Chapter Text
Frank didn’t see the kid for a week after that.
It wasn't the longest stretch of time they'd gone without crossing paths, but it still left him with an uneasy feeling, especially considering the events of the previous week.
On the second day he’d sent a text, a simple “You alive, kid?”, and received an equally short answer, “Yeah". He’d stared at his phone for a minute, then flipped it shut and sighed, turning back to the wheel. The best thing was probably to give Peter space, and if he needed anything else, he knew where to go. And also that Frank would let him in. He was like a damn stray dog– you feed it once, and it keeps coming back for more.
Admittedly, he wished he had that week, because at least he could see with his own eyes that he was upright and recovering, after the sorry state he’d been in.
Then he'd gotten a call to intercept (a word that he used loosely) a criminal last seen on Kneeland Avenue, who’d been spotted carrying a firearm and headed to a local business, allegedly owned by a girl he’d been romantically involved with. Frank couldn’t see any halfway decent intentions from him, so he stepped on the gas and began barreling through the street, as fast as his vehicle would allow. It did feel freeing to know he could deliver justice without Spider-man throwing himself in the way, as much as he disliked the circumstances that led to it.
He parked hastily on the side of the street and threw open the truck door, half-marching, half-running to where the man was strolling between two buildings, making a beeline to the antiques shop. His coat was bulky, but a lump was prominent on his waist, where his holster would be.
Fucker.
Frank had barely set foot in the alleyway and was already raising his pistol when there was a familiar explosion of clear-white fluid, and his weapon was yanked from his hand in less than a second. Frank whipped his head to see it plastered to the brick wall, several feet too high to reach.
“I got this one, Frank,” Spider-man yelled, swinging past him and spinning in the air. Frank was too caught off guard to even protest– he just watched as the younger man dropped to the ground and raced to tackle the perpetrator. He shot out a web but mis-aimed, only succeeding in yanking the man towards him. They both hit the ground hard, immediately grappling with each other and throwing punches, ones that Spider-man mostly defended.
And to think I was almost starting to miss him.
Motion kicked back in and Frank ran towards the two.
Peter used one hand to pin the guy’s chest to the ground and prepared to web him with the other, but his usually-sharp reflexes were too slow. The man threw his knee up, likely aiming for the groin, but managed to throw him sideways, rolling on top of him. The two rolled twice, but Peter ended up pinned beneath the taller man's body weight, being straddled.
Frank waited for him to fight back, to use his freakish super strength to flip him over or just push him off of him, but it seemed like all the fight had left him in an instant He just laid there, letting the man pin him by the throat.
Something’s wrong.
The kid was frozen, his whole body stiff, apart from his trembling arms. As Frank stepped closer, he could hear his stilted, panicked breaths. All the bravado from earlier had completely dissipated in less than twenty seconds.
“Kid, what’re you doing?” Frank yelled. In his peripheral he saw the man’s hand reaching for the pistol under his coat, and Frank’s vision flashed. He was on him in a second, rearing his fist back and colliding it with the side of the man's shaved head, knocking him sideways. Peter’s whole body flinched, and he immediately jolted up, as if Frank had physically yanked him out of whatever trance he was in. In an instant, he’d thrown out his hand and webbed the guy's gun, flinging it away just as he had with Frank’s.
“Stay down!” Frank boomed, and Peter shot another web at the criminal, finally pinning him to the concrete. The kid’s chest heaved, and he turned to Frank, his eyes wide and somehow conveying terror even through his mask. With stuttering movements he reached into his suit pocket and pulled out his phone.
“Gotta call- I gotta call Dewolff,” He muttered, mostly to himself, swaying slightly from side to side as he dialed and let the phone ring. When she picked up Peter explained the situation, or a very rushed and garbled version of it, assuring the lady that the guy had already been taken care of, but somebody still needed to take him into custody.
"... Yeah, I know I was off the scene for a bit,” Peter said apologetically. “But uh, I’m back now, and you can count on that. Yeah, I'm fine… I’ll stay with him. Bye.”
Frank had a million questions (mainly what the fuck was that?) running through his mind, but decided to wait until the criminal had been detained. Only about three minutes passed before wailing filled the streets and a cop car pulled up, beaconing red and blue lights. Peter looked pointedly away from Frank as they waited for the streets to clear.
Once they'd pulled away, Frank turned to Peter, who beat him before he could open his mouth.
