Chapter Text
Jamaican Pumpkin Chicken Soup
Ingredients
453.59 g Pumpkin (450g) roughly 4 cups, chopped
Assorted chicken parts, cut up. Chicken feet included.
118.29 ml coconut milk (120ml)
2.37 l vegetable stock (2 ½ litres)
2 cans jackfruit shredded (core discarded)
1 cho cho chopped
2 medium carrots chopped
1 medium sweet potato chopped
½ - 1 lb yellow yam (450g)
3 tablespoon homemade cock soup mix
3 scallion chopped
4 garlic cloves chopped
1 scotch bonnet pepper
½ tablespoon parsley
½ teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon onion powder/granules
6 sprigs of thyme
10 pimento berries
pink salt to taste (if needed)
For the dumplings
272 g all purpose flour (272g)
118.29 ml warm water (120ml)
½ teaspoon salt
Hobie recalls his mother making this soup on Saturdays and when someone in the house was sick. She always stressed that it was cultural and reminded her of home. His mother worked many days and long hours as a doctor to make ends meet but she always took her Saturdays and Sundays for herself. To rest on both and to go to church on Sunday like many Caribbean mothers did, no matter where they were in the world.
While Hobie and his mother did not always see eye to eye, one thing they bonded over was their love of food and their love for cooking. The kitchen of their shared family flat was tiny, but it was stocked with many pots and pans and always had food in its fridge and cupboards. Not many could say that.
‘Memba to tek out di thyme and scotchie before yah serve di soup Hobart,’ Cecile always advised as she threw away those items. ‘Yuh can leave di peppa if you wah hot up yuh mout. Yuh hear me?’
‘Yes Mommy,’ A very young and curious Hobie enthusiastically confirmed as he studiously watched from his perch atop a stool while she prepared the soup. ‘I will remember.’
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Present Day, the Spider Society on Earth-928.
‘Oi. Have you lot seen Peter Pan around? He’s been scarce in these parts.’
‘Nah I haven’t seen him. Now that you mention it, Hobie, I haven’t seen him in a while,’ Pav ponders out loud as he rubs his chin contemplatively before he attempts to playfully hit Hobie in his gut.
Hobie easily avoids it and elbows Pav in the neck. Pav groans in response. Hobie chuckles as he collapses beside Pav into the settee.
They were hanging out in one of the Spider Society’s Many study rooms. This room was lined with a couple blue and green wooden desks and chairs along with plush and leather armchairs and a settee. Lamps of various sizes chased away the darkness and supplied light to the spacious room, stationed upon desks or side tables when not standing. An unlit pit fireplace took up its centre, long neglected due to the approaching summer and its searing heat.
‘You miss your boyfriend already?’ Margo teases with a chuckle as she looks up from a hefty book on programming before teleporting to right in front of Hobie then back to her seat before he could zap her.
‘He’s been quiet in the group chat,’ Gwen says as she looks up from twirling and tossing her drumsticks while seated in one of the armchairs. She checks her phone, presumably checking the last time that Miles responded in said chat. ‘Miles hasn’t responded since three days ago. I asked him if he plans to go on any missions.’
‘Hmm. I will check on Brooklyn then,’ Hobie decides as he gracefully rises from the settee, abandoning his distracted tinkering on some new knick knack invention. ‘Who knows what that boy has got himself into.’
‘I can come-’
‘I would rather go alone, Gwendy,’ Hobie says, the alpha’s tone taking on an aggressive lilt to it as he starts to shuffle away and out of the study. He flickers black and stormy grey in colour. He does not look back at her on his way out. ‘Three’s a crowd. Ya have done enough to stress my Sunflower out.’
Gwen’s face contorts into something ugly after being properly chastised. She begins to open her mouth to respond before Pav grabs her shoulder and shakes his head at her, silently indicating that she should drop it. A few years have passed since Gwen’s betrayal, with Hobie and Miles mostly over it. However It’s no use arguing with a highly protective alpha that feels as if his intended has been threatened or hurt. Who actually has been. Despite the fact that Hobie and Miles are not together.
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Present Day, Morning on Earth-616.
When Miles wakes up from his slumber on Sunday morning, he groans as he feels his body thrum with fatigued agony. His muscles feel sore and his nose is stuffy. He hacks out a cough abruptly, expelling green mucus into his open hand. He grimaces as he manages to sit up in his bed with some difficulty. He has definitely come down with something.
