Chapter Text
“This was a stupid fucking plan.”
Jessica grits out as she tosses another soldier to the side, glancing at Peter and Matt frustratedly. In agreement, Matt grunts as he kicks one into the wall and sends another one flying back into the rain. Ducking quickly as his senses spike, Peter narrowly avoids a small blade aimed straight between his brows.
“We’re stuck inside, they likely expected us to come,” Danny’s voice sounds out over their comms, “there’s nothing in here, just this stupid door that won’t open back up.”
“Shit!” Luke growls out, followed by a heaving breath.
Peter turns to Jess then, shrugging.
“Would you believe me if I said it was mostly Luke’s plan…?”
Peter laughs nervously, yelping when he’s too slow to dodge a kick that throws him into the wall nearby. Shaking the dizziness from his head, Peter’s eyes narrow at the unusually large soldier in front of him, easily towering over him.
Peter groans, clutching his abdomen as he stands back up.
“Uh…are we sure the Hand doesn't have super serum or something?”
“No.”
Matt grits out helpfully as he fends off two soldiers charging from the front.
As the burly soldier charges for him again, Peter shoots out webs above the man’s head, hitting the ceiling of the overhang, pulling himself up and using his momentary confusion to kick him down. Quickly, Peter fires more webs at him, the man grunting like an animal as he pulls against the stubborn restraints with wild, dilated eyes. Next to him, he feels a familiar presence and notices Jessica momentarily looking down at the man in disgust. Peter tilts his head confusedly.
“You can’t smell that?” she mimics pinching her nostrils, “he’s stinking up the whole place. Smells like a rut.”
Peter’s face wrinkles up in sympathetic disgust as well, pointing to his nose.
“Can’t smell it through the mask,” he says vaguely before shooting a web at a soldier with their baton raised, attempting to catch them both off guard. Though, Matt is faster, knocking the man out with a single strike to his neck.
“Maybe stop chatting so we can get out of here, and stop having to smell it.” Matt yells over the chaos, frustration lacing his words. Instantly, Peter and Jess turn to each other.
“Someone’s cranky.” She teases, winking at Peter before rejoining the fight.
“Shit, where are these fuckers coming from?” Frank’s gravely voice chimes through his earpiece.
“Frank?” Peter responds, eyes attempting to catch sight of the roof across the street, “need a hand?”
“No…”
Frank grumbles and Peter rolls his eyes, turning back to see most of the soldiers on the ground have fortunately been wiped out, all either awake and groaning in pain or unconscious. He shoots a couple more webs just in case.
“We got it down here,” Matt bites out, barely audible over the rain pattering down around them, “go help Castle or else he’s gonna kill someone.”
Reluctantly, Peter nods, shooting out a web to the building over and yanking himself into the damp air, drops of rain dotting his somewhat water resistant suit. His lenses narrow at the dozen or so bodies on the roof nearby, noting as Frank’s hand hovers over his holster instinctively.
Instantly, Peter webs four of them to the ground, catching them off guard and lands in a crouch next to Frank.
“No killing.” Peter side-eyes him and Frank grumbles under his breath, grabbing a stray baton one of the soldiers dropped.
“Fucking softies.”
Frank mutters, but charges into the fight with only the baton in his hand anyway. Peter joins him, webbing up the ones Frank has already taken down and narrowly knocking down one armed with a knife aimed for Frank’s back.
A small, childish yelp stands out starkly in Peter’s sensitive ears compared to the bustle around him. As the noise of the soldiers slowly minimizes but the rain comes down harder. Fortunately he looks back, deeming Frank has the rest of the soldiers covered.
“Hello?”
Peter calls out softly, making his way around the bend of a smaller, hidden area of the rooftop. The clatter of metal against the concrete only confirms his suspicions.
As he makes his way to the other side of the roof, turning a corner past a large sign, a small boy sits against the wet metal, black bangs sticking to his forehead as he looks up at Peter with large, dilated eyes. Something about it has a distant alarm thrumming in his head. Still, Peter kneels down, letting himself be eye-level with the boy.
