Archive of Our Own

"You know you're going to have to wipe that down when your break ends, right?" Peter reminded Miles, who sat on top of one of the cafe's kitchen's counters. "You're getting butt and crumbs everywhere."

Miles shrugged and began swinging his legs in idle kicking motions. "Worth it. You want some?" He asked, shaking the take-out bag he was eating from. "I've got extra fries."

"No thanks." Peter did, in fact, want some.

"Are you suuuure?" He sing-songed, waving a fry in Peter's general direction.

"Miles," Peter groaned, momentarily abandoning their task of decorating a cake as they threw their head back to tiredly hum at the ceiling. "You're super sweet, but I'm super busy, so if you could super not, that'd be great."

"Too busy for fries?" Miles shook his head. "What kind of world do you live in, Parker?"

"The kind where Mr. Murdock told me to have this finished by noon, and I only have less than half an hour left," Peter replied, right as their stomach grumbled loudly. "Shh," they warned their complaining body, "there's no time for food right now. Right now it's time for daisies and ladybugs made out of fondant."

"This is just sad," Miles decided, "What if you keep working, and while you do that, I feed you fries? Like a mama bird would."

Peter almost paused what they were doing, but managed to restrain themself, poking at the paste to make a lazy stem design. "That sounds terrible. Uh. No offense. I know you're trying to be nice, but I do not want to be baby bird right now."

Miles laughed, chewing on fries out of the side of his mouth while still talking. "Suit yourself."

Peter sighed in slight disappointment at the idea of still being foodless, continuing to smooth the gum paste into shape for the decorative cake order.

Miles silently switched between watching Peter and gazing out the small window at the back of the kitchen with a view of their street in Midtown, eating his burger.

Peter blinked a couple of times, each one slower than the last, before they eventually relented with a, "Maybe a tiny break won't hurt."

"Finally." Miles smiled widely, scooting over and patting the counter as if Peter would join him in his rule-breaking. "Hop on up—you've gotta help me figure out what I'm gonna be for Halloween this year."

"A teeny tiny break, I said," Peter insisted, popping their shoulder in a stretch. "Do you have any fries left?"

;;;)

"Oh, you've finished that?"

Peter startled, whipping around so fast that they nearly dethroned their lovingly placed ladybug from its daisy perch on top of the cake.

Mr. Murdock stood in the doorway of the kitchen, black glasses blocking most of his expression as he kept a feathery grip on his long white cane.

Peter spotted Miles peering back into the kitchen in between serving customers at the cash register, trying to give them a thumbs up from around their mysterious boss.

Well, not really mysterious. According to Miles, he was a pretty cool guy, but this was Peter's first time alone with him, so they were kinda sweating about it.

They swallowed nervously. "Well, I mean, you uh- you told me to?" Why did that sound like a question.

Mr. Murdock raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "I did. Good job; saves me the trouble. Store it in the cooler."

"Wait, wait," Peter said as Mr. Murdock began to turn and leave. "Isn't this- I thought- what - "

Mr. Murdock did something funny with his face that, strangely, softened it some. "Relax. I was just seeing how fast of a worker you are for future reference. Think of it as a stress test, though there won't be anymore of them." A customer's child became very loud in the background, but the man barely flinched. "...Not from me, anyway."

Peter stood frozen. "You mean... It's not real? Dolores Finch who ordered the baby shower cake with the, the daisies and the lady bugs in purple and green isn't real!?" Somebody pinch them.

Mr. Murdock shook his head on the contrary. "Dolores Finch is real, and she is expecting us to have her order be completed. On Thursday."

Two entire days from today; a stark contrast from noon. Peter's legs felt weak. "Guh..."

Mr. Murdock's smile was cheerful, but lopsided. "You did a fantastic job, I'm sure she'll love it."

Peter scratched the back of their head, anxiety and doom temporarily overtaken by bashfulness. "Thank... you, I guess..."

Mr. Murdock's lopsided smile went a little more awry in amusement. "Welcome to the team, Peter."

Peter perked up, hopeful. "Does that mean I'm no longer on beginner's probation?"

Mr. Murdock nodded. It was all very official.

"Thank you so much!" Peter laughed shortly, the previous stress melting away in the light of their newfound excitement. "I won't let you down, Mr. Murdock!"

Mr. Murdock raised a hand and flicked the name of the cafe that was printed on the front of his apron, like the one Peter and Miles had on. "This still says 'Matthew's Cafe', right? Not 'Mr. Murdock's'?"

Peter stumbled a little bit at the blind man's teasing. "Yeah, sorry! Matthew!"

"Alright, it's time to get back to work, kid," Matthew said, sounding somewhat exasperatedly fond. Peter had accepted that they sometimes had that affect on people. "Go and ask Miles to get you started on learning the morning routine for baked goods – those are the bread and butter of this bakery. People won't want gum paste flowers every day, they'll want muffins with their cappuccinos, tea cookies with their chamomile, and scones with their hot chocolate."

Peter nodded, although their eyebrows furrowed. "So, uh, not to be rude, Mr- Matthew, but why haven't I been learning those from the start?"

Matthew did that confusing, devilish grin once again. "Get to work, Parker."

Peter let out a quiet huff of breath and went to go help Miles at the cash registers, nervously picking their way past their boss to get there.

;;;)

"I'm gonna be upfront at the register all day," Miles told Peter, who was kneading dough in a semi-clumsy way, as he walked past the kitchen's main table. "Try not to set anything on fire, even though I know it's your favorite hobby."

"What?" Peter gasped, devastated, their hands covered in cinnamon-raisin loaf batter. "But I love baking with you! It's the best!" The desperate plea of 'Please don't leave me in here alone!' went unsaid.

"You're going to have to be able to do all this stuff without me," Miles said, sounding patiently sympathetic, "When you've got a better handle of the recipes, it'll be easier to work together because we'll be able to, like, talk while we do stuff without you forgetting the raisins in the cinnamon-raisin loaf."

Peter looked down at the lump of dough around their fingers. The lump that was just cinnamon, no raisins. "Aw, heck."

Miles smiled. "You've got this! And I'll be right out front if you have any questions, remember? Just shout. Or maybe not."

Peter nodded, shoulders slumping. "You're right, you're right."

For the next hour and a half, Peter took orders and made all of the staples of the everyday cafe's menu by using up everything that Matt and Miles had pre-made, most likely to make it easier on Peter. They thought they might've been observed by Matt sometime during that hour and a half, but they were so busy with keeping themself calm and in the flow that they didn't dare acknowledge him. Thankfully, Matt didn't interrupt.

Eventually, however, there was that lull around eleven a.m. the cafe went through everyday where Peter was stuck with nothing to do except watch the ovens and follow the directions of pre-making orders for the next day.

Neither Miles nor Matt showed up again, which left Peter a little bit lonely and bored.

A lonely and bored Peter was a bad state to be in.

A lonely and bored Peter was what caused the following mess:

"Miles!" Peter cheerfully called out, carrying the tray of fresh, most definitely 100% Peter-made croissants proudly through the kitchen door. "Look what I managed to do alone for the first - "

"Oh, wow!" Gwen fricking Stacy said, impressed, leaning over the counter to get a better look. "You made those, Peter?"

Peter flat out dropped the croissant tray in surprise.

Then hastened to catch it. A few croissants tumbled off of the sides, but most of it was saved.

Peter flushed.

"Smooth," Kate Bishop deadpanned from her corner seat, dark and oversized sunglasses covering most of her face sans her wryly upturned mouth as she silently and obviously found humor at their expense. She sipped her complementary coffee employees got when they visited the cafe off-hours.

Gwen smiled widely, because she was an angel who never made fun of Peter (unless she honestly couldn't help herself.)

"Surprise!" She said, laughing cheerfully. Ba-dump, ba-dump. "I was in the neighborhood, and I thought I'd stop by, check out your new hovel of mystery and such." She smoothed a stray piece of hair back from her face, eyes sparkling under the overhead lights that always washed Peter out but on her looked vaguely like a halo.

Peter was vividly aware that both Miles and Kate were watching the two of them like hawks. Or helicopter parents, and isn't that just the way? Two teenagers gawking at the adults who acted like teenagers.

Peter's delayed responding laugh was high in their throat. "You sure surprised me!"

Gwen laughed again, delighted, and Peter forgot everything else. Almost literally.

"I've gotta go," Peter reluctantly and awkwardly said, pointing over their shoulder to the open kitchen door. "I've got. Stuff. To make. And things. To do."

"Mm," Gwen nodded and playfully adorned a faux serious expression. "You go make your stuff and do your things." She smiled softly, breaking the charade, "I'll be here."

Peter grinned adoringly in response, even as their stomach flipped in anxious anticipation.

"Well, I'll be there," Peter said, pointing to the kitchen once more, which would've worked if they had ever stopped pointing in the first place, so it came out as an extra enthusiastic jab that almost had them dropping the croissant tray again before Miles could catch it and extract it knowingly from their sweaty hands.

"Mm hmm." Gwen looked amused.

"Gag me with a spoon," Kate muttered to herself. Miles threw a croissant at her, which she caught and bit into viciously.

Peter took that as their cue to leave and go back to work.

They stared at the floured metal kitchen table in silence.

The ambiance of the cafe chatter easily flowed in through the partially open door, but Peter was deliberately trying to listen in anyway.

"You should order fresh," Miles was saying to Gwen in an encouraging voice, "I'm sure Peter would love to be able to make something for you. You're the only friend that's visited them so far. Well," Miles snorted, "besides Johnny."

As Gwen laughed, Peter leaned onto the table and gripped it perhaps too tightly. "Johnny? Johnny Storm? Oh, my God; that explains the rant. What happened?"

"Johnny Storm came in the shop and both he and Peter nearly had a stroke when they realized who each other were," Miles gushed to her. "Johnny Storm was like, 'I haven't seen you since Soho!' Whatever that means," Miles tacked on the end part hastily.

Soho was the last place that Spider-Man and the Human Torch had teamed up. Johnny had asked for Peter's phone number. Peter had quipped (read: panicked) that they only communicated via fax machine, majestically swinging into the sunset and as far away from nosy flame-brains as they could get.

"And so Johnny Storm, who you'd think would be somewhat knowledgeable about technology – asked Peter for their fax machine number. In front of the whole cafe. During rush hour."

Peter closed their eyes, pressing their hands to their eyelids as they remembered. Miles had been so surprised at the time that he'd been convinced Peter was actually being seriously stalked and needed help, but afterwards had laughed about it for fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes.

"Wow," Kate piped up monotonously, sounding completely and utterly nonplussed. "Is Johnny Storm as dorky as he sounds?" She snorted. "He and Peter deserve each other, honestly."

"You don't even know the half of it," Miles said. "Also - ixnay on the oyfriend-bay topic."

"Why? Peter can't hear us," Kate defended.

Oh, boy, thought the enhanced spider-mutate who could definitely hear them.

