all how amazingly portable Ultron is. He can travel through Wi-Fi and appear on multiple machines at once. Would anyone like to bring up another tablet, or perhaps a smartphone?”

“Not to worry, Mr. Stark,” Ultron says. “I’ve got this covered.”

“Haha...wait, Ultron, what are you doing?” Stark picks up the Surface frantically. He’s starting to look a bit freaked.

Across the gym, there’s a loud sparking noise as Baymax activates, seemingly all by himself. He blinks, then looks around. “This is a strange body,” he says in Ultron’s voice. “It’s large, but very buoyant. How high can it go, I wonder?”

Baymax bends his knees, then leaps high into the air, almost reaching the ceiling.

Behind me, I hear Stark yelling at Ultron to deactivate, but it’s pretty faint. I can sort of picture where Baymax is about to hit the ground. It’s the spot where the Hamada siblings are standing, staring in shock at Tadashi’s hijacked creation.

Call it Spidey-sense.

I jump off the stage, somehow managing to stick the landing, then take off running in the direction of the Hamadas. I push them all out of the way, but Hiro lies there, paralyzed with fear as Baymax comes down.

Instinctively, I raise my hands and catch the inflatable robot, rolling him around until I can drop him back on his feet. As soon as that happens, Baymax shakes his head and asks, in his normal voice, “What just happened?”

“I’d kinda like to know that myself,” Tadashi whispers, an awestruck look on his face. He leans down to help his brother up. Hiro is panting heavily, his hand on his chest, and it’s at least ten seconds before he’s able to stand on his own again.

When he does, he breathes, “That’s not possible. Nobody can lift Baymax like that. He weighs about three hundred pounds.”

Tadashi wraps his arms around Baymax and tries unsuccessfully to lift him. Baymax shakes Tadashi off and looks at me, then at Hiro. “Are any of you hurt?” he asks.

Hiro and I both shake our heads.

“On a scale of one to ten, how much does-” Baymax begins, before Tadashi shuts him down again.

I turn to Skye to see if she’s okay. She’s definitely fine - she’s got her cell phone out and is making a call. “Yeah, Coulson, I think we’ve found him. I’ll bring him to you right away.” She hangs up and looks at me. “Peter, I’m gonna need you to come with me.”

I’m floored by the fact that she’s talking to me in a normal tone of voice - no bad British accent, no sweet-talk, nothing. And by the fact that as of now, I have no idea what’s going on.

“Who are you?” I ask Skye.

“I’m with SHIELD,” Skye says, flipping a badge on a leather wallet like a TV cop. I don’t recognize the logo on the badge - it looks like a stylized eagle in a circle. “Peter, come on. My boss needs to speak with you. You have to understand, it’s a matter of life and death.”

“What...what the…” I don’t even know how to respond to this.

“You need to come with me, too,” she says, gesturing to her brothers. “And you,” she adds, pointing to Stark.

“Who, me?” Stark says, looking up from his Surface, which is no longer displaying Ultron’s voice meter. “Well, anything for the hot girl, I guess. Hey, listen, I’m sorry my project messed with yours.  I totally didn’t see that coming-”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Skye says, waving her hands dismissively. “If I were you, kid, I’d kiss first prize goodbye.”

“Who’re you callin’ ‘kid?’” Stark asks, laughing as he steps up next to Skye. “We’re the same age!” His face falls a bit as he realizes what I’ve already figured out - everything we know about Skye Hamada is a lie. “Aren’t we?”

“Not even close,” Skye says, leading the way out of the gym. Stark and the two brothers follow her, but I hang back, looking around at everyone. I catch Gwen’s eye last, and she mouths, “What’s goin’ on?”

I shrug. “You askin’ me?”

“Peter!” Skye’s voice snaps me out of my trance. Unsure of what else to do, I follow her and the others out of the gym, up to a black SUV - Lexus, I think - with tinted windows. On the side is painted a circular insignia with an eagle design - the same one that was on Skye’s badge.

“Make yourselves comfortable, boys,” she says, opening the door and allowing us all in. Hiro and Tadashi get into the backseat, leaving the middle row open for Stark and me. Swallowing all my natural instincts even as they demand I get as far away from this strange car as possible, I take a seat and belt myself in.

In the front passenger seat, a balding middle-aged man turns around and pulls off a pair of sunglasses. “Hello, young man. Peter Parker, right?”

“Um...yeah.” I gulp a few times. “Who are you?”

“Agent Phil Coulson, SHIELD,” the man says. “I’m sure you have too many questions to count right now, Peter. And you, Tony.” Coulson looks at Stark, whose cool and collected aura falters a bit. “But those will have to wait until we’re safe on board the Bus.” He turns to Skye as she fires up the ignition. “Ten minutes, right?”

“Hopefully,” Skye says. “It all depends on how fast I can get us through airport security.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Stark says. “Did you say ‘airport?’ Shit, and I don’t even have my passport.”

“You won’t need it,” Coulson says. “We’re not leaving the country. Just crossing it.”

“Where to?” I ask.

“A place you know better than you think, Peter,” Coulson says. “The place where you were born.”

I snort. “Okay, that’s just bullshit. I was born here in San Castiel.”

Coulson turns to Skye. “I thought you said he was already starting to remember.”

“I don’t think he knows what he’s remembering,” Skye says. “He just thinks it’s dreams.”

“What’s just dreams?” I ask, my voice starting to rise. “And where the hell are we going?”

“New York,” Coulson says. “We’re takin’ you home, Spider-Man.”