‘Ah man, I feel terrible,’ Miles groans out loud.
He glances at his bedside table, the sleek black digital clock telling him it is not even 10 am yet on a Sunday. His mother is not due to barge in for at least another half an hour to check on him and announce breakfast. That’s if she isn’t taking a shift at the hospital.
He drags himself out of bed, tightly holding onto his bedside table for support as he manages to shuffle to his adjoining bathroom. Miles manages a shower by leaning against the bathroom wall, letting the spray invigorate him. When he washes his face and brushes his teeth, it makes him feel like he is bound to throw up. The mucus he coughs up swirls down the white porcelain sink; a sick green tinge to it.
Miles exits his bedroom to find an empty and quiet apartment. When he enters the kitchen, he sees that Rio left a note saying that she is gone to the hospital and that there is a plate of Pan de Mallorca and sunny side up eggs in the microwave for him. Miles smiles fondly at the note before reheating the breakfast and preparing the kettle for mint tea. Miles remembers that his father had said last night that he was taking Billie to the Doctor and then to the new amusement park in the area. They would be out for the entire day.
As Miles waits on the food to heat up, he curses to himself as he thinks back to the day before when he started to feel off. He woke up with a mild headache and heightened senses but did not think much of it as he carried on with his day. He operated as he always did, completed his homework and went for a patrol around the city with little issue. He managed to save an old lady from falling to her death from her apartment balcony and nabbed a robber who was trying to rob a small boutique.
Some time after finally slowing down, he started to feel nausea but wrote it off as having a long day and swinging while he had a headache. Today clearly confirms that he has come down with an illness.
The teenage omega has been so swamped and feeling so awful that he forgot to attend to the Spider teen group chat that has so many unread messages, and so many unread messages from Hobie.
Cool and handsome Hobie, the bravest, most rebellious alpha teenager that Miles knows, he thinks with a soft smile. One of the very few to defend him back then, the only one that looked at Miles like he was not a mistake. They had been somewhat drawn to each other from the start despite Miles’ initial jealousy regarding Gwen. They had become closer after that incident with the other Spiders hunting him down.
Miles had developed a serious liking for Hobie and he only realised this one day when Hobie had invited him to see one of his band rehearsals in his universe. Hobie was amazing while rocking out, the lights shone on his glistening, dark skin and illuminated his strong arms and fingers as he strummed away on his guitar. When Hobie’s eyes found Miles’ in the small, personal crowd gathered, he turned a deep magenta and grinned at Miles.
At that moment it struck Miles like lightning that he really liked the Alpha. More than liked. His Omega purred and jumped for joy every time it was around the slightly older alpha. It had been like that for a while, but with time it had only increased and the realisation hit Miles like a train.
Hobie starred in Miles wet dreams and was the one he called out for during his very first heat. His only heat thus far. That was embarrassing. Rio had borne witness to those pleas before he locked up in his room with his mostly unsatisfactory sex toys. They were not Hobie.
As Hobie and Miles became closer and closer, Miles and Gwen’s friendship had become more strained. Miles felt immense difficulty in trying to forgive the beta, and Gwen seemed to have a problem with Hobie and Miles’ growing friendship. Miles’ crush on her faded with time, especially after coming to accept that she would not be able to meet his omega’s needs and the fact that his Omega has its sights on Hobie. Gwen and Miles were better off as platonic friends.
Miles was about to respond to his unopened and neglected messages when the microwave beeps and the old steel kettle whistles, announcing their readiness. Sufficiently distracted, Miles takes out the food and begins eating while preparing the mint tea.
The first bite of food feels as if it's tasteless sand that is going down his throat. He forces down several more mouthfuls before pushing aside the rest of the food with a grimace. Miles puts up the rest for later and weakly shuffles back to his bedroom with the tea, clambering back into his bed; groggy and weak.
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Afternoon on Earth-616.
'Oi! Oi! Oi!'
Hobie opens a direct portal to Miles’ dimension and drops through, landing in Miles' bedroom and directly on top of Miles. He hears Miles groan sorrowfully from underneath him on the bed. Hobie quickly removes himself from on top of the prone omega.
‘Sorry about that, Morales,’ Hobie swiftly apologies as he straightens. ‘Next time I’ll land better. You have been scarce- What’s wrong with you?’
Upon closer inspection the alpha sees that his precious omega does not look like himself at all. Miles' nose is runny, there are dark circles under his eyes and he has not bounced up to greet Hobie like he usually does. Miles pouts from his position on the bed. Hobie sniffs, and realises the air smells of sickness and mentholated topical ointment.
