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It was late. Matt and Peter were on patrol together, as seemed to be happening more and more recently, when they had overheard a group of guys planning to rob that store a couple streets down. They got involved because of course they did.
Peter had just sucker punched one of the baddies in the face, sent him falling to the ground. He was about to turn to Matt to make sure he'd seen it when a gunshot rang out. It was deafeningly loud, made Peter spin around instantly, scanning the area.
Matt was curled on the floor, groaning loud and clutching at his side. It was hard to miss the blood pooling quickly beneath him on the concrete, even in the surrounding darkness. The smell was unmistakable - metallic and shocking.
"Matt!" Peter cried, swinging towards the guy who'd just shot Matt. Peter kicked him in the stomach hard enough for him to fly backwards, his head slamming hard into the building behind him, effectively knocking him out and leaving his gun to clatter to the ground. Peter ran to Matt, fell to his knees on the concrete beside him.
"You got- you got shot! Matt-"
"Peter," Matt gurgled, grunting as he scrambled for something in his suit before shoving it into Peter's hands, "call Claire."
The phone was ancient, warm and sticky with blood from Matt's hands.
"Claire," Peter mumbled to himself, fumbling with the burner, "call Claire, okay I'll-"
Peter noticed Matt's groaning had stopped dead, hands limp at his sides and head rolled to the side in a way that made Peter feel sick. The pool of blood was only growing bigger beneath him.
To Peter's dismay, the only number in the phone did not belong to anyone called Claire. It was titled 'Pete' and Peter was repeating a mantra of "shit" and "oh no" as he figured he might as well dial the number anyway, no other idea of what to do or who to call in his panicked state. His hands shook violently as he lifted the phone up to his ear and slapped at Matt's face in an attempt to rouse him.
"Matt! Matt-? Come on, Matt, wake up!"
"What?" a gruff male voice answered, tinny in the shitty phone speakers. Whoever it was didn't sound particularly pleased about being contacted, but Peter didn't have time to worry about that.
"Hello? Hi, uh- Matt got shot. I don't know who you are, he just gave me this phone and told me to call someone called Claire but your number was the only one and he's bleeding a lot and I- he passed out and I think he's dying-"
"Woah, woah, okay. Slow down, kid. Where the hell are you?"
Peter rattled off the address, the man - Pete - just said, "okay, look, I'll be there in a second. Where'd Matt get shot?"
"In the- in the side- he's bleeding a lot, I don't know what to do-!"
"Hey, listen. Breathe," said Pete, his voice surprisingly calming. Peter could hear the background noise of a car door and the engine turning on. Peter took a deep breath, found himself nodding repeatedly.
"Okay. Okay, what do- what should I do?"
"I want you to put both hands over the wound and press down. Hard, with all your strength, okay kid?"
"I don't know- I don't think I should press that hard I think I'll break something, I'm not-"
"Just do it, okay?"
Peter was going to try to explain his superhuman strength to Pete, that pushing so hard would likely only hurt Matt more. There was no time for that explanation. Instead, he just held the phone to his face with his shoulder and pressed down with what he estimated was the full strength of a normally-strong human.
"Okay, yeah. Yeah, I'm doing it."
"Good. Keep holding pressure, I'm just around the block."
The phone clicked off before Peter could say anything else. He let it fall to the ground. He tried to breathe, like Pete said, and leaned forward enough to rest his forehead on Matt's shoulder. Matt's breathing and heartbeat comforted Peter a bit, ensured he was still alive. For now. Peter was terrified, even as he heard a car coming to a screeching halt not too far away and heavy footsteps approaching him rapidly.
Though, Peter also heard the man he'd just knocked out scrambling for his gun, the one he'd shot Matt with, was about to web him up when another gunshot rang through the air and Peter turned just in time to see the man's bloody, disfigured face as his body crumpled back against the wall. Peter turned to search for the source of this shot, ready to fight, when he laid eyes on a tall man.
The man wore a long coat over a hoodie, cargo pants and boots. All black. He was tucking a gun into his waistband as be approached with purpose. His face - severely broken nose and all - was unmistakable. Frank Castle. The Punisher, rushing towards Peter and Matt.
"What the- you're the Punisher- you're-"
"Move," he demanded. Peter scrambled out of the way, watched with wide eyes as Frank leaned down with a rag and pressed it against Matt's wound. That voice - it was the same one he'd heard on the phone. Pete? Pete was the Punisher? Wasn't his name Frank?
"C'mon, kid," Frank called, scooping Matt up into his arms with surprising ease, heading in the direction of the van that had come screeching around the corner just moments before.
Peter rushed after him, had barely closed the car door when Frank was reversing way too fast. Peter had to hold onto Matt to keep him from rolling away with the force of the movement.
