Work Text:
The shop's bells rang out as Peter walked through the front. He seemed oblivious to the chaos happening outside, concentrating on his phone instead. Without looking up, he throws his keys on the counter, pulling out one of those tall chairs from underneath and slumping down on it.
The shop was completely empty except for a barrage of noises coming from the kitchen. There was a loud echo throughout the building from someone dropping a glass on the ground. He could hear them hiss under their breath. “ Shit! ”
Peter immediately whipped his head up, staring at the kitchen door with a look of confusion. “You good?” He called out.
The voice seemed startled at his question, piping up immediately. “Shit- Yeah, sorry! I’ll be out in a sec!”
Shuffling came from behind the door as she shoved the door open, sweat beading from her forehead and hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. She was in her work uniform, although a bit ruined from smoke and burnt flakes coming off of it. Her hair was in a ponytail like it always was, with a sunflower pin clipped into it.
Peter raised an eyebrow, amused. “What happened to you?”
She looked up at him and let out a sigh of relief. “Oh thank god it’s just you, Parker.”
“Rude. And you didn’t even answer my question!”
Dali shook her head. “I tried making a new recipe and left it in the oven for too long.”
Peter nodded.
It was a common mistake. He would know because it’s practically a daily occurrence at the Parker apartment. At this point, he thinks the fire alarm is sick and tired of his and his Aunt’s absolutely terrible cooking skills.
“The regular?” She asked with a bored tone, walking towards the counter.
Peter sat in contemplation for a second before speaking up. “Eh, I need to try something new. New year's resolutions, I guess. I never complete those anyways.”
“I don’t think I’ve met anyone who actually does at this point.” She said, agreeing with him.
“What do you recommend?”
She shrugged. “I like the cheese BLT.”
“Maybe not that… I’m lactose intolerant. What else?”
“What?” She gaped. “I’ve known you for what- 3 years and only now I’m finding out about this? I feel betrayed.”
“Why are you acting like it’s a crime to be lactose intolerant?” He drew his lips into a straight line, staring directly at her.
“I didn’t say it’s a crime, you’ve just become more weirder.” She laughed out, mostly to herself.
Peter blinked. “More weirder?”
“Yeah.” She said it like it was obvious. “I’m not the one getting diarrhea after eating a scoop of ice cream.”
Peter frowned. “You’re just over-exaggerating.”
Captain America’s shield crashed through the shop’s window, shooting glass everywhere. Peter looked unmindful of the loud noise, instead choosing to glance over all of the menu options.
Captain America came running into the store suddenly, clothes burning at the edges from the fire. His lower face was almost covered in cuts and black ash and smoke.
He screamed out to the two while running in the direction his shield went. “What are you two doing? Go get to the safe zone!” A crash resounded as he finished his sentence, making more screams arise.
Peter ignored him. “Can I try some of the- hmm… Grilled chicken sandwich?”
She tapped some things onto the screen. “You want a 4 or 8 inch?”
“What? No- I wanted a sample.”
She looked at him incredulously. “A sample. At a sandwich shop.” He nodded gleefully and she just sighed.
A trash can crashed into another window of their shop.
“You’re paying for that, Captain.” She called out.
“I didn’t even do anything!”
“My point exactly.”
Another huge explosion sounded behind them with even more screaming. (If that was even possible.) Cries were heard as the aftermath of the boom shook the ground. Captain America finally emerged from wherever he was, shield in hand. His expression twisted into shock as he studied the two teens.
Peter shrugged, waving him off as if he knew what he was thinking. “We’re fine. Go do your saving, Captain.”
He looked struck at that, nodding without realizing it and running back towards the city-turned-battlefield.
Peter turned back to his friend, who had an entertained smirk on her face.
“Did you really just wave off an Avenger? Twice?” She said, looking amused.
“Hey!” He accused, “You ignored him the first time, so you can’t even say anything!”
“Fair enough. And I still can’t make that sample for you, by the way. It’s like you have short term memory loss or something. You ask that nearly every time you come here.”
“I can only hope.” He sighs, looking back up at the menu. “Alright then, I’ll have the,” He looked at the options and deflated when he found none that he actually liked. “Italian sandwich, I guess.”
“4 inch?”
He nodded. “4 inch.”
She typed some more things on the tablet and turned it to him. “Tip from my favorite customer?”
“Maybe from your most broke one.” He tapped the 10% option and leaned on the counter impatiently, drumming his fingers on the table.
She turned the screen around and scoffed. “How could I ever forget?”
He smiled as she made his sandwich, grabbing all of the necessary ingredients. The news was playing in the background of the shop, spewing about the attacks happening near them, which were still not stopping.
But hey, no one is dying! Which is definitely good. (That probably would be good in any situation, he thinks to himself.) He would’ve stepped in a while ago if people were dying, but the Avengers have it this time. They didn’t need Spider-Man (or Spider-Boy, as they called him. Which, they technically didn’t even know his age, so it didn’t count.) to always save their grown asses.
“You lost in thought there?” She asked nonchalantly, screaming and minor explosions still going off outside the store.
Peter sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Peter just hummed, resting his palm on his chin and bouncing his leg up and down without even realizing it.
“It’s one of those days, alright.” She wrapped up his sandwich in their signature old-fashioned packaging. “How come you’re not out there fighting?”
Peter froze, heart dropping to his stomach. She knew? He hadn’t told anyone. Not even Ned or MJ. How did she know?
She must’ve caught onto his racing thoughts. “Calm down, I won’t tell anyone, cross my heart.”
Peter defensively tensed as she handed him his sandwich. “How did you find out?”
“I mean, it’s pretty obvious when you see Spider-Man stumbling into your shop in the middle of your night shift, taking off his mask as if nobody was there. Well, I was. But you,” She pointed in his direction accusingly. “-were all too bloody and wounded to realize it.”
Peter rolled his eyes, visibly relaxing. “And you won’t tell anyone?”
“Promise.”
There was a silent message to drop the subject, and thankfully, she took the hint, grabbing a spray bottle and rag and walking over to one of the dirty tables.
Peter opened the wrap, (he never understood why she still wrapped it. He always ate in, there was basically no reason to.), biting into the sandwich. (Maybe it’s just muscle memory.) He chewed and hummed in delight.
“This is why Italians are better.” He said in between bites.
“Sure.”
“It’s true!”
“Well then you’ve obviously never tried my mom’s adobo. It’s her famous recipe.”
Peter shrugged. “Eh, I tried some at my friend, Ned’s house. It was pretty good.”
Her voice piqued with interest. “So you’ve already tried Filipino food, then? Hey, how about this,” Shifting in his seat, he turned around to look in her direction. She slumped down in the booth of the table she finished cleaning, relaxing in the familiar cushion of the seat. She was already used to the old rips in the booths by now, and the owner preferred to keep it that way. He said it, ‘gives the shop character’, or something.
“Next time, text me when you’re going to come in so I can have my mom save something for you. Have you heard of ube? Literally, so good, I swear.”
“I’ll have to try that then.”
“Friday at nine sound good?”
“Sure, I guess. I don’t start patrolling till’ like 11, anyways.”
“Hey. I’m giving you food for free. At least tell me some stories, dude.”
Peter sighed, fighting a smile creeping up onto his face.
“Alright, alright. But I’m only doing this because I owe you for that sandwich last week.” He hummed, seemingly searching through his mind for any interesting encounters while out on patrol.
“Ooh! I got one. So, yesterday, there was this massive drug cartel-“
“What.”