Chapter Text
The pungent haze of hot oil wafted through the room, drawing sweat and irritability. The clack clack clack of knives hitting wood filled the space, joining the sizzle of pans and barking of chefs. It was a melody Danny did not yet appreciate.
He watched in despair and awe as the kitchen staff—his new coworkers, he reminded himself—moved with easy efficiency, meanwhile he scrambled like a salmon in salt water.
"Behind!" Called Pill, sweeping past him with a large pot in hand.
"On your left." Said Bug.
"Move!" Karma shoved him forward with a sharp elbow, shooting him a glare as he stumbled to catch himself.
"Sorry-!" Danny cried, waving his hands in surrender. His head snapped up at the sound of the Chef, the man's voice carrying easily over the chaos.
"Newbie, get over here! You're supposed to be shadowin' me, how are you supposed to learn anything from fucking Antarctica?"
"Yes sir-! I mean- Chef. Yes Chef!"
The morning started peacefully, how had things gone South so swiftly? Danny missed it, the atmosphere before he felt guilty for merely existing in their space...
Earlier.
Danny entered the kitchen with steps that faltered under the scrutiny of the men before him.
Two boys stood by the center island, a third sat atop its surface—medium lochs fell around his shoulders, yet to be sealed away by hairnet. He grinned at the sight of Danny.
"Hey! New guy, right?" He hopped down and ventured forward, holding out his hand for Danny to shake. "The name's Pill! And yours is Daniel, right?"
"Danny," he corrected sheepishly and winced at his enthusiastic handshake. His brows furrowed. "Uhm- Pill?"
"Yeah?" Pill tilted his head, then laughed. "Ahh, You're wondering about the name, aren't ya? Get this-" he pointed back towards one of the boys—a lanky fellow with rectangular glasses perched on his nose. "That's Bug. And that-" He pointed to the other, shaggy black hair covering an impassive expression. "-is Chops. Crazy, huh?"
Danny chuckled stiffly. He averted his gaze. "Those are... unique names."
'Bug' stepped forward with a sigh, expression less than amused. "They're not our real ones," he explained. "More like inside jokes between the staff. I'm actually called Adam-"
"He doesn't need to know that!" Pill exclaimed. "Don't be boring, Bugsy." Bug grimaced in disgust when Pill threw a jovial arm around him.
"Get off me."
Pill was undeterred. "This guy," he began, "talked a health inspectors ear off about how important insects were for the environment. Poor lady was just checkin' for roaches!" He burst out laughing at the memory. "Hence... Bug."
"Yeah, and what about your name, huh? Why don't we tell that story."
Pill shook his head. "Nahh, that ain't-"
"He accidentally took his dogs medication instead of his own. Was blazed for the whole day. Chef was livid."
Pill glared. Bug glared right back.
"And why is he called Chops..?" Danny gestured to the silent boy.
The two broke from their staring contest to answer.
"Dude was so nervous on his first day, he chopped the ingredients to mush." Pill giggled. Chops, meanwhile, gave a small nod of acknowledgement to Danny.
Danny nodded back and smiled. This wouldn't be so bad after all, he thought. These boys seemed nice, he had been worried over nothing!
The traffic swing doors burst open. In stepped a large man—not the stereotypical 'jolly' type by any means. Arms like tree trunks and a face like a hornet, he wasted no time, stepping straight past them to prepare his station for the day ahead.
Without needing to be the told, the others jumped to do the same. Danny stood in idle uncertainty.
"Right, listen up. That bougie high school down the street is having a campus tour this evenin'." He wiped down every inch of his counter in two sweeps of a cloth. "That means families. Which means we'll be busy..." He lay out his knives and chopping board, placing a damp towel under the board to prevent it from slipping, then turned.
"Which means you three better pay attention."
Danny took a small step to the side. He was acutely aware of his exclusion from this conversation.
"Yes chef!" They called.
Danny looked over as the door opened once again. In walked a rather unbothered looking young lady, with hair dyed purple and piercings lining her ears.
"Karma!"
The girl—Karma, he assumed, and boy did he want the story to that name—glanced towards Chef.
"Yeah?"
"You're late. Again."
Karma simply shrugged. "My car wouldn't start."
"Well isn't that convenient." Chef leaned against the counter, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the surface. "You had the same excuse yesterday. And the day before. You'd think by now you would take initiative and bring it to be repaired."
The girl scoffed. "I don't have the money for that."
"Then take the bus." Chef pointed a stern finger to her station. "Go. We open in 10 minutes. Start your prep."
"Whatever..."
Karma stormed past the snickering boys, only sparing a glare towards Danny. "What are you looking at?" She snapped.