"What the hell happened?" Frank demanded, eyeing Peter in the rear view mirror as Peter lifted Matt's head into his lap and leaned over to keep putting pressure on the wound.
"We were- we were just stopping these bad guys who were planning to rob that nice lady's store a couple streets down and we were just beating them up and everything was okay and- and then there was a gunshot and Matt was on the floor and he was bleeding and-" Peter swallowed hard, closed his eyes tight.
"Is he gonna' be okay?" Peter whispered, his voice shaking in a way he didn't have the capacity to be embarrassed about in the moment.
Frank's hand flew backwards to land on Peter's shoulder, gave it a tight squeeze without looking away from the road even as Peter flinched, "he's a tough bastard, y'know? Stubborn. He'll be fine, yeah?"
Frank withdrew his hand, squeezed the steering wheel hard enough for his knuckles to go white. It felt like he was convincing himself as much as he was convincing Peter.
Peter just nodded, repeated, "he'll be fine," under his breath as Frank flew through traffic lights and zipped through the empty New York streets.
They came to a screeching halt in an alley and Frank was hauling Matt out of the car in seconds. Peter followed him into some basement, shut the door when Frank told him to and began pacing helplessly as Frank lay Matt down on the floor and got to work on him.
Peter pulled off his mask and dropped it somewhere beside him, slid down the wall to the floor, shut his eyes tight, pulled his knees up to his chest, tried to breathe like Frank had said. His hands threaded through his hair and pulled, a grounding feeling.
It felt like it had been forever and no time at all when a hand landed on Peter's shoulder. He jumped, eyes flying open and ready to fight, until he realised it was Frank. Frank didn't react to Peter's jumpiness, not even a change in his expression - which was concerned and caring, eyebrows knitted together with a barely noticeable frown.
"How's Matt? Is he-?"
"He's fine, kid," Frank told him, offered him a hand and hauled Peter to his feet. Peter could see Matt, now laying on the couch. He was stripped of his suit and helmet, just in underwear and with a bandage wrapped around him, small spots of bright red blood darting the white fabric. His chest was rising and falling, even though he lay limp.
"Look, he's fine, see?" Frank gestured, hand squeezing at the back of Peter's neck. Peter just nodded, fought the tears welling up in his eyes as he stared at Matt's unmoving body.
"Yeah," Peter whispered, "yeah, he's fine."
"He's fine. Are you good?" Frank asked, taking a step back to look Peter up and down - surveying him for injuries, Peter assumed.
"Yeah, yeah, m'fine, I-" he choked over a sob and covered his mouth, unable to look away from Matt.
"Hey, kid, look," Frank said, leaning down so he and Peter were eye to eye. His hands were heavy on both of Peter's shoulders, his face blocking the view of Matt behind him, "he's okay. You're okay. Everything's good, yeah? All good, okay?"
"All good," Peter whispered, nodded, rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand and willed himself not to cry right there, in front of the goddamn Punisher.
But then Frank was pulling Peter's body against him. His chest was solid against Peter's cheek, his chin hooking over Peter's head. Frank's arms were strong and tight around his back and Peter couldn't stop the tears that rolled down his face as he grabbed onto handfuls of Frank's coat. Even if Frank was rough around the edges and there was definitely a gun poking Peter in the stomach, his embrace was comfortable.
"It's okay, kid, you're okay. I got you."
Peter relaxed, his crying eventually ceasing. He was just sniffling and breathing funny against Frank's shoulder, embarrassment slowly creeping in even if Frank was making him feel awfully comfortable and safe. His palm was warm against the back of Peter's head, his head tilted so his cheek pressed against the top of Peter's head rather than his chin, shushing him gently.
"Nice that you two are getting along," came a rough voice from behind Frank. Matt.
Peter immediately slipped out of Frank's grip, hurried his way over to the couch where he hurtled himself at the injured man. Matt winced but wrapped his arms up around Peter's back, anyway. Peter thought he heard Frank chuckling behind him.
"Hey, Pete. You okay?" Matt asked.
Peter staggered backwards, nearly tripped over a really shitty coffee table, pointed an accusatory finger at Matt, "you just got shot! Why're you asking if I'm okay?"
"He's fine," Frank assured Matt from wherever he'd moved to, somewhere behind Peter.
"I was so worried!" Peter exclaimed, throwing himself at Matt again.
Matt groaned, weakly pushing at Peter, "that's sweet, Pete, but I think you're gonna' actually kill me if you keep doing that-"
"Sorry! Sorry, I'm just glad you're okay," Peter squeaked, sitting down by Matt's feet on the couch - which creaked unpleasantly in protest of his weight.
"How'd we get here? Thought I told you to call Claire?"
Peter frowned, "your phone only had... Pete's... number on it."
"Ah," Matt nodded, "wrong phone."
Wrong phone? Did Matt have a dedicated Punisher phone or did Frank just hand out burners with only his number on them?
