Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter Parker has no idea how his school managed this.

He’s currently looking down at a two-page document their academic decathlon coach gave to him and his team with the words, “Fun-tastic Academic Field Trip to London, England!” printed as the header, all in bold. He’s sandwiched between MJ and Ned at the back of the classroom, and both have expressions of disbelief painted on their faces.

In his mind, he remembered the multiple anonymous donations given by Tony Stark, which he bragged to Peter, months ago to his school. It seems like they are now being used differently than just for renovations and equipment updates. Why did Tony choose to donate here out of all the better science schools out there? Peter has no idea and chooses not to think about it.

Anyways, only a select few can go— specifically his decathlon team— and it’s not really a leisure field trip but rather a sort of seminar-slash-training trip where they’d basically go to museums, attend workshops, lectures, fill up an entry in their personal learning journal, given to them at the start of their meeting as an icebreaker, every day which will be graded after the trip, and according to their professor, if they get the chance, have a competition or at least a mock one with the local students there or something, but all under the happy guise of a fun-tastic field trip. Two birds, one stone type of deal, he guesses, which is way up the alley of Midtown School of Science, which tries to prioritize a fun academic learning experience.

His guess, though? Little less competition, but double down on museums and sight-seeings.

Knowing his team and how coach Harrington starts off strict but gives up in the end, the trip will definitely be chaotic .

“London, huh? Guess that means the British Museum is part of the itinerary?” Ned whispers with excitement to Peter and MJ. 

“Yeah, the “museum” that’s holding hostage tons of relics from different parts of the world without their permission,” MJ replies with an eye roll partnered with air quotations. “I’m a little excited to brood overseas”, she follows up with a smirk, giving a teasing look to both Peter and Ned before paying attention back to class.

“I hope my lola allows me to go,” Ned says under his breath.

“I mean, it does say here that it’s all expenses paid— minus the pocket allowance, though,” Peter replied.

“Awesooome.” Ned murmured with joy as his eyes seemed to shine with the realization that he was totally gonna be able to come with the team. 

Peter turned his attention back to their coach. He’s not really catching everything he’s been saying ever since the documents were handed— he was too busy being stumped by the fact they managed to snag a trip to London. Sure, it may not sound like much ever since he’s been an “intern” at Stark Industries and was swept away to a foreign country as extra manpower to fight a bunch of adult’s battles, but this is probably the first overseas trip he’d ever have the opportunity to join that he will be with his classmates— decathlon team, rather.

“So, make sure to have those permission slips on the second page signed as soon as possible. Again, the trip is a month away and will last a week. This is a very rare opportunity, and I’m pretty sure this is all because of our anonymous donor,” he says, locking eyes with Peter. “I’m hoping things go smoothly,” Harrington whispers in the last sentence to himself. “Meeting adjourned.” He follows with a clap and smile. Soon enough, the team erupted into a mixture of guessing who the anonymous donor was, squeals, and chatter with the disbelief of an all-expenses-paid trip..

He shoved his stuff into his backpack, said goodbye to MJ and Ned, tuned out Flash’s grating voice, made a beeline outside, and headed home as quickly as he could to tell his Aunt May the news.

–––

When he finally reached his apartment— in a very human manner, and definitely not via his web-shooters— before he even opened the door, he shouted, “May!”

“Hold on, I’ll be right there— hey, Peter! You sound excited,” she says as she waltzes into their living room with a grin on her face.

“Check this out,” Peter says after giving her a quick hug, instantly putting his bag down on the couch and rummaging inside, haphazardly throwing his suit aside and fishing out his permission slip. “The decathlon. Field trip. With them! It’s in London too,” he says with a big grin, flashing the first page to May and handing it over to her. “It’s an all-expenses-paid trip, as well.”

“Hm, it seems so,” May replied, half-listening, eyes glued on the paper, reading every text it offered.

Peter broke the silence after a beat and what seemed like a standoff between the two.

“So… um, can I come? It doesn’t sound like it’ll be a problem. Right?” He says, practically buzzing where he stands when May finally locks eyes with Peter.

“Yeah, sure, why not!” She replies with a laugh, a complete switch from when she was seriously reading the trip's details.