“Okay, okay, I know what you’re gonna say,” Peter said quickly, putting his hands up. “I fumbled that a little bit, but I got the guy, no lethal force needed!”
“You really think I care about proving a point right now?” Frank snapped. “I wanna know what the hell possessed you back there.”
“I’m a bit rusty, alright?” Peter said. “I’ve been on medical leave for a week, cut me a little slack.”
“That wasn't rusty, that was like…. shit,” Frank stumbled for words. “You were hardly even breathing. If I didn't know better I'd think you'd been paralyzed or some shit."
“I was caught off guard,” Peter turned away, brushing invisible dirt off his spandex-covered thighs. “It won't happen next time. Promise.”
“Yeah, and what if I didn't happen to be there to snap you out of it?” Frank’s voice sharpened. “What if he'd grabbed his gun a little faster? Huh? Your brains woulda' been splattered all over this street in three seconds flat.”
“Well, you were there, so lucky for you that's not reality!”
“Lucky for me? Lucky for you!” Frank jabbed out a finger. “Seriously, you gotta figure this out, because next time I might not be around to save you.”
“There won't be a next time. Listen, Frank, I gotta go.”
Peter turned to go, preparing his arm to shoot, and Frank lurched forward and grabbed it before he could stop himself. Peter tensed, then relaxed.
“Kid, wait. I'm serious about this shit.”
“I am too. I’m fine,” Peter said, his voice convincingly unwavering. “I feel a lot better. Your stitches have actually stayed in place, you should be proud of yourself.”
He scoffed. “Of course they stayed in place.”
“Right, right. Anyways, you seriously don't have to worry.”
“I’m not worried, I just don't think you need to be throwing yourself back in all the action right away.”
“What, and let you handle the streets?” He could imagine the mischievous twinkle in Peter's eye. “No thanks.”
Before he could get another word out, Peter had whipped out his hand and launched himself away, leaving Frank standing alone in the alleyway beneath the heavy grey sky.
“Hey, asshole, you need to get my gun down!” He yelled after him. He had the realization a moment too late, as the kid disappeared from sight.
-
The following Saturday night, Frank was lounging on his couch, feet kicked up and head craned back. It had been a slow day, without much duty, and he had the beginnings of a headache pressing into his temple. He didn't like popping painkillers to deal with shit, so he was currently keeping his eyes shut and waiting for it to run it's course.
There had been no sign of Peter since their short interaction on Kneeland, and wasn't expecting that to change anytime soon. He figured it was for the best; the kid clearly was still affected by whatever it was he was dealing with, and even though Frank doubted he'd ever willingly taken a break in his life, it felt downright irresponsible to not.
Then there was a rapping against his door that caused his whole body to tense up again as he grabbed his rifle and cautiously approached it, even though he already had a feeling of who he’d find on the other side, especially since they’d made it to the door.
The door swung open to reveal a haze of drizzle and a red and blue spandex-clad figure, with his head bowed, holding a familiar black pistol in his cupped hands.
“I'm sorry I didn't bring it sooner,” Peter said, and his voice was shockingly sincere. “I got busy, but, uh, figured you'd want this back.”
“Damn right I want it back,” Frank grunted, swiping the pistol from him and taking a moment to examine it in the dim light shining through the door. Finding its condition satisfactory, he walked over to his shelf and put it back in its rightful place. “Thought she was gone for good.”
“Sorry.”
“It's fine. Cost of doin’ business with you. I have to say, though, I didn't expect you to actually show up here.”
“I've been busy,” Peter said, his voice weary. He sounded nothing like he did just a few days ago, all upbeat and playful banter. Now, he sounded distracted. Even a little irritable.
“Busy doin’ what? Cause I haven't been seeing much of you on the news either.”
“Of course you watch the news,” Peter mumbled to himself, sounding judgmental in a way that made Frank raise an eyebrow. “Look, man, I've been doing stuff off the radar. You know, private… Spider-man stuff. I’d tell you if I could.”
“Right.” Frank squinted at him. “Look, why don't you come inside for a minute? I'll make you a cup of coffee.”
"I..." Peter looked like he wanted to protest, despite Frank's tone clearly staying it wasn't a question, but he also looked bone-tired. His whole body seemed to droop slightly, as he gave in. "Alright. Sure. Coffee would be good, thanks, Frank."