Frank huffed out a small laugh, approached the couch while somehow holding two mugs in one hand and a third in the other. His coat was missing, just leaving him in his hoodie and cargo pants and boots. He placed all three mugs down on the coffee table, grabbed Matt under the armpits without asking and maneuvered him to sit up against the arm of the couch.
"You good, Red?" He asked, hands moving to the outside of Matt's arms and lingering for an unusually long amount of time. Hold on, weren't the Punisher and Daredevil always getting into fights and arguing non-stop?
Matt nodded, despite grunting at the movement. His left hand moved over Frank's where it squeezed at Matt's right arm, gripped tightly as if to assure him. It didn't exactly seem strictly friendly, the way they looked each other right in the face (even if Matt wasn't actually looking). Frank raised an eyebrow as if to doubt Matt, Matt just chuckled, "m'fine, Frank. Promise." It seemed to ease Frank up, because he just rubbed his hands up and down against Matt's bare arms and leaned away, sat down on the floor with his back against the coffee table.
Peter felt a bit like he was intruding, reached for one of the mugs on the coffee table to busy himself before Frank snatched his wrist. Peter's life only flashed before his eyes for a moment, before Frank lifted a different mug and shoved it into his hand.
"No coffee for kids. This one's cocoa."
Matt grinned from the couch beside Peter. Peter frowned.
"I'm not a kid."
"Yeah? How old are you, then?"
"Fifteen," Peter said confidently.
Frank nodded skeptically, squinted and muttered into his coffee, "whatever you say, kid."
Peter was opening his mouth to argue but was cut off when Frank turned pointedly to Matt, a finger in his face. "Actually, what the hell are you doing letting a fifteen year old run around in PJ's and get beat up by assholes with you, Murdock?"
"I don't let him do anything," Matt said, expression hardening even as Frank carefully passed him the last mug.
"He doesn't," Peter added, helpfully, "he tried to get me to stop, actually."
"But Peter's too stubborn for that," Matt explained, "so I'd rather he runs around with me than leave him to do it alone."
Frank was glaring skeptically. He seemed to do that a lot. Matt seemed unphased. Peter cowered, just a little, into his mug of cocoa that was surprisingly good.
"What, you'd rather he goes out alone, Frank?" Matt said, like he was trying to make a point, like he was just spurring Frank on. Frank sighed.
"You're lucky you're half dead, Red, or I'd punch you for that," he turned to Peter, gave him a pointed look, "I'd rather he doesn't go out at all."
"I'm not gonna' stop. Matt already gave me this lecture so you don't have to do it too, okay Mr. Punisher Sir?"
Frank chuckled, sipped on his coffee and met Matt's eyes for a moment, looking soft in a way Peter struggled to believe was reality. When he looked back at Peter the soft look was still there.
"It's Frank, kid."
"Okay... Frank."
It was quiet. Not uncomfortable, just quiet. Peter thought he probably should've been weirded out by this whole situation - sipping on cocoa with a half-dead Daredevil sitting beside him and the Punisher criss-cross-applesauce on the floor in front of him. And the two of them were weirdly comfortable and close. Huh.
"Hey Pete, you wanna' stick around tonight?" Matt asked.
Oh shit, now Peter is remembering he'd asked Matt to crash on his couch since Aunt May was away on a two-day work trip and he didn't want to bother Ned's family that much. It just made sense to stay at Matt's, they'd go on duty together in the late hours of the night anyway.
"No- no, it's okay. Thank you but I'll go to my friend Ned's place, I don't want to bother-"
"It's not a bother, kid. You need a place to stay?" Frank said.
"My aunt's on a work trip. But, seriously, I can-"
"If you're okay to stay, you're welcome to, yeah? It's no bother. I mean that."
"Are you sure, Mr.- uh, Frank?"
Frank's smile was warm and bright in ways that the infamous Punisher should definitely not be capable of.
"I'm sure, kid," he confirmed. He gently, playfully shoved at Peter's knee. It still nearly knocked the mug out of Peter's hands.
Getting to Ned's place right now sounded like a whole lot of effort Peter couldn't muster, if he was completely honest. It wasn't like he was uncomfortable or scared or unsafe here and Matt wouldn't let anything bad happen to him, even if he did nearly bleed out like twenty minutes ago.
Peter nodded hesitantly, "okay. Okay, uh, if it's okay, then I'll stay. My name's Peter though, so you can stop calling me 'kid', okay?"
"Yeah," Frank chuckled, "yeah, okay Peter. You can take the bed."
"No! No- I'm not sleeping in your bed."
"S'fine, kid. Matt'll stay on the couch and I'll be on the floor - I've had worse, I can promise you that."
Peter shook his head defiantly, placed the mug (which he'd completely drained) back on the coffee table.