"Really?" Gwen asked, not sounding surprised at all because she wasn't. "Johnny Storm? Dorky? I think I need some proof."

"He is around Peter! Like this one time, he came in and asked for Peter and - "

Peter exhaled slowly, focusing less of themself onto their hearing and more on the way their face looked mildly distorted in the stainless steel reflection.

They would survive Gwen and their coworkers bonding over stories of how Johnny Storm embarrassed Peter near daily.

The cafe burst into laughter.

Well. Maybe Peter would survive.

---

Peter was not going to survive.

They frantically opened the oven door, and thick gray smoke billowed out of it, choking the air out of the room.

"Augh, augh, augghh!" Peter hissed. Their eyes began tearing up and they leaned through the smoke and pulled out the tray of burnt pastries. "'Don't catch anything on fire Parker, hahaahaha!' Oh, God..."

They hurriedly set the tray down and panicked, frantically searching for something to get rid of the flames with.

Holy macadamia nuts! Why was flour so flammable!?

"Ugh, it smells like a burnt hair iron in here," Kate complained loudly from the dining area. "What the hell are you doing back there?"

"You're not even being paid to be here, Kate. Go home," Peter pointed out as they frantically fanned the smoke with a metal cookie sheet in the attempts to extinguish it, optimistically assuming that it wouldn't make anything worse.

"Rude." Kate didn't sound offended in the least.

"It does smell a bit... burnt?" Gwen pointed out hesitantly.

Peter spotted the damp towel that they had used to wipe up some spilled water. Perfect.

"Yeah, no kidding," Kate scoffed. "Your little boyfriend over there is burning more than the Human Torch."

Peter interrupted the fight for their life in order to squawk indignantly.

Behind the cash register, Miles snorted. He sounded like he was trying to smother his laughter with his hands.

"C'mon, c'mon..." Peter chanted as they kept trying to get rid of the smoke, which lingered even though the flames didn't. "Papa needs non-seared eyebrows and a steady job!"

"I'm going to go see if Peter needs another set of hands." They heard Miles say.

"Shut the door!" Kate told him. "It still smells, whatever they're doing in there."

Miles laughed and stepped through the door. That laughter cut off abruptly. "Holy - "

"Miles!" Peter exclaimed, exhausted and elated at the same time.

Miles shut the kitchen door, separating off the counter and cafe from view. Without spending time making conversation, he immediately opened the windows and doors leading to the outside. Smoke started to siphon out, no doubt getting lots of attention from the squatters in the alleyway.

"Give me." Miles nabbed the wet towel, nudging Peter out of the way. He used the towel and grabbed the still smoking tray, tossing it out the back door vaguely close to the trash cans. "Get a bucket of water," he instructed.

Peter couldn't find a bucket, but they found a really big bowl and grabbed it, filling it with water.

At Miles' direction, Peter ran to the back door and tossed the water over the tray.

The tray let out a frighteningly loud hissing noise, and steam rose up from it – but, the steam started to clear out the smoke, and gradually most of the lingering smog had disappeared.

Miles exhaled a deep breath.

"So..." Peter said finally, as they both continued to stare at the blackened tray out in the alley. "How am I doing so far?"

Miles burst into shaky laughter.

;;;)

A week or so after Peter's first official day at Matthew's Cafe, they walked into work to the most wonderful sight in the world.

It was a Karen Day.

"Karen!" Peter excitedly bounced up towards the counter, where their favorite cafe employee stood at the ready to take orders. "Karen, Karen, Karen - "

Karen smiled, her lips an eye-attracting shade of berry as usual. "Good morning, Peter," she chirped, Peter's excitement no doubt rubbing off on her.

"I love Karen days," Peter told her sincerely.

Karen laughed, face bright and open. "Is that so? I never would have guessed."

"Yeah, definitely!" Peter nodded, eyes open enthusiastically wide. "If you don't believe me, I'll be hurt inside, but I already know how to prove to you that Karen Days are the best days! Ask Miles, he'll tell you. And you know it'll be true because Miles is a literal angel and so that means he never lies."

"I am not a 'literal angel!'" Miles protested amidst the hiss of the steaming coffee machine, looking over his shoulder at Peter with a reluctantly flattered face. "Come off it already! Just because I'm sixteen doesn't mean I'm an innocent baby!"

"Okay." Peter shrugged, as if acquiescing. "So obviously sometimes he lies because nobody can know he's a literal angel and he's gotta hide it somehow." Peter raised their voice slightly to address Miles, "You're not fooling anyone with that 'mortal' act, Miles. I've seen you rescue a kitten from a tree before! A kitten!"

"Oh, my God."

"He's rescued a kitten from a tree?" Karen asked, a bit of shock and interest coming over her face as she looked imploringly at Peter for answers. She was an aspiring journalist, working part time at the cafe as she tried to become a reporter, and right now Peter could see that she was using her super cool reporter skills to try and scope out the story here.

"Ah." Peter blinked once. "It's a long story," they evaded, "and, um... So... how about them Mets?" Peter had zero idea what sport that even was.

"Oh, they're around, I'm sure." Karen tilted her head at Peter, an orange waterfall of hair swishing forwards. "But I think you'd better clock in before you're late. Matt probably won't take 'asking Karen about baseball' as a legitimate excuse."

"Right, right, thanks." Peter maneuvered their way behind the counter over to the machine on the wall. "See, this is why Karen Days are best days."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," Karen joked.

Peter took their punch card and swiped it in.

;;;)

"Peter, your boyfriend says he's here."

From within the opened walk-in cooler, Miles' soft laughter could be heard. Peter abandoned their attempt at picking up a box full of frozen ingredients and looked over at Matt, who stood in the doorway.

Their boss's eyebrows lifted, and he seemed suspiciously amused. "Again. Your boyfriend is here, again."

Miles laughed once more, the traitor. "If he at least buys something, then I wouldn't be mad about it, boss. Peter knowing so many rich boys can come in handy!"

Peter's face pinched in annoyance as they steadfastly ignored Miles' teasing. "Which one are you even talking about this time?"

"The rich one," Matt replied, clearly amused at his own vagueness.

Miles pointed a finger at the ceiling as if saying 'see!?'

Peter scowled further. Not that Matt could see their turmoil. "Now I know you're doing this on purpose. Johnny? No, he's filming a commercial today. Harry?"

"Obviously," Matt said, disappearing into the kitchen without closing the door like he was raised in a barn or something. "I know that Johnny isn't your boyfriend. If he was, he'd stop trying to publicly woo you along with all of your other rich suitors, and maybe I'd finally get some peace around here."

"My boss is such a jerk," Peter grumbled to themself, though they had no doubt Miles could hear them anyways. They didn't even bother trying to fix their appearance, well aware of the various bakery shenanigans liberally splattered all over their face and clothing as they traversed the kitchen to the front of the cafe.

Harry was staring down at the counter, leaning against it like he was posturing for the public with his chic sunglasses and casual suit. His cheeks were pink.

"Aw, heck." Peter began to 'work themself up into a mood', as Gwen liked to call it.

Their supposed 'boyfriend' must've heard almost all of that embarrassing riff-raff.

Harry shifted, still pink faced and refusing to look anywhere but the ever-interesting counter.

"Matt, you are such an asshole!" Peter left Harry at the register to go stomping into the kitchen, shouting at their boss. They made sure to close the kitchen door behind themself, because they knew how to close a God damned door, thank you very much, unlike certain people who'd clearly never heard that song.

"Maaaatt!" Peter put their hands on their hips angrily but then removed them to gesture, noodling his arms towards the door Harry was hidden behind. "Go- go- go fix what you did!"

Matt smirked, calmly piping frosting on a custom cake where Peter previously hadn't got to yet. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," Matt said evenly as he sloped elegant banners along the cake's third tier. "Miles," he called, "come and show me where Peter left off on the second tier, and I'll do that one too."

"You got it, boss!" Miles came jogging over, giving Peter an unhelpfully joyful look.

"You! The, the both of you! I just- ughhh." Peter wagged a finger angrily at their boss, wordless in frustration as they gave up and pushed their way back into the counter area, knowing that Matt wouldn't budge.

Peter's bravado came to a halt when they saw Harry – still there and looking extra mortified.

"Uhhhh," Peter said, instead of taking time to gather their thoughts into actual, helpful, intelligent words.

They wondered how fast they could make it through the back door if they ran.

"Uhm, Peter..." Harry was definitely embarrassed, smoothing a hand over his most likely blow-dried hair, fixing his jacket about ten times in several seconds, and having a great time pretending that his sunglasses weren't terribly see-through and stylistically useless in hiding his emotions.

"So..." Peter really should have thought through how they were going to approach this before they had come back out. "The usual?" They asked, after a long moment of silence.

Harry nodded, looking relieved. "Yeah, that'd be - " He cleared his throat. "I'd like that, thank you."

"No problem-o, my friend-o," Peter said distractedly as they punched in the order on the register, and then froze. "Uhhh, friend like- I mean. About what Matt said- That is- uhhhh..."

Peter stared at Harry.

Harry stared at Peter.

"Here's your receipt!" Peter ripped the still printing paper and shoved it at Harry.

"I didn't pay!" Harry protested, scrambling to catch it.

"Uhhh, well, you're the- the oooone millionth customer!" Peter announced, swinging their arms to and fro in an improvised dance as they backed away from the counter, waving the air in an awkward imitation of jazz hands. Jesus, they were glad that the cafe was deserted right then. "Congratulations, and, and, uh, enjoy!"

"Peter, would you knock it off," Harry hissed, frustrated. "Just forget about what happened, okay? So your boss made things awkward between us because he wanted to tease me or something, and you didn't know I had a crush on you - whoop de doo! Listen, I'm not- this isn't - "

"Could, could you back up a bit, what was that, can you repeat that..." Peter quietly attempted to interrupt, but Harry plowed on, full steam ahead.

"Don't just shove me out of here! Can't we still be friends? I know that maybe it's awkward but - "

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, no seriously, Harry, wait a second." Peter motioned their hands back and forth. "You thought Matt was teasing you?"

Harry's eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "Yes? Who else would he be teasing?"

Peter's head tilted back, and their eyes closed. "Ah."

Harry's next sentence came out in a small voice, "Did... was there a reason you thought he was teasing you?"

Peter sighed, and they opened their eyes. "Um." They scratched their palm nervously. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, kinda."

Harry let out a slow breath. "I see," he drawled, sounding significantly more collected and calm.

Peter was envious of that, as they shuffled their feet anxiously.

The line of Harry's shoulders was tense but his eyes were calm as he focused on Peter. "Would you be interested in an outing? Where we can... talk more, about this."

Peter blinked. "Um. An outing. Yeah. Yeah, of course. Yeah?"

Harry frowned. "It doesn't have to mean anything," he quickly reassured, as if something in Peter's posture made him doubtful. "But either way, platonic or... or romantic, I'd like that."