“Yes! Gosh, I thought it’d be a no— especially since, you know, that field trip-slash-actually a life-threatening battle,” Peter chuckled nervously.

“Mhm, don’t think I forgot all about that. This trip is in Europe, too, again. And yes, I am worried, and yes, I almost thought about saying no. But! I also know that this is pretty much a rare opportunity since you barely went on trips with your classmates when you were young. You’ve always been a bit sickly,” she says as she sits down on the couch, trailing off with a hint of worry. “Welp, that’s pretty much in the past, though, and, with the bite and every wacky little thing that happened so far, you do deserve to explore and have a fun-tastic learning experience with your friends,” she concluded with a grin as she opened her palm and gestured for Peter to give her a pen.

With the paper signed, Peter thanked May and gave her his promise of finding her the best souvenir ever. May retreated to the kitchen to prepare for dinner, and Peter hauled himself to his room. He threw his bag on the foot of his bed and whipped out his phone, quickly updating MJ and Ned on the confirmation of May’s go-signal for the trip. Finally laying down, he messaged Tony next regarding the trip. Just as Peter was about to close his phone and rest his eyes, his phone rang. The screen flashed: “THE Tony” with a robot emoji. Surprised, Peter accepted the call.

“You read that message fast. Do you have nothing else to do?” he teased.

“Lots to do, actually. Your message is a great excuse to escape the grubby hands of paperwork. Pepper will understand.” Tony replied. “So! London, England, huh? Nice to see this is how my donations are being used, got all the science equipment finally updated, and now they’re treating their little star team and VIP— that’s you, by the way— to a field trip over the pond,” He says with a smirk that Peter can somehow hear over the phone.

“What do you mean? I’m not a VIP, and you gave those donations anonymously. Don’t think they’ll connect it to me or you.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s that hard to figure out. I mean, c’mon, what other local influential figure who values the arts and sciences out there is willing to donate to a random science school…”

“Mhm.”

“Okay, I might’ve met with them face-to-face, and I might’ve told them that my star intern needs a good environment to grow in since you’re not willing to get transferred.”

“Oh! So you did tell them about me!” Peter instantly sat up, his mind connecting the dots as he remembered his coach staring at him when he mentioned the anonymous donor back at school. “Dude! Was it because I told you months ago that no one really believed me being an SI intern?”

He was met with silence and what vaguely sounded like “uuhh...”

“I mean, I didn’t even tell them that I was an intern directly! Flash just happened to see the I.D. in my bag once, and the coach was like, “Oh, let the kid have a dream!” yada yada— anyways,” He says, rolling his eyes. “So, you donated and met with the faculty to basically confirm to them that I am working under you? But also told them that it was an “anonymous” donation?”

“I think Pepper’s calling me, Petey. Let’s talk more later, got looots of paperwork to do, toodles.” 

The call ended abruptly. Peter stared at his phone, mouth hanging open in disbelief.

–––

Time passed, and suddenly, it had been a month, and Peter had boarded the plane en route to the London City Airport. A day before this, though, he and May ran around the apartment like headless chickens looking for Peter’s passport. In their defense, Peter never really touched that passport again after his flight to Germany. Regardless, everything went well, and they managed to pack everything he needed. As well as what he might need. According to May and the “tingle” she’s feeling, Peter should apparently bring the spider suit just in case. Peter was half positive that nothing bad would happen, but deep inside, he knew that May was right. 

Trouble sorta follows him wherever he goes.

So, there he was, cramped inside the plane, sitting next to Ned. Peter hopes that nothing too out of the ordinary happens when they land.

–––

It’s been three days, it is Wednesday, and so far, nothing bad has happened.

Peter was on his toes the moment the plane landed. His heart was beating fast the moment they reached their hotel. His head spun when the second day came. And now, at 7:00 a.m. on the third day of their trip, Jesus was definitely not rising, but Peter’s anxieties were.

He was anticipating that something bad would happen, but the only thing that has happened thus far is that they have explored all sorts of science, historical, and art museums and landmarks that they could in a span of two days. Which is not a lot, but anyways, other than that, they also had a mini quiz bee on the bus they rented out. Don’t get him wrong; it is not that he wants something bad to happen, like a crime or something supernatural, but it’s more like he found it odd that nothing bad was happening that he needed to deal with. There’s no shot of adrenaline flowing through his veins. Perhaps he was too used to moving out and about in his spider suit, fighting crimes ranging from petty to severe.