“Hey, you’re okay,” Peter soothes gently, reaching out a hand, “I’m here to help-”
Hairs on his neck rising, his sense spikes and he barely dodges the knife the boy was hiding against his wrist as it shallowly slices into the palm of Peter’s hand. He curses, looking back up to see the boy standing upright, staring down at him with cold fear in his eyes. A distant reflection.
Suddenly, a sickening, medicine-like scent makes its way through his mask, filling Peter’s nose and his eyes fall to the boy’s bare neck. It’s clear he’s an omega, Peter’s senses alone can distinguish subgenders even from a distance, but this scent-
His head throbs in pain and he stumbles back and places his hands over his mask, groaning. Eyes widening, the boy runs off, jumping onto the fire escape and easily fleeing.
Suddenly, there’s an uncomfortable, alarming heat in his lower abdomen and his head snaps up in alarm, clearing momentarily.
There’s no way.
“EV-”
“Warning: Your progesterone levels are rapidly falling, signaling the start of your heat. I’d advise you to head home so you can build your nest and coordinate babysitting for Miss Leia.”
What?
“However, your heat is approximately three weeks early, but is now rapidly progressing.”
“What the hell?”
A warrior-like shout catches him off guard and he rolls out of the way of a sword meant for his head. Eager to end this fight, he swings at the man, knocking him down easily, but Peter also stumbles, balance unreliable. Rough arms grab him from behind, pinning his arms to his side and Peter forces himself backwards, shoving the soldier against the wall with a grunt. Mind spinning dizzily, his legs collapse beneath him, body thrumming with a hazy heat he refuses to melt into.
Lifting his head, there’s one last soldier that charges directly to him, but Peter’s already panting labored breaths, feeling utterly drained.
“Shit.”
His eyes flutter, eyebrows furrowing as he forces his eyes to stay open and he lifts a shaky hand.
Fortunately, a stray baton comes flying out of the air, knocked right into the soldier’s temple as he falls like a ragdoll. At the sight of Frank coming around the corner, Peter almost slumps in relief.
Attempting to rise again, Peter clumsily crouches forward, each step intentional as he has to flex his leg muscles to keep them working. To keep them from going limp in the blur of heat that lingers on his hindbrain.
He curses as heavy stomps sound out in front of him.
“The fuck are you over here for?” Frank scoffs, “could’ve used more of your help over there.”
An amused, slightly hysterical laugh leaves Peter, his head pounding and his stomach queasy.
“Yeah, well, there was this kid-”
Suddenly, a cramp rolls through his abdomen and he stumbles forward again, biting his tongue so a humiliating whine doesn’t escape him.
Fuck.
“Based on the recorded pattern of your hormones, your body is currently experiencing the equivalent of day two of your heat cycle. Though, no slick production has occurred as your body is currently undergoing too much external and physical stress.”
“Yeah, well, thank goodness for that.”
Peter mumbles cynically.
“Webs,” Frank calls out confusedly, coming forward to meet him, “did you get stabbed or something?”
Taking deep, barely refreshing breaths, Peter raises his head, looking up at Frank.
“Do you- can you smell anything?”
Frank wrinkles his nose as he glances around warily, ensuring no more soldiers are coming.
“Other than rain and piss, no.” He huffs amusedly, “why? You try a new cologne or something?”
“No dumbass,” Peter hisses quietly, ensuring his mic is off as he presses the red button onFrank’s earpiece too, “something’s wrong, I…I think there was some sort of heat inducer somewhere.”
He swallows nervously, leaving out the fact that some kid’s pheromones might’ve triggered this. Frank stiffens next to him.
“Like through the air?”
Peter shifts uncomfortably, pain settling in his gut and uncertainty weighing on him heavily.
“Possibly…”
“Don’t you have a filter thingy in your mask?”
Peter rolls his eyes.
