Work Text:
Peter was enjoying his day off.
Well, ‘enjoying’ was a strong word; his day had consisted of waking up at eleven and lying in bed until five, before clumsily making his way to the kitchen to see what he had in the fridge. Yawning, he opened the fridge door, wincing at the loud squeaking sound the hinges made. He was still getting used to his extra enhanced senses, so even the tiniest sound could give him a headache if he wasn’t careful.
At the same time, his stomach grumbled. It was protesting the fact that he hadn’t eaten since last night and it was currently nearing the end of the next day. But his hopes of sedating that hunger quickly vanished as he looked into his fridge to see nothing but empty shelves. There were a few empty packages in there, and some milk that had definitely gone off, making Peter wrinkle his nose in disgust. He doesn’t know why he was surprised.
Peter couldn’t even remember when he had last gone grocery shopping, was it last week? Or maybe the week before? Gagging slightly, he grabbed the spoiled milk and empty packages and moved to go put them in the trash can, but the universe had it out for Peter because he turned to find said trash can overflowing with take out containers. Sighing, he walked over and placed the trash in his arms on the counter behind the bin, ignoring the guilty feeling that had started swirling in his gut.
He was trying to get better with juggling between the Spider-Man stuff and being Peter Parker, he really was. It’s just, old habits break hard– he had been prioritising his alter ego over himself since he was fourteen! It also didn’t help that the last thing that he wanted to do after getting back from a long patrol, muscles aching and his brain mush from the mental load of it all, was going to a place with fluorescent lights, loud announcements and just too many options to choose from. Peter also couldn’t necessarily afford all the food he needed as a growing man.
He really hadn’t appreciated the advantage of free food from Aunt May and Mr Stark enough– that shit was expensive, especially with his increased metabolism. It didn’t help that he didn’t necessarily have a stable source of income right now. Yeah, he got compensation from the police department sometimes when he helped out on the big cases, and he always got free tid bits here and there from grateful civilians who he’d helped over the years. The only downside to that unless he wanted to go shopping as Spider-Man, he couldn’t really reap those benefits.
And there was the effort of actually making healthy meals, that weren’t the five minute microwave ones. Yeah, he didn’t want to go shopping in the first place after going out on patrol, but if he did find the energy to run errands, by the time he got back he would be so tired he wouldn’t want to spend an hour in the kitchen actually making food. So, take out it was. For the time being, obviously, until he got better at fulfilling his promises of balancing work life and personal life.
Peter's stomach growled again, loud and low, the type that hurt and one just couldn’t ignore. He guessed his day off was going to end in running errands. Sighing, he made his way through his apartment to his bedroom, throwing off his hoodie and pants and digging through his dresser to replace them. After getting changed, he pulled on a pair of socks and rolled on some deodorant before walking to his bathroom to clean his teeth and wash his face. This was peak adulthood, starting his day in the evening.
Peter looked once in the mirror to make sure he looked acceptable to go out in public, wincing as he saw the state of himself. Tired eyes and messy hair was his default now, but that didn’t make it any less jolting when he saw himself. Peter snapped out of it before looking around and grabbing his phone and keys. As he went to grab his shoes, he thought maybe it would be sensible to check how much money he actually had.
“Not the best.” He muttered to himself as he checked his banking app. Peter could make do, but his balance didn’t give him much motivation to actually go out… maybe he could just grab some off brand cereal and call it a day. Peter slid his phone into his back pocket, shoving his feet into his shoes before bending down to fix the folded backs.
Then, there were three sharp knocks on his door. Peter shot up, his eyebrows furrowing as he tried to think who would be at his door. It couldn’t be a neighbour, he hadn’t interacted with any since moving into the building– could it be his landlord? He had sworn he had paid rent this month.
But before he could dwell any longer on the thought that he was about to get evicted, a familiar gravely voice called through the door, obviously annoyed.
“C’mon, Kid! I ain’t got all day.”