He deemed that as his normal life.

So far, the only bad thing that happened to him was the gentle trickling of the rain and the grey hue tinting the skies, indicating that it seemed to have no plans to stop anytime soon. It's good he checked the weather app and brought an umbrella with him. 

He continued his walk, trying to sort his mind out.

They planned for the third and fifth days of the trip to be independent, with no itinerary. They’re basically given the green light to go out in groups or solo and explore, or just stay in the hotel and rest. They just have to be back in their respective rooms at 5:00 p.m. Since he was alone exploring the morning roads of London when the rain came, he had a gut feeling that he might get stuck somewhere away from his friends for a long while. A part of him screams to turn in the opposite direction when the rain has not yet evolved into an intense downpour and return to their hotel just in case something bad happens to his team while he’s away, but he also wants some time alone to get the jitters out. No use socializing if he’s going to look constipated the whole time. MJ and Ned have noticed how off he’s been the past few days. He feels he will just bring the mood down by being unresponsive and on high alert.

Peter has been up since 5 in the morning. He wasn’t really able to sleep properly due to his mind being plagued with worries. He’s not so sure what’s gotten him riled up. Maybe it was because his aunt was adamant about him bringing the suit just in case. Maybe it was also because he’s in Europe— and Germany’s also in Europe. Flashes of the fight and him almost getting crushed were more vivid now than before.

It’s odd.

Peter shrugged those thoughts off and decided to look for a place to chill and wait for the rain to stop as it seemed to get worse. He did not have time to reflect on his piled-up emotions, anxieties, and possible trauma. Peter decided to stop by the first seemingly student-friendly budget coffee shop he saw.

“Give me death or give me coffee. Kinda funny,” he murmurs to himself as he stares at the sign outside with a small smile. The coffee shop was brightly painted, and the edgy yet welcoming vibe drew him in. Just when he closed his umbrella and stepped in, a distant thunder was heard. He looked back at the door with a grimace.

“Yeah, the rain doesn’t seem like it’ll stop soon. 8:00 am,” Peter turned his body to the woman speaking just as she was glancing at her watch. “That’s the earliest the rain came down on us this week. The top one on the leaderboard as of the moment,” the woman says, or rather, Nina, based on her name tag, placing down coffee mugs on the table. “If you’re gonna seek shelter here, make sure to buy a drink.” She smiles, retreating behind the cashier.

“Um, yeah, that I can do,” he says hurriedly, lining up, not wanting to get kicked out. He knows Nina, the barista, was probably joking, but he did not want to risk it. He quickly scanned the menu and settled for a large cup of hot chocolate. The transaction was made, and he’s now warming up in the corner of the shop, observing the rain.

From across the street, he saw quaint stores such as a record shop, a flower shop, and what looked like a very big bookshop. 

The sign read “A.Z. FELL & Co.” 

Peter thought to himself, as a small grin grew on his face, that it looked like something MJ might enjoy visiting. From afar, the shop looked cozy and full of antique items. He snapped a picture with his phone to show her later. He hoped they'd visit it together on the fifth day of the trip. Right now, he plans to scope out the place by himself first.

Chapter Text

Peter decided to wait out the rain a bit more before he paid the bookshop a visit. He wants his hair, hoodie, jeans, and sneakers to be as dry as they can be before he plans on going in; he’s not about to get some books wet and pay for an encyclopedia of some sort that he does not want. He remained sitting in his little corner, observing the bookshop with a half-full warm chocolate nursed between his hands. After what seemed like fifteen or so minutes, when the rain finally calmed down back to gentle trickling, he got up and thanked Nina, who simply gave him a nod goodbye. He stepped out of the cafe, crossed the street, and walked to the corner lot's bookshop.

Ding!