“Yeah well, does it look like it’s completely working?”
He nearly curls in on himself as a wave of nausea rolls through him. Frank curses as a couple of the soldiers from the other side of the roof groan, clearly beginning to rise again as the rain dissolves the webs.
“Fuck it, I’m just gonna kill these guys.” He decides, whipping out his gun, but Peter is quick to web the barrel.
“Frank, no-”
“Guys,” Danny’s voice comes in rushed, “this door won’t budge, Webs do you think you could come down-?”
“Web-head is down.” Frank taps his ear, interrupting Danny even as Peter whips to him with a scowl. Fortunately, the alpha keeps it vague.
“What happened?” Matt’s snappy voice echoes in his ear.
“No, I’m not-” Peter grits out, voice pained as he presses against his ear piece.
“Well shit,” Jones surmises, “Punisher do a little friendly fire?”
“One of them - uh - stabbed him with… something,” Frank lies, but his tone is sincerely urgent, “not sure what it was, but he needs medivac stat.”
An explosive boom in the building across makes the entire roof tremble beneath their feet, knocking down some of the men around them.
“Well look at that,” Danny laughs, “door is busted.”
“Shit,” Luke curses, out of breath, “fall back, we’re done for tonight. We scared them enough.”
Peter nods gratefully, head pounding and limbs feeling like jello beneath him. He stumbles to the side, raising his arm to swing off the building.
“What the hell are you doing?” Frank shouts, stomping over to him.
“Going home.” Even as he says it, all the muscles in his body flex just to keep himself upright. His voice is prideful, betraying the way a pathetic whine wants to crawl up his throat. A shaky hand lifts to ensure he’s muted again.
“We need to go back with them,” Frank explains, “my car is back at the-”
“Screw your car,” Peter’s legs tremble beneath him, “I’ll web myself outta here.”
Frank scoffs, casually walking over and pulling Peter’s arm over his shoulder. Peter snarls frustratedly but doesn’t resist much, nothing the concern in Frank’s unusually open expression.
“As much as I’d like to see you try swinging yourself back home, you’re going to need a ride, kid.”
Peter groans in annoyance, grateful it seems at least his scent blockers are still working since the man is unaffected and clearly was clueless.
“Frank-”
The older man shakes his head.
“I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Another voice echoes in Peter’s head, repeating those same words.
I’m not taking no for an answer.
I’m not taking no for an answer.
Within a second, Peter twists himself out of Frank’s support, senses heightened as his mind finally falls back on instinct. He kicks Frank right in the stomach, thankfully not his full power, as the onslaught of heat has zapped most of his strength. Still, the alpha stumbles back with a groan, clutching his abdomen. Stepping back, narrowed eyes still on Frank, Peter’s hands tremble, ready. Just in case.
“Kid?”
Only then does Peter somewhat snap from his haze of panic, eyes falling on Frank’s furrowed, confused brows. Still, shame crawls up his throat, settling in the forefront of his mind and he says nothing as he leaps off the roof to swing away, using the last bit of his energy.
“Fuck.”
Frank curses, right as the door to the rooftop slams open and Matt and Jessica come running. Jessica’s eyes dart around.
“Where’d Spidey go?”
Leaning back against the wall, Frank grumbles.
“Stupid idiot left, didn’t want to wait for me to take him to Claire.”
Jessica’s eyes return to the sight in front of her, narrowing at the burly alpha and she trudges forward.
“What happened up here?” Suspicion laces her words, “I know he doesn’t back down that easily from a stab wound.”
Eyebrows raised, Frank just shrugs dismissively.
“Like I said, someone must’ve injected him with something, probably poison or some shit.” Grumbling to himself, he curses, kicking a weapon on the ground that skids across the roof.
Matt steps forward then, hand applying pressure on his own shoulder where he’d been slashed. Though, as he makes his way further across the roof his body tenses. Turning toward the direction Peter leapt off, his nostrils flare at the unusually prominent scent of strawberries lingering in the air, laced with panic and unease. Though, as it hits him, the rain beats down harder, effectively dampening it.