Peter's mouth formed a silent 'oh' as they understood suddenly what Harry was getting at. "Uhhhh...." They scratched their neck awkwardly. "I'm kind of... not..."

Harry nodded, fiddling with his sunglasses nervously. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to assume - "

"Wait, wait," Peter rushed to say. "I just mean that- I'm not- really - " Deep breath, Parker.  "I'm in a relationship. I'm dating Gwen Stacy, and she and I are open to seeing other people, and I know she's been on a couple of dates with Liz, but I've never actually- I just- this is kinda new for me, give me a second, I don't know how to..."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. After a moment where Peter didn't say anything, he rubbed at his chin thoughtfully and gazed at them. "So what you're saying is... you're polyamorous, and you have a girlfriend. Is that right?"

Peter nodded quickly, relieved. "Yes! And I've, uh..." Peter's face felt a bit flushed all of a sudden; they hoped it wasn't obvious. "I've told her about you. And in a theoretical situation, she was okay with it, but I'd like to talk to her first now that it's actually happening just to check."

Nodding slowly, Harry's frown cleared. "Okay."

Peter squinted. "Okay? Okay."

Harry smiled, a thin thing that reminded Peter of a thousand other conversations with him before. "Yeah – this isn't my first rodeo dating someone that's polyam, Peter. I'm not going to freak out."

Peter perked up in interest. "You have? What happened?"

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but the bell chimed over the door as a new customer walked in. Harry shrugged. "Why don't you call me - " He must've seen Peter's face drop it like it's hot at the idea, and quickly amended, " - text me, after you get off work?"

Peter's face picked it back up like it's lukewarm and inviting. "Sounds good!"

Harry nodded, smiling, and turned to leave.

"Wait!" Peter protested. "You haven't got your order yet!"

Harry paused and shook his receipt playfully. "Well," he teased, "it's not like I paid for it." He grinned that camera-fresh grin and left.

Peter smiled to themself as their eyes tracked Harry's form walking away down the sidewalk.

Childhood Crush Boyfriend: Obtained.

They belatedly realized who the customer that stepped up to the counter was with a rush of joy.

"Claire!" Peter grinned, their already good mood continuing at the sight of the kind nurse.

"Good morning, Peter. I love eleven thirty-five," she began conversationally. She was one of the more talkative regulars – she once blamed it on her career choice. "There's rarely anyone here at eleven thirty-five. It feels like I know a secret on how to avoid this place's long lines."

"You're absolutely right. And good morning to you too, by the way." Peter nodded to themself as if Claire just made an excellent point, readying to type in an order. "What can I get for you today? Our special this morning is hazelnut and mint coffee."

Claire smiled. "Just a black with cream for me, thanks. You have any lemon bars baked, or am I too early in the day?"

Peter shrugged apologetically. "We still make lemon bars in the afternoon, unfortunately too late for our favorite customer to enjoy when she comes in at the secret time. We have lemon poppy seed muffins, though. And I have to say – you do not want to miss the lemon drizzle today. It turned out extra good, if I admit it to myself." And oh boy do they ever admit it to themself. They'd had to separate Miles from eating the half-finished recipe with a giant ladle and some spidey-strength.

Claire's eyebrows rose in gentle amusement. "How can I say no to that?" Her tone was warmly wry as she absentmindedly tucked a strand of wavy dark hair behind her ear.

Peter grinned at her natural charisma. No wonder she was a friend of Matt's. They tapped at the register, making sure to quietly add a small five-percent discount. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, actually." Claire turned a tad pensive, though she didn't fumble in handing over her exact change to Peter. "Is Matt back there? I have a request, and I wanted to do it face-to-face but it's got a time limit on it, so I think I need to interrupt his work for a moment or two."

"Yeah, let me get him." Peter pretended not to be highly curious as they bounded back into the kitchen to find their boss.

"Matt," Peter called, approaching him just as he set down a piping bag, satisfied and confident in the completion of his work despite not being able to see it. "Claire's out front. Wants to talk to you." And was being very cryptic about it and it made them really wish that he was gossip-ier than he actually was.

...but of course Peter doesn't add that because they, contrary to popular belief, can be subtle.

Matt gave Peter the patented eyebrow lift because they were probably being the exact opposite of subtle. Still, he nodded. "Alright, thank you. Would you keep an eye on the oven while Miles is making the second batch?"

"Sure thing!" Peter squeezed past their boss, then called over their shoulder, "Oh! Also, Claire ordered a lemon poppy seed muffin and her regular coffee!"

"I've got it, thank you, Peter." Matt acknowledged, and, for once, he shut the door behind him.

Miles and Peter exchanged a glance.

Weird.

;;;)

"So?" Miles grinned, folding the fluffy batter without looking as he scrutinized Peter in delight. "How'd it go with lover boy? Or maybe it was rich boy? Who am I kidding – that describes, like, ten different people in your life. You incorrigible Casanova."

Peter let out a laugh. "I can't hear you, I'm too busy watching the macaroons."

"Macarons," Miles corrected them for like the tenth time, a certain French twist to his words that Peter just couldn't replicate. "Also, that's ridiculous, so come on and give me the deets."

"Pffft." Peter let out a breath, resolutely staring at the pastel baked goods through the oven door. "Deets? There are no deets." Then, to themself, "You sound like MJ." That was probably not a bad thing, actually. MJ was awesome.

Miles' eyes narrowed. "Uh huh. Sure. Alright."

"Mm hmm, yup."

"So if I told Johnny the next time he comes in that you're still single..." Miles hedged.

"That'd be a lie." Peter finished factually. "Also, you really shouldn't be talking to that guy anyway... Especially not about my personal life! He'll get insufferable if he knows more than he needs to."

Miles nearly dropped the spoon. "Peter!"

Peter looked away from the oven. "I've been dating Gwen Stacy since my freshman year. This isn't, like, a revolutionary thing!" They pause. "Unless you're yelling at me because I'm not falling head over heels for Johnny 'Fax me, baby' Storm, because then I'm gonna tell you you have your head screwed on wrong."

Miles looked a little shell-shocked, but it was only for a second before he furrowed his eyebrows. "You should tell him. You have to tell him."

"Tell who? If it's Johnny, then I don't 'have' to tell that hothead anything – he's not my boyfriend! And if it's Harry, then I've already told Harry, who is my boyfriend. My boyfriend who knows about my girlfriend, and vice versa."

"That's a thing you can do?" Miles asked, completely abandoning stirring altogether as he waited for Peter's response.

"He and I are going to go on a date." Peter said, deliberately just to be an asshole because they knew it would confuse Miles. Still, it wasn't everyday they could explain it so easily to somebody... "And, yes – being polyamorous is something you can totally do, as long as you and your partners want to. Like I said – not exactly revolutionary."

"Oh," Miles said finally, but he sounded pensive instead of judging. With the way he looked at Ms. Marvel and Nova all the time, Peter could be at least 60% sure they knew what he was thinking about so hard right then.

Also – Peter was embarrassingly, regretfully aware of the fanfiction Miles wrote about himself and his super-powered comrades.

They didn't like to talk about it.

Peter thought that the macarons looked about ready to come out, despite having two minutes left on the timer. "Macaroons, coming outta the oven," they announced, opening the oven door.

"Macarons," Miles informed them automatically, peering into his pastel green bowl. "And alright, this batch is a minute away from being ready to go in, make sure the oven stays preheated."

Peter placed the first tray on the cooling rack. "Gotcha," they confirmed, and closed the oven door.

;;;)

"Miiiiiles," Peter called, staring at the machine uncertainly. "Something's wrong with the cash register! Come help meeeee!""

"You know what I don't get," Johnny, who was practically half-sprawled on the counter, one hip bumping into the croissant stand, began to say, not even waiting for Peter to guess at an answer because he was a national disaster and his words were the flood that was ready to wreck the city, "Miles is like, what, twelve?"

"Fuck you," Miles dead-panned as he walked through the open door.

Johnny waved a half apologetic hand in the air. Neither Johnny nor Peter were surprised at the teenager's language. "Well, how come Miles knows so much and you know, like... not as much as he does? Aren't you supposed to be his mentor, since you're older?"

Peter smiled sheepishly. "Well, Miles was here first. He has more experience."

"And I've also taken Foods 101 and Advanced Foods 101 before I started here," Miles pointed out as he took a look at the register, frowning. "Even though Peter's been at other service jobs before this one, they still can't seem to be able to tame this possessed register." He poked at it some more, squinting at the machine's response. "Only me 'n Matt seem to be able to..."

"Huh," Johnny smacked his lips, looking kind of bored. He probably hadn't expected an actual answer to his teasing.

"Since I'm here nearly full time, and Miles is only part time," Peter said, hands eventually coming up to shoo Johnny's entire body off the counter. The Fantastic Four member looked banally at Peter before huffing and obliging, "the idea is that hopefully I'll catch up pretty quickly to Miles."

"Yeah, I wouldn't hold your breath," Miles teased, closing the now operating cash register drawer. He gave it a firm pat. "I'm pretty amazing."

"You are amazing." Peter agreed enthusiastically. They gave the register a softer pat, convinced they'd break it twice as fast as Miles could.

"What about me?" Johnny butted in, melting his front all over the counter so that the pudge of his stomach was more pronounced, proving that Johnny Storm did in fact have a real human body instead of just being a Ken Doll with a six-pack. He grinned charmingly as he waited for an answer, as if that would help persuade Peter.

Peter looked Johnny up and down. "Mediocre."

Miles sputtered a surprised laugh, putting a hand over his mouth and looking avidly at Johnny as if saying 'what you gonna do about that?'

Johnny didn't look too ruffled, but he did lean on the counter again like a hooligan and flashed a bit of literal fire in his eyes at Peter. "Well, I'm off to go save the entire city once more. How about a goodbye kiss, for luck?"

While Peter stuttered over a response and Miles sat back and watched like it was a soap opera or something, Matt came bursting through the kitchen door to hand Johnny his bag filled with chocolatey baked goods. "How about you take what you ordered, and have a nice day, sir."

There was a sort an awkward silence before Johnny took the bag and saluted the three Matthew's Cafe members as he walked backwards out the door, nearly bumping into somebody on the street. He left while giving Matt a considering look.

Matt, despite being stared at by both Miles and Peter, calmly walked into the hallway leading to his office, continuing with a phone call he had apparently put on hold only to give Johnny his food and tell him to leave in lots of polite words.

"...I could've sworn I just heard him say something like, 'motherfucker almost broke my back.'" Miles told Peter, both of them sharing surprised looks like they were two kids at a sleepover, spying on their parents.

"But, but that doesn't make sense... Matt doesn't cuss!" Peter whisper-shouted in defense.

Miles curled his lip in consideration. The two employees loitered at the counter in their shared miasma of confusion and intrigue. "Well... Maybe he just doesn't like Johnny talking about being a hero? Or, like, maybe he's mad at Johnny and thinks he messed up or something – you know how folks can get when they think they have a claim on what superheroes do."

