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Frank has always been a shoot first, ask questions later type of man. He never denied that fact. That was the kind of man he has been ever since he took on the moniker of The Punisher. He did the dirty, unfortunate job others were too naive or cowardly to do. Some people just had to get taken out for many lives to be spared. He took on the heavy burden himself, and he never missed a shot.
After everything that he has been through, after everything that he has done, there was a part of him that was desensitized to it all. Find a new target that needs to be taken out. Eliminate the target. Help where he can. Rinse and repeat. It allowed him to be methodical, sharp, and unrepentant. The reverberating sound of the gunshots leaving his weapons, the squelch of it piercing through skin, bodies hitting the floor. It was all just a few more noises to add to his never-ending repertoire of dreadful memories and unforgivable mistakes.
This fucked up, definitely over his head and above his pay grade mission had started out as usual. Get dragged into helping Spiderman in the middle of a mission, shoot some friendly fire to try and get him out of the way, and move on. Yet somehow, he ended up giving the poor kid some asylum at his safe house, along with that girl of his. All so those two did not end up getting killed by some psycho lady that mind possesses people.
He gruffed and complained, of course, but he was not leaving out Spiderman out to fend for himself. That kid had wormed his way into Frank’s life, he was one of the good guys with a heart of gold that cared about people and still believed things could be hopeful and optimistic. He reminded Frank of another certain red-masked vigilante. Both of who would probably get themselves killed if they continued on that road.
Frank was not in the mood to allow such a thing. Not with Red, and not with Spiderman. If he had to save their asses and kill some people along the way, then so be it. He was used to it.
What he did not foresee, however, was somehow ending up having to fight the Hulk.
Frank was used to taking some high-level big hitters, he knew his abilities were nothing to scoff at. Yet, fighting a literal Avenger? A superhuman at that? Yeah, no. That was not in his list of things he ever thought he would have to worry about.
Despite that, he did not hesitate. He knew better than to freeze up. Any freeze up could cost him his life, the life of others, and add to his list of mistakes he still needed to do penance for. A few curse words later, he was shooting at the Hulk and teaming up with Spiderman so they could both get out of it alive.
This was a time for actions only. There was no time to ask Spiderman any questions. No matter how much he wanted to ask how the fuck did he get involved with an Avenger level threat and why the fuck did the Hulk want to kill them both. That was all unimportant.
Shoot first. Ask questions later.
He had an MO, and he stuck to it.
However, right now, standing on a rooftop, as guilt and horror began to sprout deeply within his veins, he wished he had not taken the shot.
Frank had aimed it at Jean and he had not hesitated. Earlier, he might have given it a moment of thought, if only because Spiderman would surely have tried to stop him. The spider kid had been talking about breaking Jean out of the facility not half an hour ago. Something about her being wrongfully imprisoned and experimented on. Frank had not fully heard about it before he heard the unmistakable sounds of a fight taking place while he was on the phone. Then the line went dead.
Frank had not been able to communicate with Spiderman since. He wished he could ignore the part of him that felt his stomach drop slightly at that. He was desensitized to violence, but not when it came to red-masked superheroes it seemed.
He really wished to not have been dragged into this bullshit when shit really hit the fan and entire blocks of the city were paralysed, frozen all due to fucking mind control. This was above his fucking pay-grade.
So, no, he had not hesitated when he took the shot. He had her in his crosshairs, and it was for the greater good. Lives were at stake. She had Spiderman within her grasp. Frank could tell as much through his scope. He was not naive enough to believe this couldn’t get worse if he let this continue on.
“One batch, two batch. Penny and dime.” Frank mouthed the words softly to himself as he cocked his gun. A reminder of what he had lost. A reminder of why he had to do this. There it was, the aggravating tug in his chest at the action. As always, he ignored it.
Bang.
He took the shot.
Frank never missed a shot.
Right now he wished he had. He saw as Spiderman moved at superhuman speed, shielding Jean, and taking a goddamn bullet through the spine.
“No!” Frank felt the guttural scream leave his throat while he watched Spiderman collapse to the ground. He didn’t even react when the rest of the city was released from their mind control. All he could see was Spiderman collapsing, knees buckling, crimson red staining the red and blue suit.
What had he done? Frank froze in that moment. He failed the kid, just like he had failed Lisa, just how he had failed Frankie. Spiderman was shot down, just like his family had been. Except now it was Frank who had been behind the trigger. He was the main culprit to blame.
It did not matter how many people he had killed, it did not matter how much blood was already on his hands from all that he had done, this might have been the first time he felt such revulsion. For the first time, he felt the weight of the blood on his hands that had been tallying up as his kill count went up.
