Xanthous is not entirely sure why he opened a café, but he did.

He's honestly surprised it has lasted this long. He had expected it to last a minimum of a half a year or so, 2 at the most.

And yet here he was, 4 years later, in his little café, the Enchanted Corner Café, working behind the counter, brewing coffee and serving various different types of small pastries to his customers. It is a sort of dance, almost, one that has been drilled into his mind after several years of doing it. It is comforting for him, just knowing that at least one thing about his day will always be consistent. (What he means is that he knows what he's doing. Life is pretty keen on being crazy and unpredictable, but not so much so that his shifts are pretty much the same, always.)

So when someone new comes in and slams a $20 bill on his counter, he is. . . Surprised, to say the least.

The young man in front of him has unruly, strawberry blond hair, and his eyes are the color of the sky. There are circles beginning to form underneath his eyes, and his tanned face is painted with a spray of freckles. The young woman behind him looks identical to him, save for the exasperated expression on her face.

"What can this get me?" he asks, sounding just a tad demanding. There is a bite of tiredness in his voice, and, when Xanthous stares at his face, in his eyes. Xanthous forces his face to remain neutral, though he feels sympathy flood his heart for the teen.

"Conner, don't be rude!" the woman hisses quietly, though she sounds just as equally worn out. The man, Conner, deflates, and an apologetic look melts onto his face.

"Sorry," he says. And he sounds sincere. "It's been. . . A long week for us."

Xanthous shrugs. "It's alright. You're not the rudest people I've ever served." He pauses for a moment after that, thinking, and then says, "$20 can get you two drinks and a couple of pastries, if you wanted."

Conner nods, and casts a brief glance at the woman, before turning back and squinting at the menu. "I'll take a grande-That says 'Snow Sugar', right? What's in it?"

"It is a caffeinated, vanilla based drink with whipped cream and sprinkles on top," Xanthous explains. "The caffeine is optional, if you would prefer.

Conner shrugs. "Caffeine sounds good to me."

The woman stares at the menu hanging behind them, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Lava River sounds interesting."

"It's mint based with a caramel drizzle," Xanthous says. "It, like Snow Sugar, has caffeine, which is optional."

"We'll take one grande Powder Snow and one grande Lava River," Alex says. "Both with caffeine."

Xanthous nods and punches in their order. "Will that be all?"

"Yeah."

"Your total is $7.90," Xanthous says. Then he takes the $20, places it in the cashier, counts out the change, and hands it to the people in front of him. Conner takes it, and gives a short nod. "Name?"

"Um, Alex," the woman says, before Conner can open his mouth to say anything. Xanthous nods.

The two recede to a table in the corner by the window. They whisper hurriedly in hushed tones, occasionally twitching their hands as if to make a point.

It really isn't any of his business, though, so Xanthous turns back to the next customer, placing a warm smile on his face as he hears his coworkers scurrying behind him, and whirring as the machines hum to life.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Two grande frappuccinos for Alex!"

The two siblings-Xanthous is assuming they are related-make their way over to the pick-up counter, each grabbing their respective drinks.

"If you don't mind me asking," Daniel, one of Xanthous' staff, asks, "are you guys related?"

Conner gives them a small smile. "Yep. I'm Conner, and this is my twin sister, Alex."

Daniel nods, and Xanthous notices that their eyes linger a tad too long on Conner's face. If either one of the twins' noticed, neither said anything about it. They thank Daniel, and exit the shop silently.

Xanthous saunters over to where Daniel is staring at the door, leans his arms on the counter, and props his head up with one hand.

"I think I'll give him your number next time." Xanthous smirks. He laughs at Daniel's mortified expression.

"Don't you dare."

0-0-0-0-0-0

The café is having a slow night.

Xanthous sort of regrets taking the night shift alone. It is much more fun with Siren or Robin or Paige. It's much more fun, really, whenever he isn't alone. (Robin has finals this week. Paige isn't feeling well. Siren is out of town, attending her great-uncle's funeral.)