Peter looked over at Miles, considering. "You think so? I mean, I've never known Matt to care very much about what goes around in New York concerning heroes and villains and vigilantes..."

A heavy pause.

Miles' face broke open in emotion. He had an idea, and it showed. "I think I might know – remember that one time Johnny got caught on camera knocking a friendly off a building?"

Peter pursed their lips. "Yea, sorta... Johnny was kinda mad and sad at the same time for at least a week. The news wouldn't shut up about how Johnny Storm threw another vigilante off a building. Except this time it wasn't, uh... Spider-Man." They both looked at each other, Miles wincing in sympathy and Peter just plain wincing. "I think it was... Daredevil? But why would Matt care about that?"

Miles shrugged, making an 'I don't know' sound. "It's just the latest thing Johnny Storm publicly messed up so badly that the media went wild for."

A customer came in the door, shaking their umbrella of the light drizzle outside and placing it in the umbrella holder. Miles and Peter began to get ready to serve, though they hesitated for a moment to continue talking.

"Matt does live in Hell's Kitchen," Peter offered, just before Miles retreated back into the kitchen. "Maybe it's like when people from Queens and Brooklyn get possessive over their Spider-Man, respectively."

At those words, Peter readied themself to potentially get yelled at for not memorizing every repeat customer’s exact order.

;;;)

Kate lounged outside the shop.

This was a weird thing, because in Peter's experience, Kate Bishop was a perpetual night owl who somehow bargained with Matt to only work late afternoon and evening shifts. And it had currently been seven a.m.

Her hair was fashionably mussed up and her jeans were artfully shredded along the knees. If it weren't for the giant patch of red where blood was drying on the side of her chin, Peter would have assumed her messy, somewhat grungy look was intentional.

Then again, Peter didn't exactly hang out with Kate after-hours. Maybe she liked to punch stuff and get punched back in life.

At Peter's timid approach, Kate's bent leg dropped from where it had been resting against the wall, and she straightened up, standing.

"Hey," she greeted, slowly, giving Peter a weird look.

Peter waved, and tried not to give too weird of a look right back.

Kate grinned as Peter opened the cafe's door, standing way too close to them and breathing right onto the back of their neck.

Peter paused, door held open but not wide enough to walk through yet, craning back around to stare at an antsy Kate.

"Were you waiting for me?" Peter asked in confusion, poking themself in the chest.

Kate shrugged easily. She looked like a mess. "Yeah, I was. I've got a favor to ask you."

Blinking twice, Peter nodded, and they held the door open wider so that Kate could easily walk through with them. The entrance bell chimed softly.

"Yeah," Kate continued, "so... you know how I usually do the closing shift?"

Peter paused, wary of where this was heading. "...Yes?"

"I need someone to take tomorrow's shift," she said bluntly, hands in her pockets and not quite as laconic.

Peter closed their eyes, stressed. "I don't know how to close the cafe. Are you sure I should - "

"It's easy!" Kate interrupted them, a bit too loud and enthusiastic for someone who looked like they'd gotten mugged and were proud of it. "And Matt will be there! You'll be fine!"

Peter groaned, then proceeded to whine about it, "Kaaate, why can't you do it?"

Kate scowled. "Don't make me ask Miles. I will. And he'll say yes because he's an angel."

"I'm glad we are at a consensus," Peter mumbled, opening their eyes and squinting at her. "Did you ask Karen if she could yet?"

Kate scoffed. "No, I didn't ask Karen." She paused. "Karen has a dentist appointment."

"We have dental?" Peter asked, baffled. "And if you didn't ask Karen, then how did you know she has a - "

"Yes, we have dental! Sort of. It's complicated. It's a percentage thing, partial coverage – anyways! Peter, c'mon. It's biphobic not to help me - "

Peter laughed, "Shut up, oh my gosh - "

"Absolutely biphobic!" Kate assured them, taking both hands and placing both palms heavily down upon Peter's shoulders. She shook Peter slightly. "Help a fellow bi out, Peter! What would Macklemore say?"

"Oh my gosh, Kate, stop, stop- stop shaking me already, okay okay!"

Kate beamed.

Peter regretted.

"You're the best, Peter," Kate sang their praises, removing her hands swiftly, only to turn right around and start patting them obnoxiously on the back in some rhythm Peter couldn't place.

"What're you doing, anyway, that you can't make your shift?" Peter asked, as they moved behind the counter to clock in. They gave her injured cheek a quick glance, "Nothing, like, illegal right? This isn't a gang thing is it?"

"I," Kate gloated as she pretended to inspect her fingernails, flipping her surprisingly clean hand out in a flourish, "have a date."

"America didn't ask you out, did she?!" Peter spun around.

Kate grinned triumphantly. "I asked America out."

Peter let out a low whistle. "I can't believe it," they said, smile wide as they clutched a towel to the side of their face like they were cradling a beloved baby. "Kids. They just grow up so fast."

Kate's face twisted into slightly offended protest. "I'm nineteen!"

"Whatever you say, kiddo," Peter teased, tossing their beloved towel baby onto the counter.

"Oh, hey, Matty," Kate greeted, changing pace immediately as Matt came through the kitchen door with a tray of fresh croissants. "I'm taking the morning shift, and Peter's gonna cover my closing shift tomorrow."

"Ah. Glad you children worked it out between yourselves." Matt nodded.

Peter magnanimously ignored the way Kate flung her hands at Matt as if to say 'you see? if I'm a kid, then you're a kid too.'

"Actually." Matt sat the tray down on the counter, face turning pensive. "I think this could be a great opportunity."

"Hm?" Peter asked vaguely, as if it would throw their boss off at all.

Spoiler alert: It Wouldn't.

"I think we should ask Miles to join us tomorrow, and I can take the time to train you both on how to close the cafe." Matt slid the croissants off their hot tray and onto a cooling rack.

"Sounds... great," Peter said weakly.

Matt's lips quirked up into a smile. "I better call Miles and let him know." He turned to walk to his office, down the dark hallway nobody dared to enter for reasons. "Peter, arrange those croissants in the display please."

"How would he even know if they were out of order..." Peter mumbled cattily to themself as their boss walked away, though they stepped up to create the little tower of croissants in the shiny glass case on the front counter.

Kate made the mistake of shrugging in their peripheral vision, so Peter laid back into them with their complaints now that their boss was gone.

"Kate," Peter groaned, "I swear, if I have to start doing late shifts from now on, it better be worth it. You've gotta make me, like, your bridesmaid or best man or something at the wedding."

"Don't be ridiculous," Kate scoffed, nose wrinkling. "I'm gonna try to convince America to elope with me. We'll get married by an Elvis impersonator. Vegas, baby!" She clicked finger guns in their direction and winked, sound effects and all.

"Kate, you're joking," Peter pleaded, nearly dropping a croissant to its germ-y doom on the floor.

Kate began to walk away, whistling.

"Kaaaate!"

The door's bell chimed softly as she left.

Peter groaned.

;;;)

Ten minutes before closing time the very next evening, a man walked into the cafe with his hands behind his back and a sweeping, interested gaze.

"Hello, young man," greeted the customer. Peter pulled his lips back in a facsimile of a smile and fought not to correct him. "I'm looking for Mr. Murdock. Is he here today? I have a very important message for him."

"Ah, he stepped out for a phone call real quick, but he'll be back soon," Peter assured him, though it felt somewhat uncomfortable to do so. Mentally, they shrugged. Some people just felt like that. "Can I get you anything? Please note that the kitchens are closed for the night, however, as it is almost closing time." So if you could leave already, that'd be great...

The man smiled. Oily. "That's fine. Could you do me a favor, and pass this message along to Mr. Murdock?"

Peter nodded and bent their head to look for paper to write on. "Of course, sir. Let me get- a pen- and - "

Senses tingled in the back of their mind uncomfortably, like it did when somebody across the room was about to spill their drink in a fantastically violent way.

The man put something on the counter.

Peter began to apologize about the long wait, attempting to blame it on a headache from a long day of work, but then their eyes focused on the thing. It was a photograph.

A very, very wrong photograph.

A man, bound to a chair. Bruised and bloodied. The lighting was bad, but it was professional for a blackmailer.

"Ah... Aaah!" Peter's mild vocalization turned into a cut-off shriek as they tried to keep their cool and failed, backing away so quickly that their tailbone knocked against the coffee counter behind them and rattled the coffee makers.

"I'm sure you won't be needing a pen for this," the man said, tapping the photograph with one finger. His slicked-back thinning hair, five o'clock shadow, and tan cardigan began to look so much more dangerous that it did before.

"Peter?" Miles asked worriedly from the kitchen, starting to crack the door open. "You alright - "

"Go back in the kitchen." Peter tried to divert his concern, but their voice came out scratchy and unconvincing. Still, they swallowed their fear. "Everything's fine, alright? I just... I just spilled something. No need to broadcast my embarrassment to everybody in the building, okay?"

Miles' eyes flicked between Peter and what he could see of the stranger worriedly. He was a smart kid – he hadn't yet left the kitchen, making his face a mystery to the stranger. Then he swallowed nervously, mimicking Peter's earlier action.. "Are you sure? I can come out and help you if you need another set of hands," he asked, shifting his weight but staying firmly in the doorway. Peter's heart ached.

"Yeah, yeah," Peter croaked. "It's fine, Mi...key. You... we need to have that kitchen cleaned by the time M... Mr. Murdock comes back to close up, okay? Get to it, don't get distracted."

Miles' eyes lingered on Peter with concern, but he dutifully slipped back into the kitchen. Peter heard him stand still next to the door, not quite leaving.

The man smiled at Peter, who had yet to move forward towards the counter again. "I see I have your attention; good."

"What is that? Who is that?" Peter demanded, not taking their gaze off of the man. "Who are you?"

The man chuckled lightly. "I think you'll find that your boss will be able to answer that and more." He looked at the watch on his wrist, a thing that ticked too loudly and seemed like a dupe for a better, more expensive version of itself. "A quick phone call, you said?"

Peter's eyebrows furrowed. The part of them that swings into the night and takes people like this down made them clench their fists, which they hid partially behind their apron.

The man licked his lips and looked around, a touch of nervousness – or maybe impatience – sinking into his demeanor as he casually placed one hand in his pocket, parting his cardigan as he did so. A gleaming gun was partially revealed.

"Tell Mr. Murdock," he said slowly, like he had all the time in the world, which was directly contrary to what Peter had observed, "that Franklin Nelson says 'hello.'"

"Foggy?" Peter asked, heart hammering, hating how they sounded like a scared child. "Like... butcher Foggy, that Franklin Nelson?"

The man's expression immediately transformed into one of sadistic glee. Peter forced themself not to crawl up the wall in response.