Danny shrunk back like he had been struck. He stammered gibberish before finally choosing the safest option; silence.
As though only now noticing Danny's presence, Chef snapped a finger and pointed to the spot beside him. "You. Over here. You won't have your own station until you've learned a thing or two."
Danny scurried over, dwarfed by the sheer size of the man
"What do you need me to do?"
"What I tell you to, when I tell you to. Can you do that?"
Danny quickly nodded.
"Good. Then we'll have no problems."
Back To Present.
It turns out they would, in fact, have problems.
"What is this? You call this peeled? The skin's still half on!"
"Yes chef- sorry chef!" Danny squeaked, rushing to remedy his mistake.
This was not his expectations for the first day. The manager informed him he'd be walked through everything he needed to know, yet it turns out this kitchen had a different method of learning—figure it out on the spot, or get yelled at.
He tried to move the peeler faster, like how he saw Bug do it. There was a knack to it, something he was missing. He had to be quick, had to catch up.
Danny pushed out a hiss through his teeth as the peeler suddenly sliced his finger. He dropped the offending item, along with the sweet potato, down into the bucket of peeled spuds.
Chef snapped his head over. He exhaled sharply.
"Throw it out."
"What-?"
"It's been contaminated. Throw the whole thing out."
Danny looked down at the bucket. So much work, gone to waste.
"Did I say stand there like a dope? Throw it out. You're slowing things down."
The boy blinked back tears and rushed to grab the bucket. Once outside, he dumped it in the garbage of the back alley.
Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.
Danny let the bucket clatter to the ground and slumped against the wall. The tears flowed without a care for his will, quiet sobs shaking his shoulders.
At the sound of approaching footsteps, he pressed his hand to cover his damp cheeks.
"The first day is always the hardest."
Danny froze at the voice—gravelly, yet with no trouble being understood. With a hesitant peek, he got a glimpse of the man he was 99% sure was the Sous Chef. His stomach flipped, and he shifted, now face to face with the second highest kitchen authority—all tattoos and stone cold expression.
A cigarette hung from the man's mouth, and he took a long, savouring drag. Holding out the packet, he offered Danny one, nodding in approval when the boy shook his head.
"Good lad. They're killers." The Sous Chef tucked the box back in his pocket with a sigh. Then, he held out a band-aid for Danny to take. "He isn't cruel. He's showing you mercy, if anything."
"It didn't feel like mercy." Danny mumbled, applying the band-aid to the cut.
"The kitchen isn't a place for the weak. It's fast-paced and it'll give you white hairs before you're thirty if you're not careful." He blew out a plume of smoke. "He doesn't have the time to coddle. Not you, not anyone."
"But... So what, he just yells at everyone when they mess up?"
The Sous Chef shook his head. "He's more forgiving of mistakes than you think. He reacts like that so you know the stakes. The weak ones don't come back. The strong ones?" He jabbed a thumb towards the door. "They're in there, cooking."
Danny was silent as he absorbed the words. The Sous Chef gave him a firm pat on the back and turned to the door. "If you don't think you can handle this job, no one will judge you for walking out. But you might just miss a great opportunity."
He watched as the older man stepped back inside.
You might just miss a great opportunity...
・・・・・
"He didn't even last an hour," sneered Karma, her fingers making quick work of adding garnish to her dish. "That's a new record."
Chef said nothing, but the Sous Chef—Sebastian, Danny would learn—didn't look pleased.
"Watch your mouth."
"Whatever, Seb." She muttered.
Danny entered right as Sebastian muttered something low to Karma, drawing out an admittedly satisfying red-faced reaction. The boy wished he knew what had been said.
If Chef was surprised to see Danny return, he didn't show it—just gestured for him to come closer. Sebastian gave him a small nod of approval from the other side of the kitchen when he obeyed.
"Where's the bucket?"
Danny paused.
"... I forgot it- should I go get it?"
Chef sighed. "No, forget about it. Start shelling those peas."
Danny wasn't quite so skilled at hiding his shock. The man was allowing him to help? After what happened?
Sebastian's words echoed in his mind; He's more forgiving of mistakes than you think...
"Hop to."
"Yes, Chef."
・・・・・
Sebastian was right—the first day was indeed the worst. In just six days Danny had gone from feeling as though he could do nothing right, to feeling almost needed. Bug showed him how to peel quickly without cutting himself, Pill let him in on all the funny stories and inside jokes—even Chops spoke a word or two to him.
Karma's attitude towards him remained sour... But he was sure with time it would soften.
With the first day over him, Danny felt confident in his choice to stay, especially now that Chef had finally ran through the orientation, safety and kitchen layout.
He was even allowed to do a few orders himself!
