Peter dove forward, sliding across the tile and skidding to a stop just before his head hit the pipe running down from the bottom of the sink.

He jutted one hand out and above his head, waving the three mice in his grip.

"Okay!" He exclaimed. "Okay, this is progress!" He looked up at Granny Sal sitting on the spare stool they dragged to the back, her arms over her middle and an amused upturn to her mouth. "How many do we have now?"

She peered into the plastic box on the table next to her. "With what you just grabbed? Ten."

"Nice. How many are still loose?"

Two separate mice ran across the space between them. Sal's expression morphed into a more apologetic one.

"Somethin' like twenty or twenty-one."

Peter sighed. One of the mice in his grasp nibbled on his finger, and he dropped his catch with a small yelp.

"Or twenty four."

"Sorry, Ms. Granny."

"You're doin' your best, sugar."

Weasel poked his head into the kitchen, eyeing the makeshift barriers of bricks and towels stuffed into every which crevice from behind his cloudy lenses. "So I'm probably gonna close the bar tonight because of... this." He plucked his glasses off his face, squinted as he rubbed them down with the bottom of his orange-blue flannel, and slid the frame back onto the bridge of his nose with slightly clearer smears. Then gestured vaguely in their direction. "Also I banned Jay-Ar and Kaia from making any more executive decisions about our ant problem."

"You've got this sweetie back here playing exterminator because you listened to those idiots?" Sal planted her hands on her hips and dogged him down with one of those stares reserved by long-suffering grandmothers. "See, this is why you don't have a girlfriend."

"Sal, I swear to fucking god—"

Peter cocked a brow. "You let Jay-Ar and Kaia back here?" His head tilted a bit before he glanced towards a different corner of the kitchen. "That sounds like it's your fault for listening to anything they say, Mr. Weasel."

"Do you know how much cheaper they are than calling an actual guy for this?"

Two sets of unamused stares bore into him. Weasel suffered under the pressure for an entire five and a half seconds before he crumbled.

"Okay, fine, shut up, fuck. It was a bad call." He sighed. "Did we decide on Raid for the bugs?"

"Yeah, I texted Wade to get some."

Weasel pulled a face. "You're on my ass for Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Fuck and you got that flared-based ass plug running errands?" A hand slid up his face to rub his eyes, re-smudging his lenses back to square one. "You know he's going to kill someone on the way here, right?"

"You've got crazy faith in the guy that rakes in one of the highest job completion rates," Peter remarked dryly as he crouch-crawled towards the quiet scuffle he zeroed in on from across the kitchen. One knee was all the way bent while the other stretched out to the side as he held his balance on the tips of his toes, fingers splayed across brown tiles and stained grout. With a hunched back and a laser-focused gaze, he crept forward with an uncanny resemblance to something with a little more than two legs. "And I need to keep him busy because these lil' guys are still out and he'd just shish-kebab them the first chance he gets."

A flash of white and he tumbled into the bottom shelf between two boxes of spare dishes. Still, he emerges with his hair fluffier and a pair of mice wriggling from his grip on their tails.

"Look!" Peter exclaimed, sticking out his hand. "How can you skewer these faces?"

"I can think of a few ways," Sal muttered under her breath.

"Shoulda named you Mouse instead," Weasel said, scuttling a wary few steps back when the kid brandished them closer. "Jesus, put those things the fuck down, you want fucking cholera or something?"

"Mice don't give you that," chirped Peter.

"Idiot." Sal shook her head. "And if there was ever a girlfriend around here she'd be saying the same damn thing—"

::

So he was walking down the street with two bags of Raid, right?

At first it was just going to be the Ant & Roach Killer, the OG, so he got that, but then there was Multi Insect Killer that might work better and he was set. Until he saw Liquid Ant Baits and that was jail for ants. Jail. Mini-jail. And right next to mini-jail was Ant Gel, gross, because no one should ever think those little six-legged fucks should be getting those rights. Then after using those comprehension skills every functional adult should have and he'd read the back of the package, it was after the harsh sting of betrayal in learning that it actually wasn't for ants to style their hair but for them to eat shit and die, then he threw that in the basket too.

But there were also beetles? Or at least there were no more beetles to eat the ants because the mice ate the beetles, so he got Flying Insect just in case there was a survivor and the Multi Insect didn't work. Perimeter Protection probably would do good for after, so yoink, Bug Barrier, so yoinker, and if that wasn't the crossbones in the potion cabinet he didn't know what was. Yoinkiest.

Gotta be careful with that Multi Insect, though. Can't kill Peter by accident.

"Hey!" Someone snapped a short distance to his left. "Fuck off!"

Wade slowed his stride, but kept his head tilted away from the noise. Because when you look you get involved, and when you get involved you get into trouble. At least when he ended up in the thick of it—just a whole schmear in another job that ended with brain matter on his knee pads and he was getting sick of buying hydrogen peroxide by the gallons for laundry day. The CVS three blocks down from his place probably thought he was a fucking serial killer.