The little bell nestled on the door rang, announcing Peter’s entrance. Before going in, he had a tiny bit of expectation that the place would be cramped, not due to the sheer amount of books but because he thought that this bookshop would be a hotspot for locals and tourists alike. But so far, he doesn't see anyone inside. There is not even a till in sight, just mountains and mountains of books, old and new. He went in deeper, his eyes scanning every corner of the shop. He was right. The place was indeed cozy. It even felt a few degrees warmer inside but also cool to the skin at the same time. He wonders if there was some sort of device inside that kept the place at a certain temperature to preserve the books. He picked up a thick book on one of the shelves and was surprised that it was dated back to the '40s, yet it was in tip-top condition as if it had just been bought yesterday and manufactured a week before. It felt fresh to the touch. The bookshop was dimly lit with warm lights and candles, befitting the dark wood interior and the dark patterned carpets.

“Hello, young man.” Peter whipped around in shock, dropping the thick book he held with a thud. Not even his senses felt this man standing behind him. He’s not even sure if the man came from a breakroom somewhere or from outside, but outside would’ve been impossible since the bell did not ring, and yet there he was, standing near the middle of the doorway like he just spawned in. The old man was in stark contrast with his white hair, predominantly beige suit, and light brown gingham-patterned bow tie. 

“Oh, this is why I barely let anybody in!” he worriedly scurried from where he was over to Peter. He picked up the book and dusted it clean with his hand. The man squeezed the book gently back on the shelf from which Peter had taken it from.

“Are you lost, dear?” He asks, casting a glance towards Peter. The man seemed to inspect the shelf to see if there were any misplaced books.

“Lost? No, I saw this place from the coffee shop and decided to check it out,” Peter replied, eyebrows knitting in confusion. He raised both his hands up like he was surrendering. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to drop the book. But to be fair, um— sir, I also didn’t expect you to come from nowhere and be behind me. You were kinda like a ghost!”

“Right. I forgot people tend to be a bit skittish,” he muttered under his breath, presumably thinking that Peter wouldn’t hear it. Peter wouldn’t have if he weren’t entirely human, though. The man gave his full attention to Peter. “Well, no need for apologies. I suppose I should have called out more gently,” he says with a soft grin. 

Peter smiled back. How could he not when the man looked so gentle? 

“Nothing’s for sale,” the man dropped his smile.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You may leave now,” ignoring Peter. “We are actually closed,” the man bobs his head with a nervous chuckle. “I most likely forgot to turn the sign! Now, here you are, Inside. I suggest you leave and try again tomorrow, perhaps,”

As if on cue, the rain that had calmed down suddenly returned for round two, like it never even left. Peter peeked at the glass windows past the man and then back at him. “Can you please not kick me out in the rain? I really don’t think my cheap umbrella can handle the rain again right now,” Peter pleaded. He probably did not realize this, but he flashed the man the saddest doe eyes he could subconsciously muster.

“Hng. Oh, fine— of course, you’re welcome to stay a while. I just won’t be selling anything to you,” he hums. “In the meantime, are you fond of tea? I noticed the lack of accent. Maybe that’s not really your— haha— cup of tea,” he joked, looking at Peter and wiggling his eyebrows up and down as he guided him to a couch. On the left side of it, Peter noticed a nook with a desk that exuded both the vibe of a mini cafe and an eccentric film noir detective. If the sun were shining right now, it would’ve spilled nicely in here, enveloping the desk and couch with warm light. The area also had all sorts of books littering around, as well as blankets and pillows in various shades and patterns of muted yellow, red, brown, and beige. 

Oh, and yes, Peter did politely chuckle at the man’s pun as he sat down. He picked up a pillow, resting it on his lap and fiddled with the gold tassels sewn onto it.

“I do like tea, and thank you for letting me stay, um, Sir?”

“Just Mr Fell.”

“Mr Fell, then. I already had chocolate before coming here. I think I’m good,” he says. Mr Fell hums a vague reply whilst he retreats into a room in the corner of the living area. 

“It’s not tea, but you know, it was a hot drink. Oh, as I said, though, I do like tea, and thank you! I-I guess,” Peter stammers as his eyes follow the old man who left. He realizes it’s too late, and Mr Fell goes into the room to probably pick up some tea regardless of Peter’s answer, so he just accepts the offer. 

“Then tea, you shall receive! It’s earl grey,” he replies, his voice sounding muffled in the other room. Thank god for super hearing in times like these. “What should I call you, then? Might as well have a little chat; it’s been raining since this morning, and I'm not quite sure that it’ll stop soon.” Mr Fell says, joining Peter once again. He sat down across from Peter in an armchair. He sets down a wooden tray full of teacups of hot tea, a small pitcher of warm milk, some sugar, and digestive cookies— or biscuits, as they call them in London.