"Ah! So you are familiar with him! Perhaps you'd like to, ah, say hello to Mr. Nelson?" He took his remaining hand and placed it on the counter, at least four feet or more away from Peter's body but still shockingly too close. "I'm sure we could work something out for you..."

Peter couldn't seem to parse the right answer for that. They opened their mouth with zero idea of what to say.

The door to the kitchen opened abruptly.

"Peter," Miles said nervously, only looking at his co-worker and not the stranger, face mostly turned away despite having come completely out of the kitchen that time. "Do you think, uh, that you can come, uh, back here and look at this batter? I think I messed up, but I wanted to- to check before I dumped it."

Peter continued to pin the man with their eyes, giving themself time to answer in a more calm way.

"Yeah, Mikey, of course." Peter quickly shut the register, which locked automatically, and finally looked away.

"I'll just wait here then, shall I?" The man spoke up just as Peter had turned their back. "It's nice to know that Mr. Murdock hires teenagers that... feel the need to aid each other in their times of need."

They froze. Miles' arm gripped Peter's perhaps a little too strongly.

"Thank you for your patience," Peter forced out, maybe sounding a bit too off, but it would have to do. Peter wrapped their guiding arm around Miles' shoulder and ushered him back through the door. "C'mon, Mikey, let's - "

Once they were both through, Peter hurriedly slammed the door and locked it. The lock made a concerning squalling noise at the super-strength mistreatment, but thankfully held.

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy fuzznuttering shit!" Peter whispered frantically, pacing in a tight circle.

That seemed to alarm Miles even more than the strange man. "What the heck happened out there? Why were you calling me 'Mikey'? Did that guy have a gun? Peter, are you okay?"

"Foggy's been kidnapped, so that he wouldn't hear your real name, yes, and no," Peter answered as they picked a random spot on the floor to officially collapse on. Miles made a noise of concern in response, watching with wide eyes.

Miles nodded decisively. "Yeah, okay. This is- I'm calling Karen. For backup."

For a hot minute, Peter could only sit on the floor and stare at the far wall.

"You know I think that guy had a point," Miles kept up the one-sided conversation, tapping about on his phone to presumably call Karen, "two teenagers locking up at night – yes I know you're technically twenty-two, and to me that's definitely an adult, but you look like you you’ve got major baby face sometimes – that's just a bad idea. Even with Matt here, like..."

Miles sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead with an expression on his face that forced Peter’s mind to boot back up in concern. They didn't think that Miles should ever have that kind of stressed, drawn-out look on his face. It just wasn't right.

"We shouldn't even be dealing with this, man." Miles' voice cracked slightly with emotion. "This is our job! Our piddly, fun coffee shop job that's supposed to- it was supposed to be separate from all the other stuff, you know? All the crazy Spider-Man stuff. Sometimes even school isn't even as separate as I'd like it to be, but this was so out of the way that I just thought- I thought..."

"Yea," Peter says, voice croaky. "Yea, I understand."

Miles sighed and sat down across from Peter. "Ideas?"

"Don't call Karen," they told the younger Spider-Man, "That person out there, they're not messing around, Miles. You need to leave through the back- but, shoot, what if there's even more people waiting out there, augh."

"I can call Matt?" He offered.

Peter groaned, head lightly thumping back against the wall. "Matt's probably part of a gang!" They lamented, "His maybe-boyfriend has been kidnapped, Miles, and now Matt's fellow gang members have come to- to- ransom him! He must not have allowed them to use his cafe as a front for drug trafficking or, or something, who knows!"

Miles crossed his arms skeptically. "Matthew Murdock? In a gang?" A pause. "Can blind people even be in gangs?"

"Blind people can do whatever they want." Peter hissed a stressed breath and ran an equally stressed hand through their hair. "Shit."

"Shit," Miles echoed.

"Heyyy." Peter nudged their leg against Miles'.

"I'm sixteen," Miles reminded them indignantly. "I go to high school, public New York City high school – you think I haven't heard anyone say 'shit' before? Plus! I curse all the time! Like, all of the dang time!"

"You're lucky Matt never latched onto the idea of a swear jar," Peter warned.

"That's because you're the only one who almost never swears."

"Fair."

The two of them sat, pensive and quiet.

"Is there anyone else we can call?" Miles wondered, "I texted Karen that Foggy's been kidnapped, and she said she 'knew a guy who could help', but - "

Peter straightened up. "Did you hear that?" They silently kicked off their shoes and crawled over to the kitchen door on sticky feet, lightly unlatching the loose and abused lock in order to stand up on their knees and peer out through the slight crack between the two doors, Miles right over their shoulder.

The man was locking the front of the cafe from the inside.

"What's he doing?" Miles questioned. "Peter? I -"

"You know, Peter and Mikey," the man began speaking loudly into the emptiness of the cafe. Despite none of the windows being covered, Peter could tell that there was no one passing by who would see this man standing in a building with his gun out, "I don't like to hurt children. I even have kids of my own – two boys, like you." He loaded the gun carefully. It clicked in warning as he approached the counter. "Which is why I'm going to give you to the count of ten to get your sorry behinds out here."

Peter's Spider Sense jumped and jived. With the way Miles jerked from over their shoulder, they could tell that the younger mutate could feel the danger they were in as well.

Which was why Peter felt completely justified when they lightly knocked Miles back onto his rear, parted the kitchen doors long enough to slip out, then shoved the stool Karen liked to sit on at the counter up under the kitchen doors' handles, stopping Miles from easily breaking out.

Not that he couldn't, just that it would make a lot of noise and take the spidey-strength that he surely wouldn't be able to use without being noticed.

"Ah," intoned the man, nodding slowly at Peter as if he approved of their decision, "the eldest, I presume?"

Peter said nothing. The protection they could offer Miles was mere inches and seconds, but it was vital inches and seconds. Miles was capable of getting creative in how he could sneak out. He could literally turn invisible, for one thing.

"That's real brave of you, son..." The man held his gun aloft, "but that won't save him, the other kid. If he runs out that back door into the alley, more people will be waiting for him. And they aren't as nice as I am." He tsked and shook his head. "Brave of you, but stupid. Unfortunately, neither of you boys are getting out of here alive unless Matthew fucking Murdock comes busting through the door right now - "

Daredevil came busting through the locked front door, glass shattering, gun mis-firing, and had his muscled red arm wrapped around the stranger's neck before the guy could so much as whimper, "shit."

Sensing the possible need for backup amidst the tumultuous scene, Peter kicked the stool aside, causing a waiting Miles to come tumbling through the opened kitchen doors. He would've brained himself on the counter if Peter hadn't reached over and caught him.

By the time the two Spiders were up and ready, Daredevil had already disappeared via the ruins of the shattered front door, dragging the choking and near unconscious gun-toting man with him.

"Who was that?" Miles shouted, breathless. "Daredevil!?"

"Well it sure as hell wasn't Deadpool," Peter griped back. "Come on, we better suit up and follow him." Then, they paused. "Hey, Miles?"

"Yea, Pete?"

"You didn't happen to look out the back door, did you?"

"To find an alley full of knocked out people in ski masks? Yes, yes I did."

"Ah. Alrighty dighty then."

The two struggled into their skintight suits and left, using a trail of blood, glass, and Spidey Sense to follow their surprise savior.

}>||/

"I don't remember sending you an invitation to the party," The Punisher told the devil vigilante in a suspicious voice, though not necessarily a threatening one, "Not that I don't... appreciate, your unique skills."

Matt jump kicked an oncoming assailant with so much power and energy that both he and the other person fell to the floor afterwards.

"Yea," Frank said, possibly to himself, "unique."

"Well," Matt wheezed, ribs aching as he laid sideways on the cold cement flooring, "I wasn't exactly expecting you to be here either, you know." He slowly got to his feet, wobbly unsteadily.

Frank hovered around the fallen assailant speculatively. He grunted, then kicked their head in with one great big steel-toed boot.

Matt's lips thinned as the slow heartbeat of the unconscious person was abruptly ended.

"They were already unconscious." Matt let as much disapproval leak into his tone as possible.

"Yeah?" Frank sounded unimpressed, "And now they'll stay that way. Permanently."

Matt exhaled with slightly more force than necessary.

"So... that uppity reporter texted you too?" Frank asked, only half interested as he grabbed the body by the ankle and began dragging it, most likely to the alcove Matt could tell was there by the way the sound of their voices echoed off the tunnel's cement walls.

"Reporter?" Matt frowned.

Frank Castle stopped what he was doing to make exasperated noises. "I'll put it real simple; how did you get your party invite? That reporter, Page? Words in the wind? Did you follow your 'Devil Sense'," then, muttered, "please tell me you don't seriously have one of those."

Matt smiled sharply. "Broke a few bones. Got someone to talk."

Frank snorted.

Good old Frank.

"And what about you?" Matt asked.

Frank grunted mysteriously. "My butcher's been missing for four days."

Matt could've sworn that his soul ascended him his body at that moment. "What?"

"Yeah," Frank grunted again as he finally lugged around the body he'd been idly holding and turned it over. The sound of pockets being patted; he was searching for something on the body. "My favorite butcher. He saves the bones and scraps and all that extra shit for my dog, and I come to collect them every Tuesday. Except - " Frank triumphantly shook the gun he apparently unearthed. "Aha!"

"Except he's been missing since Friday," Matt finished for him and sighed.

Frank stood up, kicking the body the rest of the way into the alcove. "Yeah, that's right." A pause. Frank moved closer. "Hey Red, you never did say about what the fuck you're doing here. And as much as I love this frou-frou camaraderie we've got going on, I'd still like an answer."

Matt contemplated a reply, turning his head around in a swivel to listen to the long, long tunnels. "Well," he exhaled, "If you'd believe it, my favorite butcher has also gone missing."

He started to make his way down the tunnel with the most amount of unnatural noise.

"Bullshit," Frank snapped angrily. The sound of him slinging his new gun into his belt followed behind Matt as they matched paces.

"You ever tried the teriyaki?" Matt asked as conversationally as one could in echoing, decrepit tunnels.

Frank scoffed, apparently not believing Matt for a second.

Matt hummed. "I have to say – I'm partial to the teriyaki jerky but the kebabs are also quite - "

"Yeah, yeah," Frank interrupted, "I don't know what your angle here is, but knock it off already. I don't care if you don't know my butcher or not."

"Actually," Matt corrected petulantly, "You know my butcher. I met Foggy first."

"What the- who the hell is Foggy?" Frank snapped, and Matt's heart sunk for half a second; then Frank let out a quiet laugh. "Is that really what Nelson goes by? What a fucking terrible name. I didn't know his parents hated him."

Matt frowned, defensive. "It's a nickname."

Frank let out a low whistle. "What can be so bad that Foggy starts looking good?"

Matt cocked his head. "Someone's up ahead. No – there's two of them."

"Are you expecting guests?" Frank braced his loud feet against the floor and drew his weapon.