The small trickle of customers, although sparse, is enough for him to suck it up and keep it open.

It is 9 P.M, and he is leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone, when a rather shady-looking man, wearing a dark gray hoodie with the hood pulled up over his head, black sweatpants, and worn-out looking sneakers, strolls through the door and up to the counter where Xanthous stands. Xanthous looks up and pockets his phone as the man approaches.

"Hello," Xanthous smiles politely, despite his unease. There simply is a strange aura about the man, one that puts him on edge. With a quick glance around, Xanthous finds that he is the only one in the café. He is not entirely sure if it is a good thing or not.

"Hi," the man says, without looking up. His voice crackles, like a fire. Yet there is no emotion behind that word; just an empty void where the colors of the mind should have been. Xanthous finds himself forcing his smile more and more the longer he is in the man's presence.

"How can I help you?" Xanthous subconsciously balls the fabric of his apron into his fists in an effort to calm himself. He ignores the ringing bells in the back of his mind, warning him about something.

Xanthous blinks, and then, abruptly, finds himself staring down the barrel of a pistol. It hovers in front of his face menacingly, cold and cruel and leaving the feeling of Death's icy fingers on the back of his neck. The color drains from Xanthous' face, and his hands begin to tremble a bit.

The man, with his other hand (when the hell did he get a knife?), gestures towards the cash register. "Money. Now." His tone is assertive and aggressive, leaving no room for argument.

Xanthous can not move. He can not think. He can do nothing but stare blankly at the man threatening him, and feel the adrenaline rush through his body. Every fiber of his very being is screaming 'run, run', but it is as if his feet are glued to the ground, trapping him, leaving him breathless, and not in a good way.

And then, like a flood, thoughts come hurtling through his mind, namely, 'Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy fucking shit I'm going to die I'm going to fucking die'.

"I said give me the money!" the man barks loudly, waving the pistol under Xanthous' nose. "Did you not hear me? Or do I need to remind you that you don't have a choice?" He flicks the pocket-knife's point against Xanthous' cheek, drawing a line of crimson red on his skin. He flinches back involuntarily.

"Listen here, buddy," the man growls dangerously, (There is no way this shit is happening right now, Xanthous thinks in his panicked state. There is no fucking way I am being robbed by a 20 year old man with nothing better to do.) "I'm going to give you to the count of 5. By then, it's either you hand me the money, or you're dead." The man drops the blade on the counter with a loud clatter, and holds up five fingers. "Five." He puts down a finger. "Four. Three. Two. One-"

Xanthous fucking dives to the ground and throws his arms up and over his head just as the man shoots the pistol with a earsplitting bang, something white-hot just barely grazes the back of his neck, and then suddenly the door burts open, and then there's the sound of urgent voices and footsteps filling his ears and there's screaming and shouting and the sound of skin meeting skin and more gunshots he curls into a tight ball because it's too much for him to comprehend all at once-

Xanthous' hands are heated and clamped tightly around his ears, and his eyes are squeezed shut. His breathing is heavy and it hitches, and his body is slowly growing sore from its uncomfortable, tense position on the floor.

He takes deep, shaky breaths in an attempt to calm himself, and, slowly, he uncurls, and sits up in a more comfortable position. He sits there for quite a while, processing everything that just happened. (Later on, he will be thankful that he was the only one in the café at the time.)

Xanthous slowly peeks up from behind the counter, and is amazed to see the robber, laying on the floor, apprehended, but even more so to see four youths standing over him.

The oldest-looking one has short, sandy blond hair. He wears a yellow tank-top and shorts, and a workout-headband is tightened around his head. His arms are covered in flames

The girl-Xanthous can not tell which of the next two is older-also has blonde hair. Hers is long and braided, and slowly wiggle, as if they were alive. Her uniform is entirely pink-pink shirt, pink miniskirt, pink boots.