“Poison, huh?” Matt says under his breath, brows furrowed in concern.
It’s an amazing feat that Peter is able to land on the rain-slick roof of his apartment complex in one piece, his body aching and mind gone hazy. Typically he’d change here, behind the small construction atop of the roof, but the lack of suit would mean his scent going everywhere. He curses, narrowly opening the door to the stairway and peeking inside to ensure it’s empty. The second he hears nothing but the sounds of electricity thrumming and fans running, he sneaks inside, thankful his apartment is on the fifth floor. Each step he takes, the suit suffocates him, feeling unusually tight and uncomfortable against his feverish skin.
The moment he steps inside, the door locked behind him, Peter finds his face instantly meeting the floor. All the energy has been completely zapped from his body, but even still, he pushes his arms under himself to get back up, barely wrenching the damp suit off as he’s left in just his boxers. Crawling further, he reaches for the small orange bottle tucked away in his backpack on the floor as his chest heaves with each breath.
Quickly, he shoves five circular pills in his mouth, wincing as he swallows them dry. He breathes out a sigh of relief as within minutes, he feels the fever minimizing and the control returning to his limbs.
Sometimes, his metabolism works in his favor.
The suppressants were truly a gamble. Used casually, they barely minimize the effects of his heat, and in the middle of a cycle, will typically make him more frantic and uneasy. Though, he supposes, shoving five of them down instead of one or two made a difference.
He isn’t sure how long he remains there before he hears the padding of small footsteps on the wooden floor.
“Daddy?”
His head snaps up, meeting Leia’s wide, worried eyes. Instantly, he rises from the floor and yanks on a sweatshirt lying nearby, thankful that he has no serious injuries he needs to hide.
“Hey, Leia,” he calls out apologetically, “did I wake you up?”
Typically, she’d shake her head, never wanting to admit his sneaking back in disturbs her, especially because it normally doesn’t.
Instead, she nods, still looking up at Peter even as he meets her in the hallway. Her eyes dart around the room then, as if expecting someone else to be present. Confused, Peter takes a step closer, freezing as she takes a step back. A cold unease spreads in his chest.
“Leia? What’s wrong?” He calls, voice tight and his emotions unpredictable with the way his hormones must be fluctuating chaotically. She clutches onto her stuffed animal then, little hands digging into the plush fake fur.
“You smell scared.”
She voices out simply, eyes roaming over his legs and what she can see of his hands to ensure there’s no injuries. Something delicate shatters in his chest as she runs up to him then, holding his hand in her tiny ones so gently, as if fearful of hurting him. Forcing himself to calm as he rips off his scent patches, he watches as her face relaxes, sweet, refreshing strawberries and honey filling the air.
“I’m okay, bub,” he assures, voice wavering slightly, “just a couple battle wounds, huh?”
“You get a lot of those…” Leia mumbles under her breath, almost dismissive as she’s terribly honest.
“Yeah…I do.” He swallows the lump in his throat as he lifts her drowsy body up and brings her back to the bedroom.
It’s only after Leia is tucked back in and he finishes reading her a short story does he even bother checking his phone. His screen lights up with two notifications and he scoffs at the sight.
FRANK
You’re an idiot
Text me when you get back home
Frank
I’ve been home for like half an hour now
I took suppressants, Frank, I’m fine.
The heat is gone
Peter
I thought suppressants don’t work on you?
Frank
Uh
I took five of them..?
Peter
Jesus.
Frank
Exiting out of that chat, he glances to his notification bar, realizing where the other notice was coming from. A soft smile graces his lips at the sight.
MATT
Poison.
Really?
That’s what you told Castle?
Matt
Peter laughs softly, deciding to play along with the poison being his idea. There’s no reason for anyone to realize Frank is aware of Peter’s identity.
Hey, it was the best I could come up with in the moment
I assume you could smell…it?