“Thank you for this. I’m Peter. My class—or decathlon team—is here for an overseas field trip. Not really for a competition, which is what everyone would’ve expected—kind of surprising, actually. Not being here to compete for anything, but just to learn and train. We went to the British Museum yesterday! Then there was a mini quiz bee, just for fun. But yeah, just a field trip and lots more homework than average after this and during this, I guess. Anyways, yeah, sorry, I’m a little all over the place right now,” he replied. 

“I’m just Peter,” he squeaked out. He felt his defenses slowly going down, and he started to feel too comfortable that he was talking quite fast. Peter almost had trouble containing himself from talking and jumping from one topic to another. He guesses that there was something about the library, er, bookshop, that was just very soothing— soothing enough that it didn't seem like a big problem to just accept tea and biscuits from a stranger. Of course, it's not that he's suspecting Mr Fell to suddenly switch personalities from seemingly good to evil, but it's become part of Peter's nature now to not instantly trust anyone who's too nice without taking in the possibility of falsehood. Nevertheless, Peter feels the tension from his shoulders slowly but surely dissipate as he takes a small sip of his tea. 

He initially planned on just accepting the offer to be polite but not really consuming anything given to him. Yet there he was, complimenting Mr Fell on how the tea had just the right sweetness and temperature. He felt all the worries that he had accumulated the past few days, from the night before boarding the plane to his worries the moment he woke up today, were just being swept away by the winds.

He feels a bit out of character, yet he welcomes it.

“The pursuit of knowledge is much more enjoyable when having fun and with your close peers. You seem like a smart man,” Mr. Fell commented. Peter didn’t know if that was supposed to be sarcastic, but the older man’s warm expression and demeanour made him feel like he was just simply a kind and doting grandpa talking to his grandson he hadn’t talked to in a year. 

Peter sorta has a soft spot for kind grandpas. He looks down at his tea as he suddenly feels his anxiety rise again.

A faint, grating voice in his head seemed to inform him that it was because he missed his late father, but that’s not something he wants to think about right now. Again, the whole purpose of him taking a morning stroll was to straighten his mind and get his worries out, not add to them. He doesn’t want his emotions crawling out of the bottle he shoved it in, and he does not want to make it awkward for the man he just met if he were to have a teeny breakdown.

Thankfully, he can suppress these thoughts as fast as they enter his head. It has been easy for him to do that ever since he was with his Aunt May. With Mr Fell’s presence, though, these thoughts were gone even quicker than usual. Nothing more than a fleeting thought. This confuses Peter— he has no idea why his guard has been crumbling since he entered the shop.

Silence settled between the two, fragile like a snowflake, while Peter dived deeper into his thoughts for a few minutes until Mr Fell pierced through it.

“I’m glad you like the tea,” Mr Fell said, snapping Peter’s attention back to him. He nodded and then stared back at his almost empty cup, taking one final gulp. Mr Fell watched him closely.

“It's a lovely blend, isn’t it?” Peter feels Mr Fell beam at him, proud of his selection. “I do hope you’re okay; your facial expression says otherwise. I apologize if I was too… pushy trying to make you leave. I’m not always keen on selling my books. Of course, borrowing it and reading it here is usually no problem, but I suppose I get a tad strict on that, too.”

“Oh, it was nothing. I’ve dealt with much worse, and I didn’t realize you were close.” Peter assured him, looking up at Mr Fell.

“Yes, people tend not to see the sign outside,” he says, averting his eyes from Peter. Now that he thinks about it, he is sure there is no “closed” sign outside. With the super-sight, he would know that’s part of the super senses package deal he got from the bite. He made a mental note to check for that sign later so that he could take note of the business hours. Peter truly wants to invite MJ here but doesn’t want to be shooed away again.

“Why do you not sell them, though? I mean, it is a bookshop. Won’t driving them away be bad for the business?”

“You’d be surprised. I’ve managed with miracles on my side,” Mr Fell answers with a smile and a glint in his eye. Peter guesses that Mr Fell has accumulated wealth passed on to him generation after generation.