The one with the sunglasses has dark shaggy hair, and a green, one-piece suit. As far as Xanthous knows, he does not have any powers that are obvious. (That doesn't mean he is powerless, Xanthous thinks. Maybe his is, like, telekinesis or something.)

The littlest one-most likely the youngest-has ruffled black hair, bright, shimmering green eyes, and a blue hero suit, a lightning bolt plastered on his chest, a cape, and a matching blue mask. His hair sticks up slightly, and, occasionally, parts of his body crackle with electricity. (Xanthous is ignoring the fact that his lights are flickering, because what else can you do when four suspicious youths save you from a robber and appear to have powers?)

"Holy shit," Xanthous whispers, dazed. It must come out louder than he intended it to be, because the four kids whirl around to face him, varying degrees of shock evident on their faces.

They stare at each other for a moment in awkward silence, and then the eldest clears his throat and says, kindly, "Hello there, sir. Are you alright?" as the others whisper amongst themselves. Xanthous manages to catch, "Oh thank God he's alright," "I thought you were going to check to see if there was anyone behind the counter to keep them safe!" and, "I thought Morph was gonna do it!"

Xanthous says, "I've died, haven't I. The guy shot me and I'm dead," because there is no way this is happening. Not here. Not now. Not in his café.

"'Fraid not, sir," says Sunglasses-Man. He tries for a warm, reassuring smile. It does nothing to soothe Xanthous' nerves.

"Holy shit," Xanthous says again, and, carefully, hoists himself up using the counter. It feels much harder than usual. Perhaps it is because of the numbness seeping into his body, or the shakiness in his limbs, but he is not entirely sure.

Xanthous takes another breath, before facing the kids. "I-Thanks, I think?" He finds himself leaning heavily against the counter. "Is there-uh, do you want anything? I need to repay you somehow."

Fire-boy waves him off dismissively. "Don't worry about it. We do it all the time." He eyes the cut on Xanthous' face. "Now, the real question is, are you okay?"

"Y-yeah. It's fine. It's just a cut." Still, he presses a hand to his wound, and draws it back, gazing at the red smeared on the palm of his hand.

"Are you sure?" asks Braids, brow furrowing. "We have a friend who's a nurse. We can take you to her, if you want," she offers.

"Thanks," Xanthous says, tearing his gaze away from his hand and dropping his arm down by his side, "but I'll be fine." He waves a hand around the café, feeling rather awkward. "Umm-Feel free to stop by anytime. Café's open 24/7, as long as there's some able to take the night shift." He pauses for a moment. "I mean, only if you want to," he rambles nervously. "You don't have to or anything."

"Can we bring friends?" Sparky asks, a hopeful glint in his eyes and smile.

"Sure." It comes out sounding more like a question than he'd like it to, but he can't care at this point.

"Back to the original topic," Sunglasses-Man says, "are you sure you're alright? I'd hate to leave you here when you need help."

"I-I think I'll be fine." You don't need to do anymore for me.

"If you're sure," Fire-boy says slowly, sounding rather uncertain. He turns to the others. "We should get going now," he says to them, and then, to Xanthous, "Take care of yourself, man."

And then they're gone, out the door, dragging the robber with them as they leave.

Xanthous stands there, impassively staring at the bullet holes in his ceiling, his walls, at the overturned tables and chairs, and the scorch marks staining his floor. The pocket-knife on the counter has disappeared too.

Slowly, shakily, he brings out his phone from the pocket of his now-wrinkled apron, and opens the messenger app.

Bossy Middle Child: Café's gonna be closed for a while

Something came up and I need to fix some things

Daniel [They/them]: are u ok?

was there a fire?

do u need me to come in and help?

i can be there in 5

Bossy Middle Child: No no no it's okay it wasn't anything like that

I'm pretty sure I just almost got murdered lol

Several people are typing. . .

Bossy Middle Child: Shit