Or me, I guess
Webs
Yeah, the rain dampened it though.
Jones was clueless when we made it to the rooftop
You make it home?
Matt
Peter pauses, slightly surprised at the simple question and a small part of him wants to be more honest with Matt, his boundaries loose as his hormones still recover from the past couple hours.
Yup
Took suppressants and it stopped it
Long story short, pretty sure they had heat inducers on them
No way my heat just randomly came three weeks early
Webs
He’s reluctant to mention the kid for now, nervous as Matt takes a bit longer to respond.
Seriously?
Shit, I’ll go back and survey the area
I’ll let you know what I find
Matt
Thanks
Webs
Relaxing ever so slightly, Peter sets his phone down and allows himself to close his eyes, slumber quickly overtaking his mind. His phone lights up again, though he’s too drowsy to notice.
He awakes the next morning to an excited Leia bouncing on his bed about no school today, likely due to the storm that’s been coming and going for the past week. Also meaning she has suddenly decided she loves to wake up early, even as Peter had unintentionally woken her up merely five hours ago.
“Daddy get up,” she whines at Peter’s reluctant, unmoving form under the blankets, “let’s go outside!”
Peter hums, still groggy as he rises finally, much to her enthusiasm.
“Sure thing, bub,” Peter yawns, trying to ignore the sound of the rain pounding against the building, “let me just make us breakfast, okay?”
He kisses her on the forehead and she pouts. He snorts at her expression.
“It’s eight in the morning,” Peter laughs as he makes his way into his living room, eyes darting to the gray sky outside, “you want to go to the park now?”
“Yes!” She giggles and Peter looks up in thought exaggeratedly, making her laugh more. Then, he opens the cupboard to grab a mixing bowl and whisk.
“What if…I make you french toast first?”
Her eyes light up at that and suddenly she sits patiently in her seat.
Then, there’s a knock at his door and Peter naturally sets the cooking utensil down and answers it, fumbling with his wobbly old door knob before he yanks the door open.
Instead of Ms. Rivera as he’d expected, Peter is met with the sight of an unusually domestic-looking Frank Castle sporting a flannel and jeans. In his hands, he’s holding a plastic bag that fills Peter’s nose with the scent of maple syrup and sugar.
“Frank?” Peter yelps, yanking the door mostly shut so only his face can be seen and his brows pinch together in confusion.
“What are you uh, doing here?”
Deadpan, Frank stares at him.
“Oh don’t look so happy to see me,” Frank grumbles sarcastically, “did you not read my text?”
“What text?”
Muttering to himself, Frank rolls his eyes before they return to Peter. His eyes narrow as he notes the defensive posture and partially closed door.
“Are you feeling territorial or something? Thought you canceled your heat or whatever.” He says simply, as if a heat cycle is just a casual little event that Peter can willingly reschedule if he feels like it. Annoyance thrums in his chest.
“What do you need, Frank?” Peter hisses and Frank’s shoulders relax at that as he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.
“Well uh…I figured you would probably still be feeling shitty,” Frank voices eloquently, holding up the bag then, “so I brought you this…my wife always used to have a sweet tooth before and after her heats.”
Despite the tug in his chest at the admission, his eyes narrow in slight suspicion, Peter takes the bag and peers inside, only to find a takeout container smelling of pancakes and an obnoxiously large cup of maple syrup. Peter’s eyes soften, nearly feeling guilty as his body relaxes.
“Oh…wow, thank you-”
A small crash sounds out from behind Peter and he instantly whips his head around to find Leia guiltily standing over a fallen bowl.
“What was that?” Frank’s eyes narrow and Peter turns back to him.
“Nothing-”
“Bullshit, what are you hiding?”
“Oops…sorry.” Leia’s apologetic, innocent voice sounds out, silencing both of the vigilantes at the door.
Frank’s face screws up confusedly, hand on the door, but it doesn’t budge with Peter’s foot stopping it.
“You a babysitter on the side?”