"No," Matt confirmed coldly.

"Well," Frank smiled so widely, Matt could hear his lips pull back from his teeth. "Let's give 'em a big ol' welcome, shall we?"

The noise of two light-footed (possibly bare-footed) people sloughing their way down the tunnel towards them bounced around in Matt's head.

Frank's trigger finger began to press down.

Matt's back straightened suddenly. "Don't!" He shouted in the nick of time.

Frank cursed, but angled the shot towards the floor instead. "What the hell?" He demanded angrily.

Peter, his employee- no, Spider-Man, smelling of spandex and sweat, approached cautiously.

"Who's this?" Frank asked, waving his gun about in a seemingly careless gesture that Matt knew wasn't careless at all.

Miles Morales, no doubt in his similar but black suit, took a cautious step backwards.

"The Punisher!" The smaller one whispered to the bigger one in a somewhat alarmed tone.

"Spider-Man." Matt acknowledged to the first, slightly taller Spider-man. "And... Spider-Man," he greeted the slightly shorter Spider-man.

"You've gotta be shitting me," Frank said, "They're both called the same damn thing? Well, that's a fucking spectacular idea."

Matt quickly spoke before either Spider-Man could reply. "What are you two doing here?"

"Uhh..." Peter-slash-Spider-Man quickly began to answer and take the lead but seemed at a loss for words. "Hi... Frank... DD..."

Matt sighed, knowing that when Peter got flustered it took them an extra moment to speak coherently, and Frank was already impatient, so he turned to Miles. "Well?"

Miles startled a bit but then nodded quickly as he answered. "Uh, my... Spidey Sense told me you needed help." He might've stuck a finger in the air as he answered, but it wasn't quite clear.

Matt closed his eyes. Sometimes he could forget how young the two Spider-Man were, but at this moment that was the only thought crossing his mind.

Frank breathed out in disbelief. "So what's that one doing here?" He asked, using his gun to point to Peter because he was an asshole and couldn't just use a finger like a normal person.

Peter floundered. "My Spidey Sense also told me Daredevil... needed... help..."

Frank's bodily aura felt very unimpressed. "Well he's got me, so... scram, spiders."

Peter bristled. "You haven't even found Foggy yet! Let us help!"

"Oh, let me guess," Frank sneered in disbelief, "Nelson's your butcher too?"

Miles and Peter both shuffled their feet, bumping their arms against each other as if seeking physical comfort.

Children.

"Yeah...?" Peter offered weakly. "I just really love... beef."

Miles giggled highly. "Tell that to Johnny. Or better yet, tell that to Deadp -" Peter hushed him by smacking a hand around his mouth, though they both smelled equally as excited and liable to start giggling.

Spider giggle fits were the worst, most adorable things ever.

Matt decided to intervene before they both devolved into their usual shenanigans. "We've got this covered. Go back to Queens, and go back to Brooklyn."

"No," Peter replied stubbornly, "We're all adults here, we can do what we want. This isn't even in Hell's Kitchen anymore!"

"Yea!" Miles backed his older partner up. "We'd respect your territory if it were, but it isn't, so what's so wrong with a couple of extra spiders to help you out?"

"How is -" Matt began to snap and then stopped, silently berating himself. 'How is sixteen an adult?' he had almost said in his anger. He pushed it down and considered it – they were probably just being nosy, and possibly trying to re-pay for saving their green asses back at the coffee shop. Lord above knows they would've gotten themselves shot if Daredevil hadn't ‘conveniently’ shown up.

"We're wasting time," Matt said instead and began walking down the tunnel past where the Spider Troupe had come from.

"Wait, hold on a sec," Frank said, motioning his arm hard enough at the two Spiders that it caused a small gust of air disturbance. "If you came from the South tunnel and met up with us, then that means we're going the wrong way. We need to be going East."

Matt frowned, turned delicately to listen. "Are you sure?"

Frank grinned in that unnervingly loud way again. "Trust me, Red. When have I ever let you down?"

Matt didn't even dignify that with a response.

Peter, the bearer of bad decisions, however, did.

"Hey, how come he gets called Red?" The reddest Spider-Man complained, "I'm more red than he is! He's, like, maroon. I'm cherry red; don't I get dibs on obvious nicknames?"

"Well, now you can get called Cherry," Frank growled back as if he just couldn't help his own anger, stomping past a startled Spider-Man, "how's that for nicknames?"

"What about me?" Piped up Miles.

"You can be called Spider-Man."

Spider-Man looked over at 'Cherry', smug as could be. "Really? Thanks, Punisher."

"Cherry!?" Exclaimed 'Cherry' the Spider-Man. "But- but that- we've taken French, so that sounds like a, a term of endearment or something..."

The Punisher stopped and looked over his shoulder at them. "Wouldn't you want it to be?" Asked the terrifying man.

Peter swallowed. "...Sure, okay, cool, I'll- I'll stick with Cherry, no problem."

Miles stifled laughter behind a fist.

Matt secretly smiled as he sensed his employee's abject horror at being called chéri by one of the most feared and brutal vigilantes in NYC. "Come on," he urged, "we haven't got much time to lose."

The motley crew pushed forward into the tunnels.

;;;)

Spider-Man offered to use his invisibility powers to scout ahead into the spherical room the Foggy Rescue Team came across at the end of the East tunnel.

Mere seconds after leaving Peter to their doom, standing uncomfortably close to The Punisher's hulking frame and in Daredevil's unwelcoming silence, Miles popped his head back out and chirped, "He's here! Foggy's here! Nobody's around, c'mon c'mon - "

Peter lightly screeched as they were basically carried into the room, apparently because they didn't move out of Frank's way in time, the jerk.

"Move it, Cherry." Frank deposited them out of the way of the door, stomping into the center of the room. "Nelson, you stub-nosed fuck, you had me worried."

Foggy, still sitting at the chair Peter saw in the photo but looking a little better, slowly lifted his head and his eyes went wide as he took in just who was standing there.

"Daredevil!" He squawked, quickly sitting straight in his chair instead of his previous worn out slumping. "And Frank!"

"What are we?" Miles mumbled to Peter. "Chopped spider bits?"

Peter didn't snort, because they wanted Miles to understand the acute betrayal they'd felt. "I don't know, Spider-Man," they huffed, "I think I'd rather be chopped cherry bits."

Miles blew a raspberry. Then obviously regretted it, because he was wearing a mask. "Ew..."

Ha ha.

The four took in the lack of guards and the way nothing tied Foggy down to force him to stay in the room. There was an empty open doorway on the left, adjacent to the open door on the right that they had all come from.

"You seem to be doing suspiciously well for being held captive," Daredevil observed archly, causing the two Spiders to go cautiously quiet.

That made Foggy frown as well. The motion seemed to accentuate the dark bruise below his cheek and the dried, encrusted blood that trailed down his chin.

"Uhh, listen," he said, wobbly and faint, crossing his arms, "I'm not gonna apologize for not having the snot beat out of me when you got here. If you wanted to see that, then you shouldn't have been late."

"That's not what I - " But Daredevil was easily cut off.

"Late?" Frank scoffed, but his usual amounts of anger seemed absent from both his face and voice. "Absolutely no fucking gratitude, Nelson, unbelievable."

Foggy grinned softly, his split lip not having healed enough to be as full of a smile as usual. "Late," he confirmed, eyes twinkling delightedly, "Like, what'd you guys stop for a coffee break or what? Jessica was here almost two hours ago, actually don’t quote me on that, they took my watch so I have no idea." He considered the two Spider-Man, who waved at him from their position very far away from Frank Castle. "Did you have to stop at the daycare or something?"

"Why are all y'all like this," Peter complained. "We're not perpetual kids! And we're here to help!"

"Could'a fooled me, Cherry," Frank grunted. Peter resisted the urge to pick up a rock and lob it at his stupid head.

Foggy made an... interesting noise.

"Jessica?" Miles asked. Peter immediately looked around the room or Spider-Woman, but when they came up with nothing, they shrugged at the other Spider-Man.

Then they pretended not to jump ten feet in the air when The Punisher groaned long and loud from the position of way too close. "Not this bitch again..."

Peter turned around and glared. "You are so rude."

Frank glared ten times harder. "Can it, Cherry. If you wanted a PG night, you shouldn't'a come along!"

"Jones?" Daredevil asked, specifically ignoring his other three temporary teammates and their drama, "She still here?" Foggy nodded, tearing his gaze away from the bickering Spider-Man and Punisher. "Well, where in here?"

Foggy shrugged and then winced, rubbing his shoulder absentmindedly. "Said something about a master computer being somewhere down here – point is that I don't know. She told me to stay put, and if you think I wasn't going to stay put after she told me to, then you have another thing coming, my friend."

"Well, we're here now," Daredevil negotiated, "We'll most likely meet up with her as we leave, and - "

"Nuh uh," Foggy protested, "She said to stay put. I'm not an idiot; I'm gonna stay here and wait for her."

Daredevil's jaw locked angrily. "I'm sure she'd -"

Frank scoffed. "Well. I think you've got this covered," he jerked a thumb towards the hallway where they had come from. "Time for me to head out." He turned around, took a step, and then paused. "Be seeing you next Tuesday, Nelson?

Foggy laughed. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine, Frank, go on."

Without looking back he raised a hand. As he called out, "Be seeing you, too, Red, Spider-Man, Cherry," he reached around and smacked Peter low on their back, causing them to squawk and stumble forward.

They shook a fist at Frank's retreating back.

That asshole had the gall to laugh about it, too.

"I can't believe the Punisher calls you Cherry now," Miles cackled. "And what was that? A love tap? I'm betting it was a love tap. Big dudes have a habit of giving you those, by the way, if you weren’t aware - "

"Shut," Peter told him stiltedly.

Foggy's eyes widened. He pitched his head forward a few times at Daredevil in some indecipherable gesture. "Chéri?"

Miles nodded enthusiastically, still laughing lightly. "Yeah! It's so cuuute." He dodged Peter's annoyed hand swipes.

When the two Spiders calmed down, there was a pause where no one said anything. It was physically awkward. Foggy was staring and wouldn't stop, seemingly disturbed in some way. Daredevil just looked pained.

"Well, I can't believe the Punisher goes to Foggy's shop," Peter broke the small bout of silence with. "Can anybody else believe it? Nobody? Good, because me neither."

"Bet you he's a tipper," Miles continued to cajole, and when Peter turned to look at him, he started defensively, "Whaaat? You've seen him – all that gear's gotta cost a pretty penny. He must be the guy that pays for dinner - " he dodged more swipes from Peter, "I know you know how to identify a rich guy, don't even play- ow, okay! I'll stop! Plus, he and Foggy are practically friends."

"Speaking of friends," a low voice said from the left door, startling all of them except for Daredevil, who sighed in a resigned way, "You didn't say you were expecting company, Foggy."