‘I am not feeling well,’ Miles states.
‘You’re sick, Sunflower,’ Hobie muses as he brings a hand to Miles’ forehead. Miles is burning up. ‘Very warm. Sounds like the flu or cold. Why didn’t you tell me? You keeping secrets? You’re hangin’ here alone? By yourself?’
‘I really just realised today,’ Miles defends weakly. ‘I started feeling weird yesterday but I was so busy so I did not really pay that much attention. Sorry for not responding to your messages. You do not have to worry about me, though. I will be fine and recover in no time.’
‘That’s bollocks and you know it,’ Hobie tuts while he caresses Miles’ cheek. His alpha’s protectiveness raises its head. ‘You worked yourself sick. I am not going anywhere.’
‘I will be fine-’
Before Miles can finish his sentence, a low, warning growl emanates from Hobie. Miles slightly shrinks back and whines, his omega displeased at slightly upsetting the alpha. Miles lowers his head in acquiescence.
‘Stay here while I see about lowering that rising temperature of yours,’ Hobie orders as he rubs his wrist scent glands all over Miles' neck and forehead. ‘I will take care of you.’
‘Yes Al-Hobie.’
Miles does not see the smile that breaks out across Hobie’s face as the young Alpha leaves the room to locate some cold/flu medicine.
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‘I promise you that I can take a bath on my own, Hobie.’
‘Now suppose ya slip and die, Peter Pan? You’re all out of fairy dust. You’re not so strong now and the syrup has not kicked in yet. I had to help you walk to the washroom.’
‘Ugh! Do I have any choice in the matter?’ Miles grumbles with a pout. His doe eyes shine up at Hobie, pleadingly.
‘Course you do. What am I, an autocrat? I just know you need help,’ Hobie sighs as he helps a shaking, naked Miles into the bathtub filled with cold water. ‘Don’t use those doe eyes on me. Let me take care of you. We’re not meant to do things alone, Sunflower.’
‘It usually works,’ Miles grumbles. Hobie ignores that remark.
When Miles settles in the tub, he shivers at the shocking coldness of the soapy water. His teeth chatter a bit as goosebumps envelope his skin. Hobie adds a few trays of ice from the kitchen to the already ice cold water before swirling the colourful and misty concoction around with his long fingers. The soapy water had been infused with eucalyptus, peppermint oil and salts for healing.
‘Now you just stay there for a bit as the water regulates your temperature,’ Hobie advises as he applies a cold, sopping white rag to Miles’ warm forehead. ‘Let the bath do its trick.’
‘H-Hey Hobie?’
‘Hmm?’
‘Thanks. Thanks for always looking out for me, man.’ Miles mumbles as he looks down into the water and refuses to meet Hobie’s gaze. ‘I-I appreciate it. I appreciate it and you so much. You don’t even know.’
Hobie uses a finger to lift Miles' chin up and meet his gaze before gently kissing his cheek. Miles’ eyes close at the gesture and he purrs in contentment as he further leans into the kiss. When Hobie pulls back, he flashes Miles’ a soft smile as he glows even brighter in various shades of pink.
‘There’s no need to thank me, Miles,’ Hobie says almost bashfully, quietly. ‘I would do it again in a heartbeat.’
They stay there holding hands in companionable silence for a while, Hobie dutifully watching over Miles as Miles closes his eyes and relaxes into the water’s healing caress.
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Hobie hums as he rummages through the kitchen cupboards, baskets, pantry and fridge, looking to see what meal he could prepare for the unwell Omega currently bundled up on the living room settee. One thing with Rio Morales, she always keeps her kitchen STOCKED. One of the many things Hobie loves about her. Hobie appreciates it as someone that loves to cook and eat and the fact that Miles' stomach was always well looked after. Miles does not really cook that much. Not to worry, Hobie thinks. I am perfectly capable of looking after Omega.
‘What are you gonna make?’ Miles calls out from his place on the settee. He was now clad in a comfortable long sleeved, white t-shirt with REBEL graffiti (which Hobie was almost certain belonged to him) and red boxers. A knitted sunflower blanket was wrapped around his body. Hobie had made it for Miles and gave it to him last Christmas.