Groaning, Peter runs his hands over his face.
“No, I…”
He takes a deep breath, and later, he’ll blame his honesty on remnants of the heat softening him, along with the scent of maple syrup.
“...I have a kid, Frank.”
Frank scowls at him, nothing angry, Peter understands, but he’s perpetually annoyed at approximately everything. It’s something Peter’s realizing he finds comfort in. Somehow, he's imagined Frank as some emotionally repressed and short-tempered older brother of his. It’s chaotic at best but predictable at its worst, Peter can work with it.
“Fuck you mean you have a kid, you’re a kid!”
Peter grumbles.
“I’m twenty-five.”
At that moment, Peter lets the door drift open and a small, hesitant head peeks out from behind Peter, hiding behind her father’s baggy sweat pants. Tilting her head, she points at Frank with her small hand.
“He’s scary…”
Any other moment, Peter would laugh, but there’s this ghastly, disbelieving expression on Frank’s face that makes any laughter die in his throat. He clears it, sensing there’s no need for Leia to be present for this part, and he kneels down, looking her in the eye.
“Leia…that’s Uncle Frank, he’s a friend,” Frank shifts uncomfortably at that, “do you want to hang out with Ms. Rivera while I talk to him?”
Eager, she nods, and the two watch as she runs across the hall, knocking on the gray door before an older woman opens it, soft eyes falling on Leia.
“Hello, little one, is your daddy busy today?” She takes that moment to look up, meeting Peter’s uneasy gaze, then falling to Frank. Instantly her eyes narrow in suspicion and Frank scratches his head nervously.
“He’s a friend, Ms. Rivera,” Peter explains, “just need to talk to him real quick…”
The woman looks like she wants to challenge it, but pauses at the tug on her pant leg.
“Can I have french toast?” Leia asks eagerly, eyes round and pleading.
Sighing out, the older beta relents and Peter looks over at her apologetically.
“Of course you can…”
And the door clicks shut. Quickly Peter shuts his own door before looking back up at Frank.
“Let’s sit-”
“No.” Frank growls out, and Peter hadn’t realized how much he was holding back in front of Leia, because now his scent is everywhere: angry, confused, frustrated. Naturally, Peter tenses, glancing at the suddenly useless, drugstore scent patch on Frank’s neck. It’s no wonder he needs Peter’s homemade ones.
“Fine, I’ll sit.” He mutters, plopping down on his couch and leaning back with crossed arms, knowing Frank’s about to start rambling. The man runs a hand through his hair, fingers twitching like he wants to punch something as he turns to see Leia’s stuffed snake lying on a chair.
“You named your kid after a Star Wars character-?”
Peter stares at him, unimpressed.
“What?” Peter snaps, eyeing him carefully, “is that really what you want to lecture me about-?”
Frank whips to his direction, laying his hands out in front of him frustratedly.
“No, you-” Frank paces like he’s having a crisis, “you don’t do the shit you do, Pete, not when you have a kid.”
Peter rolls his eyes, words coming out before he can stop them.
“You’re one to talk-”
“How do you think I learned that lesson, huh?” Frank snaps and Peter feels himself wilting slightly.
“Frank,” Peter sighs, “she has my neighbor, Ms. Rivera, who watches her a few times a week and I never patrol when she-“
Frank slams his hand on the coffee table and Peter shuts up, though he narrows his eyes as he looks up at the other man.
“I’m not talking about that. God, I can only imagine the fucked schedule you created for yourself to continue your vigilante shit and taking care of her at the same time,” Frank leans forward then, poking Peter in the chest, “I’m talking about you.”
Discomfort settles in his gut.
“What about me?”
Frank lets out a disbelieving laugh, shrugging sarcastically.
“Who is she going to have in her life if you bleed out in a dumpster somewhere? Or fall from a building 20 stories high-”
“I’d probably survive that.” Peter mumbles.
Frank gives him a look and he presses his lips together immediately, looking down thoughtfully as a defense rises in his chest.
