Peter Parker started walking home from school in 6th grade. The zoning for the bus changed from elementary to middle school, and now he had to walk. It wasn't that far, half an hour even with his little 11-year-old legs.

It took him just three weeks to realize that neither his aunt nor his uncle had the time to keep track of him, so long as he showed up for dinner. That meant that after school, he had three hours to do whatever he wanted, no accountability.

He was still a nerd, though, and nerds aren't very good at (pre)teen rebellion. However, as a growing boy, he was good at eating. And it just so happened that at the halfway point of his walk (well, 3 minutes into a random side street at the mid-way point), there was a hole-in-the-wall Italian place with low prices and great food.

A normal person would have questioned why a restaurant has no real signage, is placed out of the way, and is permanently empty with just a single employee. Hungry middle-schoolers are not normal people. Hell, even just 'people' is a bit of a stretch.

So, Peter Parker held on to lunch money, small allowances for doing chores, and even the coins he spotted lying on the street. And, about three times a week, he bought the cheapest item on the menu (kid's spaghetti and meatballs) and gorged himself on free bread sticks.

This one restaurant is also responsible for Peter's complete lack of understanding for restaurant norms. He didn't really tip, just rounding up when he didn't have exact change, but the owner loved him. She was an elderly woman, old enough for him to quickly view her as a grandmother, of sorts.

After he cemented himself as a regular, she started to sit with him and talk. She didn't talk much, except for the occasional story from at least 40 years and an international move ago. Mostly, she asked him questions. And Peter was happy to answer. He rambled about school and Ned and Aunt May and Uncle Ben and star wars and his latest science experiments and his process in coding and whatever else was rattling around in his head.

Peter learned the old lady's name after almost a year of frequenting his secret little hideaway. His first day of seventh grade was just a half day, really just there to let teacher's pass out supply lists and wrangle seating charts. So, Peter arrived earlier than was typical. He walked in and, for once, the restaurant was not empty. It was close, yes, but a single table in the middle of the room had four men sitting around it. They were well-dressed, and Peter thought that maybe his after-school snack spot was more fancy than he thought. They were wearing suits.

One of them shouted," Hey, Donna, you've got a kid to deal with!" He was Italian, Peter noted.

Donna, who he soon realized must be one and the same as the kind old woman he privately thought of as a grandmother, quickly rushed out into the dining room.

"Oh, Peter! Hello, darling," she smiled kindly," You're awful early."

"The first day of school is always a half-day," he smiled wide.

And then they resumed their routine, at the booth as far away from the men as possible. Donna was occasionally interrupted to refill a water or grab a drink, but besides that, Peter could peacefully ignore them.

It became more common, as Peter finished middle school, that he'd arrive to several well-dressed Italian men talking among themselves. Peter didn't particularly pay attention to them, assuming they were businessmen. (he didn't get much exposure to other careers that may require a suit)

When his Uncle died, Donna became his rock. She listened as he fought with memories of Ben's empty eyes. He alluded at the guilt he felt, the one only explained by his powers, but Donna never pressed for answers. She just listened and offered comfort.

He started high school. Stopping at the restaurant now added 15 minutes to his walk home, but he did it anyway. It was tradition. He did ask Donna one thing though.

"Hey, I had a bit of a favor to ask you," he was probably overthinking, but just asking was intimidating," I've been thinking about getting a job, and I know this place isn't really that busy, but I can clean and-"

"Fine, kid," Donna smiled," You're hired."

It wasn't at all what Peter expected. Instead of washing dishes or cutting vegetables, Donna sat him behind the counter and told him to find her if anyone showed up. Then, she disappeared into the kitchen.

Peter was not very good at his job. Pretty much every evening, for 4 hours, he'd sit behind the counter. Him and Donna talked while he ate a now-complimentary meal, but within the hour, she'd disappear. And Peter would be left to man the world's slowest restaurant.

He'd do homework, and text Ned, but Peter is really more of an active person. Especially since being bitten by a spider that made him really good at acrobatics. So, he started climbing the walls. Doing backflips, practicing silly little maneuvers that he told himself would come in handy during patrol.

And Donna took a nap in the backroom, thinking the shy little boy who talked of too much guilt and had too many bruises was being paid to do his homework. He was , but he was also being paid to think up ideas for more trouble.