‘Hmm. I think we have all the ingredients here for Pumpkin soup,’ Hobie says as he washes various produce in the sink. ‘The one with chicken? Unless you want the veggie or beef version. My Ma used to make it before she got deported*. Especially on Saturdays. Saturdays are for soup for Jamaicans. It’s also when someone’s sick. You are sick, which makes it work. It’s good.’
‘Chicken is fine.’
Hobie cleans the chicken parts that he is going to use in a bowl with vinegar and lime. When he is done with that task, he fills the large stock pot he took out with the vegetable stock and puts it to a boil. While he is waiting for it to reach a boil, he adds half of the pumpkin to the pot.
‘Miss Morales taking a shift at the hospital today?’ Hobie inquires as he sets about measuring out and chopping the other necessary ingredients for the soup.
‘Yeah, she’s there and Dad is at work today as well,’ Miles says as he flips through the cable channels from his seat in the living room. ‘It’s just me here alone.’
‘It’s not just you here alone,’ Hobie sing-songs. ‘You have me, your favourite Spider-Lad here with you.’
‘And Hobie. Unfortunately,’ Miles sighs dramatically.
‘You would be lost without me, Peter Pan.’
'That's debatable.'
Miles quick reflexes makes him easily dodge the oven mitten that is directed at his head. When the pot has boiled for ten minutes, Hobie mashes the pumpkin using a fork so that it will form the base of the soup. Next, he prepares the dumplings by adding the flour and salt to a medium bowl. Water is poured in intervals to form a workable ball of dough.
A blanketed Miles eventually shuffles over to watch Hobie work his magic in the kitchen. Hobie smiles but does not comment as he pinches off about a golf ball size of the dough and rolls in the palm of his hands to make spinners. When he is done with each spinner, he adds them to the boiling pot.
‘You said your Mom taught you how to make this right?’ Miles inquires as he tries to lean over to look into the pot.
‘Affirmative,’ Hobie responds as he swats Miles away from his pot with a kitchen towel. He adds the rest of ingredients except the parsley, black pepper, onion granules and coconut milk.
‘Do you still talk to her? I know you always said that you butt heads…’
‘Now and again. She is not quite as lovely as Miss Morales,’ Hobie shrugs as he gives the soup a few more stirs before he reduces the heat on the stove to medium. ‘Now we let that simmer for an hour, Brooklyn.’
‘What should we do in the meantime?’ Miles sniffles as he slowly leads the way out of the kitchen.
‘Well I brought art supplies and colouring sheets with me if you up for dat,’ Hobie offers as he closely follows behind Miles. ‘The sheet is big, da’ size of posters.’
‘We can colour. That would be cool,’ Miles beams as he sprawls out on the living room floor, right beside the settee so he can lean against it. ‘I have not done that in a while. With saving the day, school, you know. Colouring is such a simple yet soothing hobby. I love making art but that requires work that I cannot give right now.’
‘Glad you feel that way,’ Hobie says as he disappears into Miles' room to quickly collect the bag he brought with him. ‘Rest is revolutionary. So is recreation. A good way to say fuck you to the establishment.’
When Hobie returns to the living room, Miles sees that It’s a familiar and well loved blue denim duffle bag, littered with a multitude of patches,pins and badges, some of which he had made. Hobie unzips it and takes out a folded colouring sheet and a large 52 pack of pencil crayons and a pack of 64 jumbo wax crayons. He settles on the floor alongside Miles before gingerly setting out the colouring media. When Hobie unfolds the colouring sheet, it reveals a big bouquet of sunflowers atop a wooden table which contains a tea tray lined with tea and small cakes. Miles grins at Hobie.
‘So you really got sunflowers for me to colour?’ Miles teases. ‘You will never let my love of sunflowers go.’
‘You love that Post Alone song. They are sunny and beautiful like you,’ Hobie shrugs as he shifts closer to Miles. ‘’Sides. Thought the joke would brighten your day. It’s very van Gogh.’
‘No need to get defensive. I like it.’
‘Now quit teasing me and pick your poison, Brooklyn,’ Hobie says as he holds out the crayons and pencil crayons for Miles to choose. ‘We don't have all day. The soup will be ready in a little less than an hour.’
‘Alright, alright. Hmm. I will go with the crayons. Wax crayons are more therapeutic.’
The pair begin colouring, with Miles starting on the background and Hobie colouring the table. They work in mostly silent concentration, making a comment on the other’s colouring now and again as they undertake the activity. Hobie relaxes with the movements, even more so when Miles' scent and aura gives off happy and content omega as time progresses despite being sick.