"I said—fuck off!"

He looked up. And cursed—idiot, what did we just say—but didn't look away because the least he could do was respect the binding clause of eye contact. Battle every trainer you fuck up on sneaking past. But instead of a seven year old with a bug net and the saddest Metapod you ever did see, there stood a classic mugger mugging a muggee, and while that problem wasn't technically in his job description, the only future he saw if he walked away was Peter's disappointed puppy dogs eyes on that baby face because a fifteen year old was just a baby and that baby needed Raid but FINE, he could help out the muggee this one time, because we obviously have the resolve of the first little piggy's shit ass house, and that'll be his last Good Samaritan sticker for the rest of the year.

And he totally had this in his hoodie over his scarred-fuck mug shouting, "Hey dipstrip! What kind of cliché—"

The supposed-to-have-been-muggee whipped back her free arm and threw the sickest punch against her assailant's jaw hinge and they both watched the mugger crumple boneless on the ground. She had gold wire glasses and brown hair that frazzled as she caught her breath, and after a couple seconds she paused and looked up at him.

"Hell yeah." Wade gave her a thumbs up. "Was gonna help you, but I guess you don't need it after that mean-ass right hook."

She puffed out a breath and picked the strands of hair off her face. "Uh. Thanks."

Stand-up deed, Wade. Pat ourselves on the back. Good to know there was someone out there one-two-blamming like they're Manny Pacquiao. The mugger was down, nine out of ten with a point off for form, so he raised one of his bagged hands in attempt to wiggle them around in an imitation of a wave—

Swish. Clunkclunkclunkclunk claNK.

UgggggggggGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH.

He sighed as he sunk into a defeated crouch with the corpse of a plastic bag and spilled cans of Raid. It was fine, his hands worked, he could probably stuff some in his jacket and any pickpocket better be lucky he spent his hard-earned stabbing money on quality bug killer.

The first one he picked up he tucked under an arm and after picking up the second he paused, considering, and tried to hold both of them under his arm at the same time. When he went for the third a pair of different, smaller hands took hold of the last two cans as well as the tube of falsely-advertised Ant Gel.

"Those bags get thinner every year, I swear," Not-Muggee mentioned with a friendly smile. "Looks like your infestation's pretty bad."

"Yeah, 'cause my dumbass friend listened to his dumbass customers about dealing with dumbass ants by dumping a cup of dumbass beetles to eat them, so instead of an ant problem there's an ant and beetle problem." He stuffed one can in his left jacket pocket and one in his right, then offered up his last bag for the stranger to drop the rest of his stuff in. "'ppreciate it." He cradled the bag to his chest, because if that one broke too he might just have to pop himself in the head. "And then those dumbass customers had a second bright idea to deal with the dumbass beetles with dumbass mice and, well." His shrug swung the strings of his zip-up. "So Pe—my buddy, who works for my dumbass friend, sent me on a Raid Run. Capitalized R's."

By now, most people would be giving him that blank-eyed stare, face shut off from the confusion and caution creeping into their posture from the weird burn victim looking motherfucker who wouldn't shut his damn mouth. It wasn't that bad of a deterrent on New York streets when others with his sort of mind flow weren't exactly a toothpick in a syringe stack, but Not-Muggee only cocked her brow and didn't side-step away for comfort.

"Your buddy's not a dumbass?"

"Nah, he's just a kid. Small and scrunchy, needs a nap, way smart. Y'know, the type that when he gets to talkin' about molecules or galaxies or somethin' like that, it all goes whoosh." His free hand zipped over his hand and jellyfished to mime an explosion. "It's real cute. I just also happen to be a dumbass."

She grinned. "Aw, that can't be true. You're helping your buddy out." She eyed the cans sticking out of his jacket. "I mean, it might be a little overkill, but it can't hurt to be thorough."

Somewhere along the way Wade's pace picked back up on the sidewalk, steel-toe boots crunching into the leftover ice from the storm earlier in the week. And right alongside him Non-Muggee strode along in her ankle-high snow boots with fluff all along the top. From his spot to her right, a quick glance into the tote bag over her shoulder granted him a view of a pair of sneakers and bunched up blue clothes. Scrubs. So someone of the hospital variety. Don't got too many of those kinds of friends when we're a murdering dipshit.

Maybe one day he'd egg Wease into kidnapping a doctor.

"Only 'cause the kid asked, by the way. Dumbass Two—he'll never take One away from me and if he tries, it's through single-hand combat—shouldn't have let the gaggle of Other Dumbasses make the call in the first place. And look where we are! The kid's out there catching mice out there like a goddamn human cheese trap."

"Exterminator."

"Bless you."

Not-Muggee chuckled. "Your kid's catching mice by hand?"

"He doesn't have the heart to kill 'em," he shrugs. "He won't use those sticky traps and yeah, I know there's nothing great about a dude getting stuck in glue, but it would've been so much easier and I even offered to get him all the vegetable oil in the world so he could free their slimy selves into the sewer." But he said no. "But he said no. And, like, if I was the one cleaning up Dumbass Two's mess, I'd just shish-kebab the little fuckers and—"

He paused.