Foggy both lost color and gained some red in his cheeks; a concerning conundrum. "You and me both. The more the merrier, I always say."

"You called us babies in need of a daycare like, barely five minutes ago," Miles deadpanned.

Foggy shrugged. "You guys sound like you're both in high school, college at the best, and it makes me distinctly uncomfortable to think about you two actually getting hurt, so I cover it up with humor."

"...Yea okay fair point," Miles said quietly.

"Ms. Jones." Daredevil inclined his head.

"Murdock," she responded easily.

When nobody reacted, she turned blatantly towards Peter and Miles to say, "Owner of Matthew's Cafe, yes, that Murdock, you morons."

"Ohh, shit!" Foggy yelled. "Hey, oh my God, she broke them! She broke the Spider guys!"

Said Spider guys were both having conniptions some ways away, grabbing at each other and jumping all over the place yelling. Peter had picked Miles up at some point and was doing squats, still yelling.

"Matt!"

"Murdock!"

“Matt!”

"Maybe it's another Murdock - "

"Our lives aren't that simple for that to happen!"

"Ohh, my God, oh my God, oh my- For fuck's sakes, Pe- Spidey, put me down already!"

"Sorry."

Daredevil- no, Matthew Murdock, holy shit, how did Peter never see the resemblance, they were both blind and had the same exact lopsided smile – let out a slow breath.

"Really?" He asked dryly, over the noise of two normally loud Spiders reaching sub-woofer levels of commotion, "Did you have to casually give me away like that? How am I ever going to control these kids again after this."

Jessica didn't look even remotely guilty. "Trish told me that Foggy already knew. Whoops, my mistake, now two more people know. Problem solved. You're welcome."

"How was my employees not knowing a 'problem?'" Matt crossed his arms. Meanwhile Peter and Miles were still shouting to each other and Foggy had quieted down, settling for listing slightly to the side tiredly and occasionally cursing to himself. "And how did Trish know?"

Jessica scoffed. "Please."

Matt sighed.

"Will you guys shut up?" Jessica finally demanded, turning her attention to the other two people in the room.

"But! But! Matthew Murdock?!" Peter protested, like they were trying to will her to understand why this was shattering, world perception burning news. Because it was!

Their boss was Daredevil! Their boss, as Daredevil, had weird sniffing and sensing powers and there was a 99% chance he knew that Peter and Miles were Spider-Man!

“All that kitchen gossip he must’ve heard,” Miles groaned, clutching the sides of his face in worry. “We’ve been exposed!”

Peter let out an aimless cry. “I know!”

As one who could sense strong emotions like regret, Matt apparently couldn't resist rubbing it in, just a little bit. "Doesn't seem like such a good idea anymore, does it?"

Jessica glared at him. "Oh, grow up," she said bitterly, "And seriously, what the fuck," she turned her direction back to Peter and Miles, "You didn't know that your boss was fucking Daredevil?"

"I thought you said that he was Daredevil?" Miles muttered sassily, and Peter elbowed him. Miles glared at them. "Rude. She shouldn't have yelled at us like we were stupid!"

"I knooow," Peter agreed, "but, but... Daredevil... He's right there! What if he gets mad about all the- the broken door and the broken kitchen lock and how much we cuss and stuff?"

Matt turned slightly in their direction. "Can I still install that swear jar you were talking about?"

The Spiders squealed in dismay, clutching at each other as if they were watching a horror movie unfold.

Foggy had a wide-eyed look as he observed the two Spider-Man pensively, looking like he was connecting some dots. "You guys know that you're being loud even when you're trying to whisper to each other, right?"

Jessica rolled her eyes. "I don't care about a couple of baby vigilante's identities, you two can cool it. Now, if you'll all be so kind as to shut the fuck up," she paused, nodded at the silence, and then continued, "I've found the best route to get out of here, and – I don't know about all of you – but I want to get out of here and go home."

"Is the path clear of altercations?" Matt asked. Matt. Holy shit.

"This is either the scariest thing in my life," Miles breathed, "or the most bad ass."

"Yeah, yeah, everyone's dead, I took care of it," she casually confirmed.

Peter and Miles both had stifled objections sitting in their throat at that. Neither of them were exactly gung-ho about the idea of killing, for any reason.

Matt winced. Jessica rolled her eyes.

"Come on," she said as she lifted Foggy from his seat easily with one hand. Foggy's feet skittered as he tried to balance his weight, wincing in pain, but Jessica held him firmly in support.

"Yeesh..." Foggy muttered. "Is it just me, or is the room spinning."

"It's just you," Jessica said roughly before anyone could even open their mouth. She slung Foggy's arm over her shoulder and took more of his weight.

Foggy blinked sluggishly.

"Are you alright?" Matt asked, voice pinched in concern.

"He's fine," Jessica said, before Foggy could even hope to respond.

"Er. Yeah," Foggy slurred, "Totally fine. Was- was it just me, or are Spider-Man and Frank Castle dating now?"

Matt scowled as Jessica carried the butcher away.

Peter, for the first time ever, patted Daredevil on the shoulder. "He'll be alright, Matt," they assured him.

"Yeah!" Miles nodded. "Before you know it, you two will be back to kissing in front of the croissant tower!"

Jessica snorted.

"We do not- we don't!" Foggy protested. "We- tell them, Matt!"

"Okay, suuuure," Miles teased, and the two Spiders laughed conspiratorially. "You two've never kissed in the cafe, riiiight."

"Speaking of the cafe..." Matt smiled coolly. "Did either of you two lock up the cafe before you left?"

Peter and Miles's laughter came to an abrupt stop.

Matt smirked.

They all left to the sound of Peter complaining; "Don't smirk, you- you broke the front door! Of course we didn't 'lock up', the door was already locked and you broke it! You broke the whole thing!"

}>||/

"So, there I am," Foggy said, both palms held loftily vertical as he moved them continuously to gesture. "I've just finished dealing with the angry old guy that thought Nelson's was a restaurant and had tried to threaten that he'd sue everything I had all because I said I wasn't going to cook a steak for him. And, not a moment after he leaves, in walks some buff ass macho man with at least three knives strapped to each leg."

"Oh, my God," Miles whispered and sat forward in his chair eagerly. "So what did you do?"

"Well, firstly, I said my prayers," Foggy said, pointing out factually, then winked in the spirit of all things Foggy, "Because I thought I was about to become deader than a door nail. Then," Foggy lifted both hands again subconsciously as he spoke., "I said 'Welcome to Nelson's Butchery.'"

"Seriously?" Miles asked in disbelief. "Foggy, that's either really brave or really dumb, I can't tell which."

"Definitely dumb, do not try it at home," Foggy joked, shrugging. "So this guy walks in, looks at me and goes," Foggy lowered his voice in a comical attempt to mimic Frank Castle, "'You Nelson?'"

From the register, Karen snorted. "He doesn't sound like that."

"Karen!" Foggy threw his arms up theatrically. "It's called drama! I'm trying to add some pizzazz here!"

"Ooh, my mistake," Karen leaned on one elbow on the counter, her head coming forward to rest her chin on her upraised palm. "I thought you were trying to sound as if you had been gargling sandpaper, but excuse me, pizzazz expert, please carry on."

"You can't gargle sandpaper," Foggy huffed, "It doesn't work like that, you philistine."

"So?" Miles pressed eagerly. "What happened? What'd he do? What'd you do?"

"Well I said 'Yeah, I'm Nelson' because obviously I am, and the guy just nods. Then he asks – while looking at me with that look, you know what I mean – he asks, 'you know if dogs are supposed to have bones or not?'"

Foggy paused, folding his hands in front of his lips and rolling his eyes skyward.

"If it was literally anyone else," Foggy shook his head in faux remorse, "You know I would've replied something along the lines of 'of course dogs are supposed to have bones – that's their skeleton!' But," Foggy shook his head again, "since it was this guy, and I clearly value my life, I did no such thing of course."

"Way to live on the edge," Kate teased, suddenly making known that she had been listening after all even though she had never looked up from her trig homework before that moment.

"Go destroy the housing market, you millennial," Foggy retorted without any heat behind it.

"Oh, my God," Kate, who was clearly too young to be a millennial, groaned, "Stop showing him memes, Miles, you're slowly ruining his brain."

"Hey, I'm groovy. I can keep up with all you hip meme-loving youngsters," Foggy cackled when both Kate and Miles let out soft groans of further, mild secondhand embarrassment.

"Anyways," Foggy continued on, "So I told him that dogs can't have chicken bones but that I thought maybe other more durable bones were fine. And I asked if he had a dog, even though I thought the more time that he spent talking to me, the more increased the odds were that I was going to die."

Karen shook her head in slow, disbelieving small shakes. "Unbelievable."

"How's that for living on the edge, huh?" Foggy, who clearly had not been killed by Frank Castle, gloated.

Kate scoffed, unimpressed, pencil scratching lazily as she continued doing her math.

"So?" Miles prompted.

"He did in fact have a dog. And so I was like, 'you know what, I have a couple of scraps that aren't aesthetically pleasing enough to sell, why don't you take them for your dog?' And the guy – I swear on my life - "

"Why do you keep calling him 'the guy' when we all know it's The Punisher?" Kate interrupted.

"Yeah, I was wondering about that," Miles admitted.

"It was kind of distracting, yeah," Karen agreed.

An offended, disbelieving noise left Foggy's mouth. "You guys have no sense of drama! Of storytelling! I haven't revealed whether it's him or not!"

"But we all know it's him!" Kate protested.

"That's literally how this started," Miles pointed out, "We asked you how you knew the Punisher, and you said you'd tell us how you two met. There is no 'reveal.' We all know, Foggy."

Foggy sighed. "Fine, you party poopers, just take all the suspense out of the story, why don't ya'? Fine, fine – if you all are so smart then I'll just get to the point all boring-like, I guess."

Karen snorted. It was drowned by the wind whistling through the boarded up front doors.

Foggy tilted his head, pondering where he had left off. "So - " Foggy gave his audience a sweeping glare as he emphasized, "the Punisher was like, 'yeah cool sounds great.'"

"He did not say, 'yeah, cool, sounds great'," Miles protested, sounding aghast.

"I'm paraphrasing! You all don't appreciate my drama, so I thought I'd just - " Foggy threw his arms up as some sort of physical interpretation as to what he'd do instead of being dramatic in his storytelling.

"Yeah," Karen wryly said, sounding extremely amused, "You're not dramatic at all."

"Anyways," Foggy continued on, half-heartedly eyeballing Karen as Miles snickered at them both. "Well turns out, he really loves his dog. Like, we're talking he probably checks out that one 'does the dog die in this' website before he watches movies. I mean he really, really loves his dog!"

Kate made an absent-minded woofing noise. Miles giggled.

