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The burner phone you always keep on your person rings once before you answer. You don’t even need to look at the caller ID to know who’s calling. There’s only one person who ever contacts you through this line. The same person who bought you the device in the first place.
“Hi Frank,” you cheerfully say. Your good spirits dissipate and your brows knit in concern when all that greets you on the other end of the line is heavy breathing. You press the phone closer to your ear. “Hey, is everything okay? Is something wrong?”
“Meet me at the hospital,” Frank says in lieu of answering either of your questions. “Back entrance.”
Your heart tightens with worry. What’s he doing at the hospital? “Are you hurt?” you ask, your feet already moving in the direction of the hospital Frank mentioned.
Luckily, you’re not too far from the place, only a few blocks away. You know there was a commotion going on earlier in the city, but you have no idea what it was exactly.
Frank heavily sighs. Your heart drops to your stomach. “I’m alright, sweetheart,” he soothes, and you can feel some of the tight worry unwind itself from your heart. “Nothing serious, I promise. Nothing I can’t handle.”
He pauses and sighs again. He sounds more weary this time.
“It’s the kid.”
Your worry spikes again. There’s only one kid that Frank could be talking about.
“You mean Spider-Man?” you hurriedly say as you quicken your pace. The hospital is entering your view now. The front of the building is flooded with people. You weave through them as you make your way towards the rear of the hospital.
“Yeah, he’s in pretty rough shape. I shot him.”
“Frank, what do you mean you shot Spider-Man?” you hiss, making sure to keep your voice down, as your brows rise to your hairline. You speed up even more, nearly breaking out into a jog.
You know Frank and Spider-Man have definitely had their fair share of disagreements as they fundamentally differ on how those who do harm should be dealt with, but you never in a million years would have that things would escalate like this. Even if Frank doesn’t want to admit it to himself, much less to you, you know he has a soft spot for the masked hero, so you truly cannot wrap your head around Frank shooting the damn kid.
“I didn’t mean to shoot the kid. Was aiming for someone else, but the kid was the one who took the bullet instead. Always trying to play fuckin’ hero,” Frank explains, humorlessly chuckling as he trails off. “Rushed him to the hospital as soon as I could.”
“Oh Frankie,” you sympathetically say.
Frank looks up as he hears the crystal clear sound of your voice. You end the call with a press of your thumb as you quickly approach Frank who’s leaning against the wall of the hospital. Your eyes scan his form, looking him over to make sure he’s as okay as he claimed he was. He definitely has some cuts and bruises on him, but thankfully, they seem pretty minor. Not that you ever like seeing Frank hurt, but you know to count your lucky stars that his injuries are non-serious.
“Hey sweetheart.”
Frank leans into your touch as you reach a hand to cradle his cheek. You’re careful, your touch gentle, mindful of the bruises blooming across the expanse of his cheek.
“You didn’t mean to, Frankie,” you say, echoing what he said over the phone. Your frank would never hurt anybody (at least intentionally) who he didn’t think deserved it, and Spider-Man of all people definitely doesn’t.
“Still did it.”
“Yeah,” you softly say. The pad of your thumb skirts over a shallow cut on his cheekbone. “You still did it.”
Because Frank did shoot Spider-Man even if he didn’t mean to.
“Is he going to make it?” You rip the bandage off, quickly and cleanly. Better to ask now than later.
Frank takes a deep stuttery breath. You brace yourself for his response. Heroes come and go, but you can’t imagine a New York City without Spider-Man.
“Think so. The girl I was aimin’ for is using some kind of psychic shit to keep him alive right now. Until he’s out of critical condition.”
You breathe out a sigh of relief. You don’t understand half of what Frank is saying, but all that matters is that Spider-Man is going to be alright. Good, you wouldn’t want Spider-Man’s death on his conscience.
“Good. That’s good,” you say, “Means you can apologize when he wakes up.”
You lift your hand from Frank’s cheek as he runs a heavy hand over his face. You wince at how roughly he runs it over his various cuts and bruises.
“Apology isn’t gonna be enough.”
“Maybe not,” you concede, “but it’s a start.”
You step closer to Frank, smoothing your hand over the front of his tactical vest. The thing is filthy, covered in dust and debris, evidence of the kind of a day frank’s been having thus far.
“And I don’t think Spider-Man is the type to hold grudges.”
“Sure as hell the type to lord things of your head,” Frank grumbles, and you lightly laugh. That sounds more like your Frank.
“Like how he saved you that one time in Staten Island?” you tease.
Frank loudly groans.
“Kid’s never going to let that go.”
“Well, he might now that you almost killed him. Much easier thing to lord over someone.”
You wince slightly when Frank gives you a look that reads too soon. You run your hand over his shoulder and give his bicep a gentle squeeze in apology.
“Y’know, I saw his face?” Frank says, out of the blue.
“What?” you say, full of surprise. “I thought you said he never takes his mask off.”
“Kinda hard to keep it on when you need a oxygen mask.”
A feeling of soberness replaces your shock. What kind of situation did Frank and Spider-Man find themselves in for this to happen? You’re sure that Frank will tell you the details later, but you can’t help but wonder how things got to how they are now.
Frank continues on. “Looks just like what I thought he would.”
“Yeah? And how’s that?”
Frank tears his gaze from the distance and looks at you with glassy eyes. The sight slightly startles you. In all your time with Frank Castle, you’ve only ever seen him get choked up or cry a handful of times.
“Like a nice kid.”
“Oh Frank,” you exhale. Frank wraps you in a hug, and you return it just as fiercely. The edges of his bulky tactical vest dig into you, you’re sure to be covered in dust and debris when you pull away, but none of that matters in the face of your lover needing to be comforted. “Things are going to alright, Frank. That girl is keeping him alive, so he’s going to wake up in no time and you’ll be able to apologize to him then. It's all going to be okay, Frankie.”
You lean back slightly to get a look at Frank’s face, your eyes searching, prompting him to meet your gaze. “Alright?”
“Alright,” he repeats.
“Good, now get off me and get back up there,” you gently push Frank back and motion with your head towards the hospital behind him. “I’m sure the kid could use you by his side.” You look down at yourself, grimacing when you see just how dirty you are now. The things you do for love. “And I could do with a change of clothes.”
“Yeah,” Frank clears his throat, “You’re right. Should keep on eye on the kid.”
His hands drift down to cover your own.
"See you later?"
You lean in and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, featherlight so as to do no more damage. "Course, baby. Keep me updated?"
"Will do," Frank says. He turns his head to capture your lips in a brief kiss, resting his forehead against yours in the afterglow. You allow yourself to bask in the moment, even if it's brief.
"C'mon. Time to get moving." You nudge your nose against Frank's.
"I'll call," Frank promises as he finally separates himself from you.
A small smile crosses your lips.
"I know."