“Frank…that won’t happen-”
“No guarantees,” Frank huffs, “you know that. I know you do.”
It stings, but he does know it. That understanding is part of the reason Peter is mostly alone in raising his daughter. So alone that Leia has seen him coming home limping a handful of times, blood staining his shirt. She has even met Claire, the kind - often strict nurse - who will treat Peter’s wounds right on his couch, distracting Leia by explaining to her curious ears what part of her dad’s body is torn up this time. It’s a fucked up household for her to be in but Peter would die before letting him take custody of her. Not when she’s already begun complaining of the neighbors a few stories down being too loud, or that the delivery man’s scent is strong. If she’s enhanced, there’s no telling where she’d end up, where they would take her.
Frank clears his throat.
“Does she…her father-?”
Immediately, Peter knows what he’s asking. He’s heard it enough from coworkers or curious acquaintances but to hear it from someone who knows both of his identities-
“He’s not. Here.”
Peter growls out hands gripping the table so hard it creaks under his hold. Frank nods slowly. Sighing, Peter slowly releases his grip, attempting to calm himself down as he takes a deep breath.
“You can tell she’s mine...I thought you’d question it to be honest.” Peter admits.
“She’s got your eyes,” Frank’s lips lift into a half-smirk, “I can see the attitude in her too.”
It takes an enormous amount of patience to keep himself from throwing Frank across the room. Though, he knows this could have gone much worse. It would be so easy for Frank to use this as blackmail against him, to just walk right out of here and tell whoever the hell he wants. Anxiety curls around him cruelly, making his otherwise sweet scent sour momentarily, overpowering the steady, damp scent of rain seeping through his windows.
“Please…don’t-” Peter takes a shaky breath, “don’t tell anyone. Tony knows and that’s only because he’s been there since I was a kid…and Claire because she’s patched me up more times than I can count.”
Frank stares at him for a moment, eyes momentarily softening in empathy before he looks away with a nod. Peter hopes he understands what it could mean. Spider-man raising a six-year-old, it would exponentially increase those that question his subgender, wondering if he’s a lone alpha, beta, or even an omega. There are already enough people that know he’s an omega without knowing about Leia.
“No one else knows?” Frank asks again, slight surprise, “not even Red?”
Peter shakes his head, a pleading look in his eyes as Frank reluctantly sighs.
“Alright.”
Peter breathes out a sigh of relief.
“So…” Frank starts gracefully, “she came after the spider then, right?”
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Peter nods.
“I got bit at 14, had her at 19.” Peter confirms and Frank looks like his eyebrows are going to fly off of his face.
“Shit.”
He says, again, gracefully. Another question makes his eyes light up momentarily before it fades uncomfortably. The words may as well be displayed on his forehead though, even as Frank is realizing the question is too targeted, too personal.
“The alpha responsible isn’t here,” Peter fidgets with his sleeves, bitterness emanating from him in increasing waves, “he’s a piece of shit who deserves to rot in Hell.”
Frank turns his head at that, something that looks awfully like concern crossing his features. Though, his typical facade of smug amusement remains as he crosses his arms.
“Now, it’s not often I hear you talk like that, Webs,” Frank surmises, “though, given the guy isn’t even present in his kid’s life, I can see where you’re coming from.”
Peter’s jaw ticks, not wanting to say more even as the over-simplification of it all makes anger rage hot in his chest.
“Yeah...”
The single word contains a venom he doesn’t dare let out so easily. Behind the vague admission, a long-coming storm brews swirling with repressed instincts and his deepest fears. It’s something he can only pray he’ll never have to face, even as his hold on it weakens.
“You haven’t told anyone any more than that, huh?” Frank leans back to stare at him quizzically, “there’s more you gotta say.”
Bitterly, Peter laughs.
“What difference does it make?” Peter mutters as the storm outside thunders ominously, “it’s all said and done in the end.”
Frank pauses.