At the half hour mark, Hobie pauses his colouring and returns to the kitchen in order to make some additions to the pumpkin soup. He adds the remaining coconut milk, parsley, black pepper, onion granules and salt then stirs them in. He does a taste test, making sure that the soup is perfect. He adds the rest of the mashed pumpkin for a thicker, richer soup. Hobie tastes it again. It is perfect now, he thinks as a satisfied smile envelops his face. Just right.
When Hobie returns to Miles’ side, Miles is so concentrated on his colouring that he does not look up when Hobie’s arm brushes against his. During Hobie’s brief absence, he had acquired a box of tissues. Hobie moves it out of his way and closer to Miles.
‘The soup smells great, delicious,’ Miles mumbles as he vigorously colours in the background of the poster. ‘Mami would love to try it.’
‘Well I made enough for six people,’ Hobie informs. ‘When she comes home she can have some. There’s enough to share.’
‘Aye. She always loves your food.’
‘Likewise.’
Eventually, all that is left to colour in are the sunflowers and the tea service atop the table. The two are right beside each other on the paper, which calls either for Hobie and Miles to come directly in each other’s space to colour them in or to take turns.
‘Do you want to take turns or…’
Before Miles can finish that sentence, Hobie uses his long, large arm to easily lift the omega up by his waist and pulls him to sit directly in his lap. Miles squeaks in surprise before burying his head into his neck.
‘That's a better working angle for ya, Sunflower?’ Hobie whispers into Miles’ ear.
‘This is fine!’ Miles responds in a somewhat high pitch while vigorously shaking his head. ‘Haha. Perfectly fine! Great angle!’
‘Good.’
Hobie is unaware that the pitch of his voice is now a mere rumble as he leans forward and against the omega’s clothed back in order to colour in the tea service. However he does notice the low, barely noticeable purring coming from Miles as he colours. He discretely sniffs at the scent gland on Miles neck, taking in the wonderful scents of sunlight, sandalwood and home.
Soon they finish colouring the sheet, leaning back to admire their work. They smile at it in satisfaction.
‘It looks pretty,’ Miles whispers as he comfortably settles against Hobie’s chest. ‘We did a good job.’
‘We make a pretty good team, Sunflower,’ Hobie chuckles. ‘Outside of saving the day together.’
‘We do,’ Miles says as he turns his head in order to look directly into Hobie’s face, his eyes. ‘We really do.’
Their faces are so close at this angle, this point, their lips only a few inches away. They share the same air, their breaths intermingling. If Hobie leans in just a bit more, he would be able to kiss Miles.
The kitchen timer blares noisily and rudely, unfortunately interrupting and snapping them out of the moment.
Miles jumps from being startled, then immediately goes into a coughing fit. He reaches for a tissue while apologising profusely for coughing on Hobie. Hobie internally curses at the device for the interruption, and at himself for momentarily forgetting that Miles is sick.
‘It’s alright Miles,’ Hobby reassures as he gently pats Miles’ back as he gets up from the floor. ‘No need to apologise. I’ll just wash the area and then serve up the soup. It’s time for lunch.’
Hobie re enters the kitchen, sighing deeply before he ambles over to the waiting pot. He removes the pot cover and stirs the soup with the cooking spoon, smiling as it emits a pleasing aroma and sees that it has a rich, orange colour. The stove is turned off and he removes the thyme stems, scotch bonnet and pimento berries from the pot, just as his Mother used to instruct. He takes out two soup bowls from the cupboard then lines them with plates before he ladles out decent portions into them.
He carefully balances a serving in each hand as he exits the kitchen, walking to the dining table where Miles is already seated with his head lowered as he twiddles his thumbs.
‘Lunch is served,’ Hobie declares as he carefully settles a portion in front of Miles on the table before placing his own down. ‘I hope it agrees with your stomach.’
‘It smells great Hobs,’ Miles compliments as he finally looks up and gives the soup a stir before raising a hefty spoonful to his mouth. ‘And you know I love Jamaican food.’
‘Take time wid’ it now,’ Hobie advises as he blows on a spoonful. ‘Soup’s hot and the provisions pack a punch of heat, hold heat.’
‘Yeah, yeah, I blew on it already, Mom. I am good, man,’ Miles says with a wave of his hand before shoving the food laden spoonful of soup into his mouth.
The unholy shriek Miles’ emits right after and Hobie’s raucous laughter could be heard from several blocks away in the Brooklyn area.