Wait.

LMAO.

Un-fucking-believable.

"Bitch," he cursed under his breath. "That punk-ass brat set me up." Quieter, and maybe with a sniffle, "I'm so proud."

"You've got to watch out for the clever ones." She waggled a finger. "They might be great kids, but they've got a butt-load of secrets, let me tell you." A finger pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose before she stuffed her hand back into her puffer jacket. "Actually, your kid kind of reminds me of mine. He's crazy smart, like, it's all technology and innovation with him. Building or re-inventing or just being out there in the world—he's amazing. but I think he's pulling himself a little thin." For all her bright-eyed humor and frankly unshakeable disposition, Wade finally spotted a sliver of uncertainty nudge its way onto her face. "He's got all these... extra-curriculars along with his part-time job and he's keeping up his straight A's just like we agreed, and I'm just..." She sighed. "I just worry, you know?"

"I totally get that. If I wasn't two screws loose from a fully functional HEMNES dresser I'd be filling out stamp cards like so fast it'd be illegal; get eight heart attacks and the ninth one kills you for free." He rapped his knuckles against his head. Who's there? Whisk. Whisk who? We're one more stolen BLÅHAJ from getting banned from IKEA but that's a whisk we're willing to take. "Teenagers. What can ya do?"

"Remind them how they used to cry when they just walked past the mall Santa during Christmas time. It keeps them humble."

He barked out a quick laugh as he stopped at the corner where he was meant to make a left turn, but saw that Not-Muggee's angled to head right. "So, this has been an unusually normal conversation. Freakily decent. Surprisingly not the worst."

"It was nice talking to you too," she responded almost dryly, but it did nothing to dampen the sincerity in her voice. "I hope you and your kid figure out your plague trail mix problem."

Wade cracked a smile—slight with a flash of teeth, pulled from the small pit in his chest Peter had managed to mush up like bananas in banana bread. "And this might not mean much, 'specially since I don't know a damn thing about your kid, but you probably don't have to worry too much. He sounds like a good one."

Her gaze softened as she lifted a hand in one last wave before he watched her disappear in the throngs of the swarming crowd with a million different places to be in the middle of a New York winter.

It was a little weird, though. He'd never seen Not-Muggee before and chances were he was never going to see her again, but he couldn't help but feel there was something about her he just missed. There hadn't been a single familiar thing about her face or her words or the way she dressed but maybe, he didn't know, maybe there'd been something in how—how friendly she'd been, how kind, how—

Swish. Clunkclunkclunkclunk CLANK.

... We're so not touching ourselves tonight.

He dropped to his knees and held his head in his hands. "UgggggggggGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH."

::

Wade kicked open the door to the bar.

"I have hunted!" He ducked into the main room with an armful of Raid products and not a single ripped bag of betrayal. "And I sure as shit have goddamn gathered!"

As he dropped them on top of the bar, uncaring of the cans that ended up rolling onto the floor, Peter burst out from the kitchen with brown hair that frazzled in every which way as his eyes glimmered, bright-eyed and excited as he bounced out to greet him.

"Wade, Wade, Wade!"

"Petey, Petey, Petey!" Wade parroted. "What's shakin', crispy bacon?"

"Mr. Weasel just got in a new job and it was kind of on the down low, so he texted me the info with the most constipated look on his face and I mean, he should totally be used to stuff like this by now, but look!" Peter shoved his phone screen into his friend's face, and Wade took a few moments to focus from going cross-eyed. "The job request was for you and your new 'partner' and they started calling them Dead and Blue!"

"What?! That's SO fucking cool!"

"No, it's fucking not!" Weasel shouted from somewhere in the back.

"Eat my fucking tots, Napoleon!" Wade shouted back as he slung an arm around his taco buddy's shoulders, pulling him close and gesturing to his spoils. "So listen. At first it was just going to be the Ant & Roach Killer, the OG, so I got that, but then there was Multi Insect Killer that might work better and I was set. Until—get that look off your face, this was made through a series of important decision-making—until I saw the Liquid Ant Baits and that was jail for ants—"

::

May shrugged off her parka as she stepped into the apartment and just managed to pull off her snow boots before she dropped onto the couch, glasses askew and tote bag filled with the scrubs she had to put in the wash, but that could wait. Her shift might not have been too bad but man did she hate going from place to place in the winter. Usually she'd flop onto Peter and complain about it until he started whining and she'd have to pinch his cheeks because he was just so damn cute, but he had work and she wouldn't see him until tomorrow morning.

You probably don't have to worry too much. He sounds like a good one.

Yeah, he was.

So today, instead of letting herself get to worrying, she pulled out her phone and tapped on one of her most frequent contacts.

Almost always, the phone picked up after the first ring.

"You must have much to say to call me so soon after your shift."

"Lora, get a load of this," she greeted brightly. "I almost got mugged today!"