Once, Peter had come to work with a poorly-stitched stab wound in his side. He did not spend that shift alone, and he chalked it up to coincidence. After all, what adult would simply ignore an obviously-injured teenager? He must've been hiding it better than he thought. He failed to consider that some people were all too aware of the harm bringing law enforcement into a situation could do. Some people knew just how corrupt, how easily bribed most police were. How easily a teen in over his head could end up dead.

Donna watched Peter go from excited about his date to homecoming, to newly terrified and injured. She didn't ask for the story. She asked a different question.

"Peter," Donna's voice sounded oddly serious," Would you like a job that might come with additional... Benefits?"

"What kind of benefits?" Peter asked, wondering why Donna thought he needed health insurance.

"Safety, support, even a family, of sorts," she said," Protection."

Peter paused. That was vaguely suspicious enough for even him to notice. Not enough for him to ignore the benefits though. He didn't really get what Donna was alluding to, but he also was still reeling from how it felt to be without his suit, without any backup to call on. At the very least, more money to build his own stuff wouldn't hurt.

"How much would this other job pay?"

"Well. It'd depend on how good you are at it."

"I'll give it a go."

The next day, Donna had a man, maybe 10 years older than Peter, waiting for him. Peter was told to eat, and then follow him. He ate quickly, eager to learn more about his new job.

Afterwards, the man led him through the back and onto the street. Peter followed, hesitant, but assured in his ability to defend himself.

"So... Who exactly are you?"

"You may call me Romeo."

"We're reading that in class!" Peter started," Are your parents super into Shakespeare or something?"

Romeo looked at him oddly," No."

Peter quickly sensed the need to find a new topic," What's this job about? Donna was rather vague."

Romeo actually seemed prepared for that question," It depends. Do you have any skills?"

"I'm pretty good at math, I guess. STEM stuff in general, really," Peter paused for a second before adding," I'm pretty strong too. I can hold my own in a fight, at least."

And with that, he somehow sealed the deal. Romeo dragged him through a random apartment building and into an apartment. Stood him in front of a doorway and said," Don't let anyone in."

Two minutes later, an angry man with the build of a brick shithouse tried to storm in. Two minutes after that, he'd been thoroughly prevented from doing so. He was nearly unhurt, just a few bruises, and Peter himself hadn't a slightest scratch.

Apparently the job was essentially that of a bouncer. Peter misdirected, and occasionally fought, both men and women who may accidently wander into whatever building he was placed at.

He wasn't told much. He wasn't stupid, he knew something was sketchy, but he also wrapped if all in a neat little mental box labeled 'I'm paid too much to think that hard'. After all, Donna wouldn't get him involved in anything that bad, and it's definitely being balanced out by how much more time he has to patrol as spiderman, now that he makes 3x as much an hour.

All of his mental justifications fall apart the second Black fucking Widow rocks up to him while working and tries to get past him. He debates fighting her, but no matter how much he likes his job, he isn't gonna be able to take on an Avenger. So he stands aside and watches with wide eyes as a shit ton of cops pull up 2 minutes later. He takes that as a sign to leave, and the cops seem to decide that a skinny 15-year-old wasn't their biggest problem at the moment.

Peter didn't take long deciding what to do. He made his way to Donna's restaurant as quickly as he could. He slammed open the door with a bit more force than he should have been capable of.

"Peter!," Donna exclaimed," Are you hurt?"

"No, I just had a quick question. Why, exactly, did a whole bunch of cops just raid the building I was guarding. Oh, and, what , exactly, did I get myself into?"

Donna did not explain. No, Donna swore before telling him to go home and never mention her to anyone. No matter what. Then she disappeared into the back and Peter decided that maybe, for once in his life, he should listen to an adult. Because he was only so stupid. And getting involved in something sketchy illegal enough to involve the avengers, in his civilian identity nonetheless, was past even his stupidity-tolerance.

For the record, he did get an explanation. In the form of Mr Stark showing up and asking him, in front of Aunt May ," Mind explaining why you were standing guard for a mafia organization?"

Peter thought the whole story was kinda funny. Aunt May grounded him for the rest of eternity. Mr Stark gave him a 3-hour lecture on you should be smarter than that and even I never accidentally joined the mafia, and I did coke in high school . Peter decided to pretend he never heard that bit, since Mr Stark didn't seem to realize it'd slipped into his lecture.