"You able to handle this one, boy?"
Danny nodded, sliding the ticket over. "A-huh, no problem Chef."
Oil in the pan, lower it. Mushrooms, onions, asparagus, sautéed with herbs. Not too much food in one pan, lest they serve a soggy meal. Don't flip it too soon to develop that beautiful caramelized crust...
"I'm going on break." Karma suddenly declared, untying her apron.
"You have a ticket waiting." Sebastian pointed out.
"So? It's my break." Karma snatched the ticket from it's place. "Danny will handle it for me, won't you Dan? Atta boy."
Danny stammered—before he had even a chance to protest, she stuck the paper to his forehead before sauntering off to the break room.
He lowered the heat of the stove and peeled the ticket from his face, giving it a once over with furrowed brows.
Two orders... he could handle it. Right?
The boy stole a glance towards Chef, who looked far too busy to bother. He turned back to the ticket. Chef had given him a chance—they all had. It was time to prove himself.
Danny reached to stick the order to the ticket rail. A moment later he reached back, realizing he hadn't quite internalized the order.
His hand clumsily slipped past the ticket straight to the shelf above, knocking into the bottle of oil that lay precariously by the edge. It tumbled forward at his hand's swift retract, spilling straight into the open pan.
Flames burst into existence and reached for the ceiling in an angry, swaying dance. Danny barely blinked before Chef shot forward and yanked him back. He slammed a lid over the flame with one hand, the other moving to lower the temperature.
Once sure the fire was effectively smothered, he slowly turned back to Danny, who saw the flame had not left—only migrated to Chef's expression.
"You idiot boy! What were you thinking, leaving an open bottle of oil on the edge of a high shelf!" He slapped him upside the head.
Danny winced and stammered out an apology. Chef raised a hand to silence him. He wasn't finished.
"Did you miss the part of orientation when I said safety rules ain't a suggestion? Hm? Were you daydreaming, off in dreamland?" The ding of a new order sliced through the tension like a blade—sharp as Chef's stare.
His head snapped to the machine. Rush hour approached. Chef turned back to Danny and pointed a finger towards him. Danny leaned back when the man moved closer, looming like a lion sizing up a rabbit.
"I'll deal with you later." A final turn to his gawking coworkers- "Get back to work!" and with that, Chef resumed, and Danny found himself just short of wetting himself.
Karma strolled back in, still munching a granola bar. She paused at the charged air. "What happened here?"
At the look on Chef's face, she was quick to quieten down and return to her station.
Sebastian cleared his throat. "Danny, go on break."
"But-"
"Now."
Danny wordlessly stepped from the kitchen.
・・・・・
He wasn't sure what Chef dealing with him entailed, but by the sympathetic look from Bug and shoulder pat Pill gave, he was convinced he would be executed.
As the evening wound down, the restaurant grew quiet, all who remained being cleaners and chatting bartenders nursing their post-shift drinks.
And of course, a large chef swiftly approaching a soon to be sorry boy.
"Head to the storage room and wait for me there. I need to wrap this up."
"Uhm- my shift ended an hour ago-" Danny mentioned weakly.
"You'll survive. Go."
With what he hoped was an inaudible sigh, Danny made his way to the storage room. He illuminated the shelved space with a tug of the light cord. At the center lay a large, unlabelled crate—during the tour Danny had been curious about its contents, along with the oddly empty corner of the room.
(One day he would be far less curious.)
Danny paced restlessly as he waited. Barely a week in and he was to be sacked, just his luck. And he was starting to like this place.
He sighed again—Chef was taking his sweet time. Danny was convinced he just wanted to let the boy squirm. When the man finally arrived, he was no less stern than before.
"I was under the impression you wanted this job." He began, shutting the door firmly behind.
"I do!" Danny squeaked.
"Then why not pay attention to what I told you?"
"I did."
"I find that hard to believe."
"I did, honestly I did Chef. I just forgot, everything was moving so fast-"
"Just forgot?" Chef stepped forward. "There's no room for forgetting here. Not when it comes to safety. Forget the extra side of fries? We've all been there. Mix up ingredients? Not ideal, but fixable. This." He pointed to the large burn scars that littered his face. "This is what happens when you mess with fire."
Danny wilted like a parched daisy when he heard those words.
Chef lowered himself to sit on the wooden box, grunting when his knees clicked. "Stand in front of me when I'm talkin' to you. I don't bite."
Danny wasn't convinced, but obeyed regardless. Even while sitting Chef towered over him, a fact Danny fought hard to ignore.
"You wanna be part of this restaurant, you better learn the behavior I tolerate, and exactly what happens for the shit I don't."