Peter asks, “Does it usually rain this hard here?”

“From time to time. We do get the spots of sunshine usually, but as of late, it has been quite dreary outside,” he answers, glancing at the window and then taking a sip of his tea that doesn’t seem to run out no matter how much he drinks from it. “Speaking of dreary, why did you seem sad? If it wasn’t because of me, then are you perhaps sick?”

Peter replies, shaking his head and popping his ‘p’ “Nope.”

“I barely get sick. It’s a— it’s a superpower of mine,” Peter says with a chuckle, an inside joke with himself. “I’ve just been anxious lately.” 

“Why for?”

“Do you ever just travel somewhere a-and you know that that place is good, but somehow you feel like it’s hiding something bad from you?” He asks, earning a solemn nod from Mr Fell. “Like, I know London is pretty cool, and I’m probably gonna have lots of fun, but I just can’t shake the feeling that something bad’s gonna happen,” he sighs with defeat. “It’s been three days, and that feeling hasn’t left. I’m sorry I can’t really explain everything, it’s pretty complicated, but it sucks because I feel I’m sucking the joy out of the trip!” Peter replies, fidgeting on his teacup, finally getting all those worries off his chest.

It's not the first time he talked about this in the past few days. He already had mentioned this to Ned and even messaged May and Tony yesterday regarding this. However, their comforts didn’t fully pluck him out of his pit.

“I’ve talked to people about it; they said it’ll be fine, and they’re probably right. But I just can’t stop thinking about the worst-case scenarios. I couldn’t even sleep properly last night, so I was up early. I decided to take a walk and distract myself, and now I’m here.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr Fell. I did not mean to just— vomit my emotions to you,” Peter says, mortified by the rant he unleashed on the man before him.

“It’s alright, Peter. Maybe there’s a reason the rain nudged you in this place. I’m happy you felt comfortable enough to share that with me. Don’t you worry, I won’t push for details. I pray you feel calmer soon,” He says, the warmth of his voice enveloping Peter. The calmness found him as soon as Mr Fell prayed it for him.

“Let’s talk about something lighter. How are you enjoying London so far, specifically Soho?” 

“I’d like that. Well, I-I mentioned the British Museum a while ago, and—”

Ding!

The ding of the bell cut Peter off, indicating that someone had gone into the bookshop. 

“I thought you were closed, Mr Fell?”

“I thought I was, too; hold on there, Peter.” Mr Fell replied, setting his teacup down on the table and briskly walking towards the entrance to shoo off the customer. However, it didn’t seem like it was a customer as his face morphed from curiosity to delight.

“I’m back,” says the man clad in black with striking red hair.

Chapter Text

“I’m back.”

After the man clad in black with striking red hair announced his presence, Peter noticed he was drenched— not that it was hard to see since the water was practically rolling off his body, painting the carpet underneath him a darker shade.

“I see that,” Mr Fell answered, the face of delight turning into an unimpressed smile. “You’re ruining the carpets, are you doing that on purpose?” He questions.

“No, not all— got no idea what you mean, angel. I’m not even wet,” he quipped, smirking at Mr Fell. Peter blinked for a second, and suddenly, the wet footprints the man left trailing behind him— and the man himself— are now dry as if he never went outside the rainy streets.

The stranger’s head snapped to him. Peter felt his gaze behind his dark glasses fall onto him like he was being observed under a microscope. Peter’s mouth was agape. He had no idea if what he saw was reality, magic, or if there was something funny mixed in the tea he drank without caution. 

“So, who’s this child then? Didn’t think you’d be the type to serve tea to your customers, ” he asks, one of his eyebrows raised high, wrinkles curving his forehead as he assesses Peter’s presence as if he’s trying to detect if the child in front of them is a ticking bomb. 

Mr Fell cleared his throat and said, “This, Anthony, is Peter,” he gestured towards Peter. “And Peter, this is, um, a part— dear frien— coworker! Anthony,” he says, a clumsy, bright smile again painting his face. Anthony gives Peter a lazy salute along with a half-hearted bow.

Peter waved his hand and asked, “He also works here in the bookstore, then?” 

“Nah.”

“Indeed!”