Foggy waved a hand in circular motion. "So when I offered his dogs free meat, somehow that translated to him as 'hey I'm actually a half-decent person, maybe you should come back and not kill me.' And so ever since, he's been a loyal customer. Once he even brought his dog, who is an absolute sweetheart. Name was Max, and as much as I wanted to tell Frank that his dog had a very average dog name, I held it in. You'd be proud of me."

"Wow," Miles said, leaning back in his chair.

"'Wow' is right." Kate looked up from her finally completed homework. "I was really expecting more."

Foggy spluttered.

Karen shrugged. "We can't all meet a vigilante by being saved from an assassin."

Kate inclined her head. "True." She paused. "I don't know if he counts as an actual vigilante though."

"What?" Karen was surprised. She rested her hands on her hips as she asked incredulously, "You don't think Daredevil counts as a vigilante?"

"Daredevil?" Kate laughed. "I was talking about Clint."

"Who?"

"Clint Barton?" Kate asked, confused. "Were you not referencing – oh, my God." Her eyes lit up in excitement. "Karen, were you almost assassinated?"

"Were you?" Karen asked, quickly catching on to how the misunderstanding had happened.

"Wow," Miles observed calmly, "You two should start a club or something."

The bell chimed as the cafe's front door was opened. It gave an almighty creak, and was nearly yanked out of the person's hand by the wind, but it was eventually tamed in all its ugly board glory and shut.

"Peter!" Miles and Karen greeted in excitement simultaneously.

"Peter, thank goodness," Foggy breathlessly exclaimed, "Now there's at least one person who'll appreciate my storytelling skills."

Peter blinked slowly, turning from their task of swiping their punch-in card. "Um. Sure, yeah."

"Oh, hey, Peter?" Miles waited as Peter reached to tie their loosening apron strings more securely.

"Hm?"

"Have you ever almost been assassinated?" Miles asked.

"By a vigilante," Kate excitedly prompted, like a weirdo.

"Oh, right!" Miles nodded, clicking a one-handed finger-gun at Kate in gratitude. "By a vigilante?"

Peter froze. They did not want to answer that question. "Uhhhhhh..."

"That doesn't sound like a no!" Kate cackled.

"No way!" Miles cried out, sounding oddly and supremely jealous.

"Uhhhhhhhhh..." Peter said again, hand still hovering near the machine. "I should really clock in."

"I bet it was more than one," Kate said knowingly.

Peter tripped and caught themself on the counter ledge.

"Whaaaat?" Peter laughed, high pitched. "Noooo! Pffffftttt! Why- why would there ever, uh, ever be more than one, hahaha?"

"No one's asked me if I've ever been nearly assassinated by a vigilante," Foggy pointed out.

"Have you?" Miles asked, face scrunched in disbelief.

"No way," Karen said. "Daredevil and the Punisher practically love Foggy. Who's left after that? Spider-Man? None of the Spiders would do it, not even Spider-Woman, c'mon."

"Well, I have, as a matter of fact!" Foggy said loudly.

"Well who was it?" Kate asked.

Foggy paused dramatically. "Well, when I say assassinated..."

Kate groaned. "I knew it! Cheapskate you are, Franklin Nelson."

"Does nearly giving me a heart attack count?" Foggy continued on, as if he hadn't heard, "Because I've had my fair share of vigilantes lurking in the dark and scaring the absolute bejeezus outta me."

Kate, who clearly did not think that it counted because she coveted all things truly violent, rolled her eyes.

Karen looked like she was bordering on becoming uncomfortable with the conversation.

"Your club membership invitation has been revoked," Miles said jokingly in imitation of a robotic, automated voice tone.

"Hey, Miles." Peter jerked a thumb towards the kitchen door. "Is there anything that I should be checking on when I'm in there?"

"No, Matt's back there, so everything should be pretty good. But there's bread in the..." Miles thought for a moment, "the far left oven you can check on. It still has like three hours to go."

Peter nodded and disappeared through the kitchen door.

The door swung back open mere seconds later as Matt came out, carrying a titanic slice of cake on a glass platter.

"That's not on the menu," Miles pointed out, eyebrows rising.

"No," Karen agreed from the counter, sounding amused, "It's not."

"I love tiramisu," Foggy moaned, tone gently reverent as he stared up at Matt softly with pleading brown eyes.

Matt's shoulder lifted, almost a lazy shrug. "I know."

Foggy made a comical dog-whimpering noise.

"Enjoy your cake." Matt set the platter down on the table where Foggy was sitting.

"I'd enjoy it more, Matt," Foggy assured him, dramatically lifting a hand to his forehead in a dainty gesture, "if you sat down and ate it with me."

Matt's entire countenance softened.

The entire cafe had to hold in their "awwww!"s when Matt sat down, resting his long white cane against the booth's outside carefully.

"Miles?" He asked. Hesitantly, Matt placed his hand on top of the table, outstretched and palm side up.

"Break time's over?" Miles guessed, already standing up to leave. But he could hardly begrudge it when Foggy was grinning at Matt like he had hung the moon.

"You, too, Kate," Matt added.

Kate let out a puff of amused air. "I am a paying customer!" She protested.

"Scram, kid," Foggy agreed, reaching across the table and placing his hand in Matt's.

Kate rolled her eyes. "Fine." She stood up. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, mister boss man," she called out flippantly as she left.

Karen coughed, clearly a poorly disguised laugh.

Foggy rolled his eyes. "The cafe's not even open yet, Karen."

"I'm just doing my job!" She pointed out.

"Well go do it somewhere else!" Foggy said with a pout. "Besides, you people probably aren't going to get many customers with your front wall looking like that," he pointed to the destroyed front doors and its shabby board-up job, "and I've got limited time before I have to go and open my own shop, so chop chop, missy! Make like Timone and Pumba, go sing in the trees about our love or something."

"Go on, Karen," Matt advised her. "Go stop Peter and Miles from eavesdropping."

Karen laughed. "What makes you think I won't?" She teased, as she turned to go through the kitchen door. "Have fun on your 'sorry you got kidnapped' date!"

Foggy smiled at Matt, the warm feelings transferring even though the other man couldn't see, as he opened his mouth to take a bite of the delicious -

The bell above the cafe's door chimed as someone walked through.

"Good morning," Johnny Storm said jubilantly, bounding in.

"We're closed," Matt said.

"Yea, dude," Foggy added, "Can you not see the state this place is in?"

Johnny frowned. "It's 7:03. You always open at 7:00."

Matt scowled. "Out!"

Johnny backed away. "I'm going, I'm going! Geez!" He paused, foot in the doorway, the bell ringing as he hesitated. "Will you tell Peter that - "

"Out!" Matt angrily said again.

Johnny went.

There was a moment of silence.

Then, Foggy burst into laughter.

"Did you just kick the Human Torch out of your cafe because he interrupted our date?" Foggy wheezed.

Matt flushed.

"Matt," Foggy cackled, "Sometimes, you really are something else.

---

Miles caught the piece of broken off cookie in his mouth expertly, and was treated to a round of applause from Karen, who was camped out on top of the kitchen table.

"Are we even allowed to eat this stuff?" Asked Peter, who was washing some leftover dishes in the sink.

"Why, do you think Matt's gonna come busting in here, go sniff sniff, and say 'I smell somebody breaking some rules'?"

Peter sputtered a laugh at Miles' reasoning. "No, but now I do."

"I don't think even Matt has that great of a sense of smell," Karen said, biting into a cookie and pretending like a shower of dry crumbs didn't just fall into her lap. "Although sometimes he does seem to have an uncanny ability to know exactly what you're doing, especially if it’s something embarrassing."

Miles and Peter looked at each other.

"Yea," said Miles, "an uncanny ability. Open up, Peter!"

"No!" Peter protested, dodging the cookie Miles was trying to shove into their mouth. "I- my hands are wet! I can't grab it- mmph!"

"Chirp chirp, here's the mama biiird," Miles cooed. Peter choked the cookie down, glaring daggers the whole time.

Karen laughed and looked at least mildly concerned for Peter's well-being, but apparently not enough to do anything about it.

Peter coughed a couple of times after swallowing the hastily chewed cookie, giving Miles the stink eye. "I said I didn't want to be baby bird!"

Miles stared blandly at Peter and ate another cookie, shrugging. “I needed an excuse to make you complicit in us breaking the rules, like a group social death.”

“Miles! Not cool.”

Karen watched the two younger employees with a smile. Occasionally, she would look to the kitchen doors, like she wanted to spy on her friends and their date, but she would always look back and get caught up in what the 'kids' were doing.

When Peter was done with the dishes and was busy drying their hands on a paper towel, Karen decided that it was time for gossip.

"Hey, have you guys heard about The Punisher and Spider-Man? The red one," Karen began with, "Apparently, Foggy said he heard from 'his sources' that they're dating! Isn’t that weird? You’d think Spider-Man would’ve picked someone less… just less.”

Peter had a fantastic moment where they slammed the side of their arm into a tray on the counter, causing it to loudly crash to the floor.

Miles laughed from behind a fist as he reached down and picked the tray up off the floor, Peter's stunned face soon to follow. "You okay, Pete?"

"Just peachy," Pete responded, giving their friend the side-eye as they attempted (and failed) to casually lean on the counter. "What, um, what were you saying, Karen?"

To her credit, Karen only looked weirded out for a maximum of ten seconds. "Well, I was saying that Foggy said that somebody told him that The Punisher and Spider-Man were totally dating," she nodded with a faux serious expression, "Also, he says he has proof."

"Proof!?" Peter squeaked. Miles was being distracting and slapping them on the shoulder excitedly, looking way too happy about all this. "What kind of proof?"

Karen shrugged. "Dunno. He just said that Frank was heard calling Spider-Man – again, the older red one, thank God – chéri. It means something romantic in French, I think."

"It means 'darling'," Miles cooed. Peter had a strangely murderous look on their face. "Or 'dear', either one's good."

Karen just grinned at their antics. "Well, whatever it means – it's heating up in the vigilante gossip world, and I've got front row seats. Foggy said people already have bets on how long they'll last in a relationship before Frank goes nuclear and stages a dramatic breakup." She popped more cookie into her mouth. "I've got ten bucks on Spider-Man crying on a tall building somewhere, y'know, like he used to when Johnny Storm wouldn't give him the time of day."

"That's fantastic," Miles said, barely containing his laughter, "I think that's the best thing I've heard all week."

Peter, who thought that Spider-man and the Punisher were not dating and that it jolly well was not 'the best thing ever', highly disagreed.

Also, never in their entire life did they ever mourn the loss of attention from Johnny Storm of all people. That was utter slander!

"Between Foggy and Matt; Spider-man and the Punisher," Karen mused, reaching for another cookie, "You'd think something was in the air."

"Someone tell Johnny," Miles chirped happily.

Peter threw his cookie at Miles' smug face.

---

Text From: just dont answer

just dont answer

so i herd u had a bit of a fling with franken castle ;)))

 MY NAME'S NOT 'CHERRY'

put that meme back where it came from or so help me

just dont answer

;(