Without a single word of warning, Chef grabbed Danny by the wrist and draped him over his lap. Danny's breath caught in his throat.
"What the fuck are you doing-?!"
"Didn't take you for the swearing type." Danny was unsure if he was scolding or impressed.
He fought to wriggle his way from the wide lap, and grunted when Chef's hand came to keep him in place. "Still, boy. You'll only hurt yourself."
Chef's hand rose—oh gosh this was really happening—and clapped down on the seat of Danny's pants.
Before he could process the sting that big hand served, it came swinging back down. Danny whined at the pattern that developed—left, left, right, right, center, left, right-
"Chef-!"
He didn't slow. "I only started, pipe down."
What kind of HR nightmare was Danny living in right now? This couldn't possibly get any worse. Then the lecture came.
"I have no patience for carelessness in my kitchen. Your inattention could have scarred you for life."
Danny bit back a sob. "I'm sorry-!"
"Are you?" Chef's hand targeted those tender sit spots, eliciting a melody of yowls and yelps. "Inexperience isn't an excuse to be reckless. Do you hear me?"
"Yes Chef-!" He all but whined.
"Good. Then let's wrap this up."
From those words, Danny was under the impression the punishment would soon be over. Instead he had a total of 15 more swats.
Half way through, the sobs flowed freely, dam bursting via Chef's reassuring "Let it out or you'll make yourself sick." And by the end of it? He could no longer kick or squirm. He had only the strength to lay limply, fingers tangled in Chef's pant leg, dampenend by his tears.
Chef's stern resolve washed away with each cry and whimper. "You're alright, boy. You're okay." He pulled Danny up into his arms and engulfed him with a bear hug. Danny blinked in surprise before he melted against the warmth of Chef's chest.
"I'm sorry." He whispered.
"So you've said." Chef patted his back. "You're forgiven. So long as I see you make improvements."
Danny nodded. "I'll keep the oil away from the pan."
"And?"
"And I'll make sure it's properly sealed."
"Good boy."
A comfortable silence washed over the two as Danny's sobs reduced to quiet sniffles and the occasional hiccup. Too busy with the whirlwind of thoughts in his mind, he hardly noticed the way Chef made an effort to hold him up from his thigh, hoping the absence of pressure against sore flesh might soothe him.
Danny cleared his throat, and Chef peered down, sensing he had something to say.
"So just to clarify... I'm not fired?"
Quiet filled the air before it was abruptly broken by Chef's bark of laughter. Danny smiled awkwardly, wincing when the shaking chest jostled him slightly. Chef gave him a small pat of apology.
"You're a funny one. No lad, you're not fired. I don't cuddle with ex employees."
Danny flushed at the word—cuddle. Yes, he supposed that was what they were doing. But hearing such an intimidating man say it as such gave him whiplash.
"Right- of course."
The silence returned. Chef spoke a moment later.
"You have questions."
Danny's shoulders relaxed. "Yeah- uh, I do."
"Go ahead." Said Chef, with the calmness of a man who had this conversation many times before.
"Is- is that-... do you-?"
"Do I spank all my employees?" Chef helpfully supplied.
Danny nodded.
"Most."
"Why?"
A warm hum vibrated through Chef's chest. "Traditional workplace discipline doesn't work for the demands of the Carmine Brass kitchen. It never has. And it's no wonder," he shifted Danny in his arms, "boys and girls like you lot need a firm hand to guide. Left to your own devices you'd end up lookin' like me."
Danny mulled over the words and chose to ignore the warmth that bloomed in his chest. "Last question. Are you, you know... allowed to use that method?"
Chef raised a brow. "Planning on reportin' me?"
"No!" He replied, far too quick for his liking. He should report Chef, he knew that. But...
A genuine smile graced Chef's lips, softening those scarred cheeks. "You don't gotta explain it—I already know. Your head's telling you yes. But in here," he lightly poked Danny's chest, "is telling you otherwise. Amiright?"
Danny picked at his sleeve with a shrug. Chef stilled the fidgeting hand by placing his over top. "You have time to figure it out. For now, go home and get some rest. You've an early shift tomorrow."
Danny nodded and mumbled a soft thank you as Chef helped him to stand. He hobbled to the door, then hesitated.
"... Bye, Chef."
Chef's smile returned, lighter this time. "Goodbye, Danny."
A grin of his own broke out on his face—the Chef said his name! Not boy, or newbie. His actual name! Danny stepped into the street with a pep in his step... promptly shattered by the realization that washed over him when he arrived at the bus stop.
Shaking bus. Sore.
This was going to be a long ride home.
He peered over his shoulder, back towards the restaurant. Oh well... at least home was closer than he thought.