“Do you regret having her?” He asks, as if that’s all that could be on Peter’s mind.
Peter’s heart promptly stops in his chest, the table suddenly so interesting as his fist clenches so hard that the healed cut on his palm begins to pinch sharply.
“Kid, it’s a complicated feeling, I get it, especially at your age-”
Resting his chin on his hand, Frank looks so casual that a hot flash of rage rises in him.
“You have no clue what you’re talking about.”
Peter says coldly, haunted eyes resting on Frank who leans back at the unusual absence of humor in Peter’s gaze.
“I’m all ears.” Frank relents, putting his hands in his lap.
Never in a million years would Peter have been able to imagine this scene in his living room. The emotionally stunted, explosive Frank Castle playing therapist with a worn out, exhausted Peter Parker who just told him one of the biggest secrets of his vigilante life and is about to rip another one out of his chest. Though, after the past 12 hours, he finds himself momentarily wrung out, mind plagued with too many memories to not let at least the slightest of them be relieved. To allow them to linger in the fragile air when Peter never bothered giving them space to breathe. With the faintest pull, Peter feels the weight on his chest travel up his throat and he resists the urge to gag.
“I was raped.”
Peter confesses like it’s a crime he committed, not bothering to look Frank in the eyes.
“She doesn’t know her father because he doesn’t know or care that she exists.” Peter hisses out, a wild look in his eyes but Frank doesn’t flinch, just looks unusually upset. Thankfully, Frank doesn’t bother asking how Spider-man of all people got overpowered. Mindlessly, Peter rubs the back of his neck, the ghost of a hand making hairs rise on the back of his neck and he takes a deep breath.
“I kept her because the idea of a hospital running tests, finding something out…pressure from my Aunt…” he bites out, then glances fondly at the toy on the chair, “but I loved her the second she first cried, because she was mine…how she got here doesn’t matter, not anymore.”
Frank clears his throat after letting the words settle in the air.
“I didn’t mean to uh…be so pushy…”
Peter waves a tired, dismissive hand at him as the storm outside settles momentarily, falling into a steady rain that patters against his window.
“Don’t worry about it…for all you know, I could’ve stolen her from an orphanage”
The older man snorts before rising from his seat, sensing he’s overstayed.
“I hope you know, I won’t treat you any differently on the streets because of this,” he chuckles, “Hell, you can lift a building.”
But couldn’t fight back one measly alpha.
Peter fights a flinch at the comparison from his own mind.
“Thanks, Frank.”
Frank sets his hands in his pockets awkwardly before crossing his arms.
“Just know…I’m here if you need anything.”
Raising a brow, Peter looks at him in disbelief and smiles as Frank’s face goes red with a swirl of annoyance and embarrassment and he attempts to swat Peter away.
“Yeah, like breakfast-”
“Forget it-”
Peter lets out a small, appreciative grin.
“No, I just didn’t expect that from you.”
“Well good, because the offer is gone now.”
Frank grumbles even as Peter is still smiling. Though, the offer lingers in the air, earnesty in Frank’s unusually gentle eyes even as Peter tries to detect a hint of deceitful embellishment in his words. Though, when he finds none, Peter’s left with a hollow grief and uncertainty in his chest, waiting for the other ball to drop.
The second that he can hear the departing footsteps echo in the hall, Peter falls to his knees, fingers digging into his hair as panicked, tearful breaths leave his lips. A small, disbelieving and terrified laugh leaves him as unbidden tears dot the floor beneath him and the bitter stench of panic and confusion fills every corner of the room.
Half an hour later, after he’s ensured the apartment is aired out and deems himself presentable enough, he knocks on Ms. Rivera’s door to take Leia back, apologizing profusely to the older woman. Leia comes back eagerly, excitement shining in her eyes that dampens as she meets her father’s pinched, exhausted ones.
“Let’s…stay inside for the day, okay, bub?”
The sound of the television does little to drown out the thunder roaring in his ears as the storm outside only intensifies.