"Definitely not, no. No, you guys take the bed and the couch. I'll be fine on the floor, I swear."
"Pete, you take the couch, yeah? Frank and I can take the bed."
Frank didn't say anything, didn't even react, like he wasn't shocked by the prospect of sharing a bed with Matt. Just sipped on his coffee and looked at Peter, waiting for a response. Oh. Okay, that's a bit weird. Were Daredevil and the Punisher really that close?
Peter was happy with that, though. He really didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable or anything, especially when he was crashing there practically uninvited, didn't want to put Matt or Frank out of a bed. But... was Matt comfortable to sleep next to Frank? In the same bed? He did propose that arrangement, Peter guesses, he wouldn't have if he wasn't cool with it. Peter thought that he better not say anything or ask anything, just nod his agreement.
His damn face was turning red, though, he could feel it.
Matt and Frank were just smiling knowingly. Peter was getting more freaked out by the second.
Then, Peter yawned. His eyelids were feeling rather heavy, his muscles aching a little.
"Bed time?" Frank proposed.
Matt nodded enthusiastically, shifted a little and only barely winced, "yes. Bed time."
"'Kay. Come on, then, Red," Frank said once he'd gotten to his feet, reaching down to where Matt sat on the couch. Matt shoved at Frank's hands, snapped, "I can do it myself."
"Yeah? Okay, let's see it then."
Frank crossed his arms over his chest and watched. He didn't stand too far away, though, like he was ready to support Matt or catch him if it was necessary.
There was some grunting and groaning and gritting of teeth as Matt moved to sit at the edge of the couch, feet touching the floor. He took a moment, sitting there and breathing heavy.
"Matt-" Peter began, reaching out to help him up.
"No, I can- I can do it. I'm fine."
Peter brought his hands slowly back into his own lap, looked up at Frank with fearful eyes. Frank rolled his eyes dramatically. Peter couldn't help but grin, watching carefully as Matt used the couch as leverage to stand and... almost immediately tripped over his own feet.
Frank was at Matt's side in seconds, a hand around his waist and another right at the centre of his chest. "You done now, tough guy?"
Matt muttered something under his breath. Frank must've caught it, sputtering out a laugh and grinning as he readjusted his grip on Matt and Matt held onto him too, finally accepting help. It was weirdly sweet.
"Yeah, yeah. Okay, Red," Frank said fondly, beginning to slowly lead Matt into what Peter assumed must be a bedroom, "just shut up and let me help you, alright?"
"Hey, kid," Frank called over his shoulder. Peter perked up immediately, stood up from the couch.
"Yeah, Mr.- oh, sorry. Frank. Yeah?"
"There's blankets and pillows in the cabinet behind you," he said.
Peter nodded, spun around and set his eyes on the cabinet. It was the first time he'd gotten a proper look at the place - small, with weird and kind of shitty furniture, but not too bad for a fugitive of the state, he guessed.
When he opened the cabinet, he spotted the blankets and pillows quickly, right at eye level. As he pulled them out, though, he looked down to lay eyes on three different guns. Even further down was an opened bag of dog food.
"Got you something to wear. You coming right?" Frank asked, having strolled back into the room without Matt at his side. He had a bundle of clothes in his arms, which he dropped onto the coffee table and pointed at to indicate that Peter should change into them.
"Yeah, uh. All good. You have a dog?" Peter blurted.
Frank chuckled, took one of the blankets from Peter's arms and laid it down over the couch with care.
"Not right now. I foster," Frank supplied.
And, wow, that's the last thing Peter expected to hear from a supposed psycho murderer. Maybe Frank wasn't what everyone says he is.
"That's awesome," Peter admitted, closing the cabinet and dropping the pillows and blankets down onto the couch, "I've always wanted a dog."
"Yeah?"
Peter hummed, watched dumbly as Frank set out the pillows and blankets for him.
"Yeah," Peter said. He was only a bit lost in thought.
"Thank you, Frank. For letting me stay and helping Matt and- everything. Just, uh- thanks." Peter's cheeks had darkened thinking back to when he'd cried like a child in Frank's arms. Maybe that's why Frank kept calling him 'kid'.
"Don't fret it. If you need anything we're right through there, yeah?" Frank gestured to the room he'd disappeared into with Matt not so long ago.
"Yeah, okay. Thank you."
Frank leaned forward to ruffle his hair. Peter didn't resist.
"There's a burner in there, too," Frank pointed to the pile of clothing on the coffee table, "my number's in it already. You call if you're ever in over your head, okay?"
So... Frank did just hand out burners with only his number on them, then. Peter nodded, taking it all in. Frank smiled.
"Night, kid."
"Night."
The door shut behind him. Peter couldn't do much but collapse into the couch Frank had meticulously set up with pillows and blankets for him.
What. The. Fuck.