The two blurted out an opposing response yet in perfect unison. Both stared at one another, confused, communicating with their eyes. 

“I mean, yes, I–”

“No, he does not.”

Mr Fell sighed, suddenly finding the dark wood flooring interesting, and Anthony raised his hands in surrender, choosing to face the window and observe the rainfall instead. Peter was watching this scene unfold before him like a comedy show come to life. 

“Okaaay… so which one is it? A lover, then?” He teased, but with Mr Fell appearing to have his cheeks tinted pink and Anthony sputtering, Peter thought he was right. He picked up on the fact that Anthony called Mr Fell an angel a while ago and that Mr Fell almost seemed to call the redhead his partner . He figured that maybe that was why the two of them seemed to be trying to hide Anthony’s identity. Peter wants them to know that he holds no prejudices. 

“He’s a friend from work,” Anthony emphasized, waving his hand as if trying to erase any of what Peter was conspiring of. “Just in a different workplace— places. ”

Anthony strutted to where Peter was. He halted on the side of the coffee table and took a piece of cookie. He took a bite, cookie crumbling everywhere, and complained it was sweet. Peter stared at him curiously. His red hair and black get-up, sans the dark shades, made him remember Ms Natasha. He took a peek toward Mr Fell and saw him approach them.

“If it was too sweet, you shouldn’t have taken them. It was young Peter’s share,” Mr Fell berated.

“Not only does he get tea, but also biscuits. Are you adopting strays, Mr Fell? This a new hobby? ”

“I am not adopting. I am helping. I’m keeping Peter company while he waits for the rain to calm down,” Mr Fell retorted. He stood next to Anthony as the redhead happily chewed the rest of his cookie. “I initially thought he was a customer and told him the shop was closed. However, with the rain and everything, I let him stay for a while. There is no harm in doing something nice every now and then— or all the time! rather,”

Anthony stared at Peter as he took his final bite of his cookie. Peter gave him a small smile.

“It’s nice to meet you Mr Anthony.”

“Just Anthony is good— wait,” he responded to Peter, then swivelled his head toward Mr Fell. “Why couldn’t you just, oh, I don’t know, just pray the weather away?”

“You know I can’t just willy-nilly do what you do. Especially if it impacts too many people, it’s the weather we’re discussing! It’s not just willing a book open to the page I want.”

“Really, angel? Weather is where you draw the line and not accidentally inventing war?”

“Those are two different things,” Mr Fell harrumphed as Anthony bellowed in disbelief. “And I did not invent war,” Mr Fell scoffed. On the other hand, Peter has no idea what they’re talking about. He feels like a seven-year-old watching his parents argue over something he doesn’t understand; the difference is that he’s pretty entertained by their banter. But also concerned.

“I-I don’t get what’s happening, Mr Fell,” Peter chuckles nervously. He feels a tinge of worry rising in his gut, that his senses were waving the red flag at him and urging him to sling himself away. Deep inside, he knew that the personifications of yin and yang were probably playing a long-winded joke— he hoped, however, Peter couldn’t help but assume that they were serious. He knows not to blindly trust; if his fears come true, it is his fault for letting his guard down. He has faced people before who he once expected just to be ordinary but then threatened and pulled a gun at him, ruining a supposed milestone in his school life. The whole time up until the moment he entered the bookstore, he was worried about something criminal, odd, or supernatural happening that would ruin the whole trip.

He prays that he did not manifest a crime into reality by overthinking it.

“Oh, don’t mind whatever Anthony says over here. He’s likely drunk.”

“ Not ,” Anthony barks, waving Peter to move aside as he plopped down the couch.

“We’re just recounting some old memories, dear,” Mr Fell beams as he sits on his armchair.

Peter probed, eyeing the two, “Invented war? Is that code for something, oh and Anthony, I’m sorry, but how are you dry that quickly?”

“Well, uhh, it’s not like it’s raining?”

Shortly after Anthony utters his response to Peter, the pitter-pattering of the rain and the gloomy tint enveloping the store seemed to make way for splotches of sunlight. Peter gawked at the windows as the rain slowly but surely halted. The dark clouds dispersed, and the lovely, warm sun graced their presence. Peter stared back at Anthony, his mouth opening in shock. It is definitely no coincidence, and he is sure that the redhead in front of him did that. He’s been surrounded by many puzzling things and situations; even he himself was sort of an inexplicable phenomenon, and that a man having the power to wish the rain away is highly likely. In fact, he’s encountered more wilder things, but such an act in the middle of London, England? Not in his bingo card.