His mind was frozen in horror still, while the muscle memory kicked in. His body was reacting on its own. His legs rushed him down the rooftop and onto his van, his arms commandeered the vehicle as he sped through the sea of people and cars in various stages of chaos. It felt like an eternity and a blink of an eye, but then he was in front of the facility, running through people, agents, and police. They parted away without a second thought. Not one of them wanted to get in between him and whatever had the Punisher looking like that. Not that he noticed.
Next thing he knew, he was standing in a shattered room, his mind tugging at him painfully as he became aware of his surroundings again, mainly a bleeding out Spiderman and a panicked telepath that seemed to be yelling something at him.
“You have to get him help. He is still alive, but I don’t know how long I can keep him that way.” Jean said, kneeling down and holding onto Spiderman, now completely motionless.
When Frank did not immediately move, he felt another prodding pressure in his mind. “Get him help. Now.” Jean’s voice reverberated within his head.
There was no time for questions. Snapping into action, he picked up Spiderman, grabbing the back of his legs and the area on his back that was not wounded, then pulled him against his chest as he turned around and ran out with the kid in his arms.
There was a hospital not too far away. Yet, there was no way ambulances or traffic would be working fast enough right now. But he could make it there in five minutes if he ran.
He ran.
He vaguely recognised his voice yelling out warnings as the sea of people parted from his path again. Before he knew it, Spiderman was taken out of his arms by some doctors and he was left standing alone in the hospital’s hallway, covered in the kid’s blood.
The hours he spent in the creaky and too-small plastic hospital chairs were agonising. The not knowing was gnawing at him. Would Spiderman pull through? Would he be sporting a permanent injury? Would he die? All because of him?
Frank’s torment did not stop there. Flashes of memories clashed painfully in his mind like unforgiving storm waves clashing into a wrecked ship. Bittersweet and painful memories of his kids echoed in his mind and he felt the wave of grief hit him full force once again.
He could not help it. Spiderman had always reminded Frank of his kids in a way. Spiderman and Lisa both had the same carefree energy, both with sharp minds and enough wit and stubbornness to do whatever they set their minds onto, no matter how crazy it might be. On the other hand, Frankie and Spiderman shared that softer side, both smart and inquisitive. It hurt to see so much of his kids in Spiderman. He sometimes wondered if they would have grown up and be similar to him.
Frank had grown fond of Spiderman in the last couple of years, slowly building up a sense of protectiveness around the kid that had not made itself fully known until now. The worry burned through his veins non stop as he waited for any news. The guilt ate through him.
Finally, the doctors came with news. Spiderman was in critical condition, but out of surgery. The next twenty-four hours would tell if he would make it or not. He was allowed to sit by his bedside now. Or maybe, the doctors did not want to piss him off. Either way, no one said anything as he made his way to Spiderman’s room to wait.
He felt a wave of nausea hit him when he saw Spiderman’s face for the first time. It was bruised and battered and young.
He called him kid all the time, but he did not expect him to be this young. Even in this state, he did not look older than twenty. He would be around the same age Frankie would have been had he not died, Frank thought with a pang on his chest.
Frank knew that Spiderman had been around for quite a few years and the realization pained him. He must have been so young when he started out being Spiderman.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The machines beeping snapped him from that train of thought.
The kid was tough, he would pull through. He had to.
And Frank refused to let the kid wake up to an empty room.
He stayed. Frank refused to leave, to eat, or sleep while he waited, perched in his seat, staring at the monitors keeping his vitals in check.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
It was constant. It was never-ending and loud. And it was the best thing Frank had heard all day. The beeping meant the kid was alive. That was all that mattered.
It also helped—to a lesser degree— to drown out the gunshot echoes in his mind. He kept replaying that shot over and over. Gun cocked. Finger on the trigger. Press the trigger. A shot ringing out. Spiderman falling to the ground. Beep. Beep. Beep. Gun cocked. Finger on the trigger. Press the trigger. A loud shot ringing out. Spiderman falling to the ground.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Frank squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head in hopes of ridding himself of the memories.
Spiderman was alive.
His misery was lessened when he felt a prod into his mind, a sharp and deep pressure as Jean spoke to him telepathically. “Peter will pull through. I’m keeping him alive until he is well enough to do so on his own.”
A reassurance that Frank was ever so grateful for. He felt like he could breathe a little easier now. He paused and cocked his head to the side as he looked at the kid. “Peter, huh?” His lips tugged upwards. “Yeah, you look like a Peter alright.” A ripple of amusement flashed in his mind for a moment, before the pressure in his head lessened as Jean exited his mind.
Knowing Peter was in good hands, the exhaustion of the last few days hit him, slowly closing his eyes while the minutes passed as he lost the fight with slumber. He would rest for a little bit, all he had to do now was wait for Peter to wake up.