“Great, look what you did to him. He’s in shock,” Mr Fell deadpanned.

“I’m just saying, and showing you, that you could’ve done this waaay before he even set foot in this shop, and you wouldn’t have to do all this.”

“Frankly, I’m quite enjoying “all this” . Socialization is quite healthy! Oh, and Peter over here did not look well at all; it’ll be like driving a hurt puppy away if I were to just turn my back on him—” the man in beige says with concern.

“Wait, wait, wait— you really did what I think you just did?” Peter interrupts Mr Fell, staring down at the man with dark glasses.

“Don’t get worked up. You lot across the pond have faced worse than someone shutting off the faucets upstairs,” Anthony retorted. “This is a good thing, though! Now you won’t have to worry about walking outside and getting dre—.”

“Why couldn’t you just have done that earlier then, Crowley? Instead of leaving wet footprints on my carpet and floor?” Mr Fell asks with a grimace.

“I did that because I thought it would be funny, angel. It was, by the way, if you two were wondering.” Anthony drawled.

“Ha Ha. Were those two ha’s enough, or should I add one more?” 

“What’s a Crowley…” Peter murmured to himself. “Anyways, um, this has been lovely. I think— I think I should go now.”

“Oh, already, Peter? I’m not quite opposed to letting you stay longer unless you’re still adamant about buying a book. If so, then I’m afraid that maybe you should come back another day.”

“It’s no worries Mr Fell. I should let you and your partner, um, have time,” Peter says, standing up and slowly inching close to the entrance. “And yeah, I don’t plan on staying here for long anyway. I did have a really good time, though. Thank you, Mr Fell, and thank you, Anthony!” Peter yelled as he opened the door, leaving the two alone together in the bookshop. Before Peter crossed the street, he glanced at the supposed sign at the entrance. He found that there was, in fact, no signage hung. He stood there with his head tilted in confusion. He shrugged it off and continued his way, quickening his pace. He decided that there were more pressing matters than the signage. 

–

Ding!

The sound of the bell echoed throughout the shop as Peter left.

“You scared him away,” Aziraphale announced to the room with an audience of one Crowley. He waved his hand on the tray of empty teacups and plates, vanishing it with no trace. He stood, walked to the doors, and closed the bookshop entrance.

“I did not. He doesn’t smell normal anyway. A demon magically making the world a sunny place probably isn’t the weirdest he’d encountered.”

“You noticed that too?” he replied, facing Crowley. “I felt the air around him buzz. Smell’s like biologically modified, that’s for sure. It’s a surprise he didn’t instantly realize we aren’t exactly human.” 

Aziraphale grabbed a book before sitting back down in his armchair. He took a peek at Crowley, who was now fidgeting with his dark glasses, his bright yellow eyes exposed only to Aziraphale. He opened his book to the page that was exactly where he had left off. He was about to wear his reading glasses when he heard Crowley’s soft voice reverberate.

“I don’t think he even realized how unguarded he was here,” Crowley pointed out.

“Whatever do you mean?” He responded.

“The boy probably found this place a safe haven. That’s the aura you give off—and this shop, too. I also know you’re often the type to turn into a mind healer-slash-shrink when faced with a poor, sad human.” 

“You think I’m someone safe to be with?”

“Well, yeah, just facts, I'm just pointing them out. The fact’s pointed, yeah?”

Aziraphale softly smiles at Crowley when a sour realization dawns on him.

“Oh no! Crowley, you don’t think Peter would spread rumours about this place, don’t you? What if that just draws more customers in? Or what if he reports us and some sort of spy-investigative agency starts knocking at my door and questioning us? Miracling them away will only go so far. It’ll exhaust us! ” 

“Nah, don’t you worry about it. I’ve given him my version of divine intervention since the moment he left the shop. I doubt he’d remember this place even existing. So, where should we go for lunch later, then?” Crowley smirked at Aziraphale, who looked at Crowley like he had hung the stars for him.