Peter ran to the door, peering through the peep hole as he fumbled with his keys to unlock the door. Just as he thought, Frank Castle was standing in his apartment hallway, staring right at Peter through the glass. Swiftly, he opened the door, his hand still resting on the handle. “Frank? What the hell–” He began, faltering as Frank pushed past him into his apartment, his eyes flicking across the room before moving to the kitchen, “--are you doing here man?”
He had been so preoccupied with trying to understand why Frank was here, he had failed to notice the plastic bag he was carrying, hitting his calf as he walked towards the kitchen. Frank didn’t answer, moving through his apartment like he’d been there a thousand times. God, Peter hoped Frank hadn’t been here before without his knowledge– he wouldn’t put it past the guy.
Then Peter realised something else, he had never actually told Frank where he lived, at least not to his knowledge. Any time they hung out, it was either Peter going to Frank’s warehouse or they met up randomly. He followed the older man to the kitchen, calling after him “How the hell do you know where I live?”
Frank chuckled, stopping near the counter and chucking the plastic bag onto the smooth surface. It sounded heavy, glass clinking together as it moved. He began digging through the plastic bag, still not looking at Peter, “It wasn’t that hard, Kid.” Frank huffed, “You ain’t exactly subtle.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Peter stopped next to Frank, putting his hands on the counter and trying to look into the plastic bag, but Frank swatted him away, whacking his face. If Peter yelped that was none of Frank’s business. Sue him for being curious on why the Punisher barged into his apartment and started rustling through a random bag he brought with him.
“Paws off.” Frank scolded, ignoring the younger boy's slight pout. Peter obeyed, more out of confusion than anything. It was weird seeing someone else other than himself in his apartment. The space had always been empty and cold– he hadn’t bothered fully decorating it, that certainly didn’t help. It wasn’t until that moment, watching Frank move around his kitchen like he belonged there that he realised he’d never actually had anyone over before. Peter had never tried that hard to make connections– he had Ned and MJ on his phone, and that was all he needed.
That was until he got back into contact (met?) with MJ and Ned, and woke up in that hospital bed with Frank by his side. Peter didn’t really remember how much he had missed meaningful human connections. It was nice. He watched as his friend (he had a friend!) pulled pasta, butter, multiple blocks of cheese, flour and milk out of the bag, lining it up on the counter. There was also a bag of apples that seemed… odd?
Peter’s brow furrowed. Actually, this was all odd– why the hell was the Punisher going through his cabinets looking for pots and pans. Scratching his cheek, he watched Frank for a second before deciding to pipe up, “Uh, Frank? What are you doing?”
Frank’s hands paused, his head turning to face Peter with a confused face. He gestured to the food, “The fuck’s it look like I’m doing?” He quipped, resuming his search through Peter’s kitchen before finally pulling out a pan he didn’t even know he owned, “Making mac n’ cheese.”
The younger boy blinked. “Yeah, I see that…” Peter began, looking at the ingredients on his counter top, “I just… don’t understand why?”
He didn’t answer Peter’s question, instead turning towards the oven, filling the saucepan up with water before placing it on the hob. Peter watched as he clicked on the gas, waiting until the flame caught before dusting off his hands and turning back to the ingredients on the counter. He didn’t really know what to do with himself, was he supposed to help?
Last time someone had cooked for him had probably been with Aunt May. Sure, he used to have meals at Mr Stark’s, but he had a private chef that cooked for everyone when he stayed over– but this was more personal. Frank had bought groceries, found out where Peter lived and came over to cook him a meal.
He turned away to hide his smile.
Deciding to try to be useful, he started reaching for the ingredients, only for his hands to get slapped away by Frank, again. “What did I tell you about keeping your hands to yourself?” Frank grumbled, not looking up from the milk carton in his hands.
Peter frowned, rubbing the back of his hand dramatically. He was starting to think Frank just liked hitting people. “Ow.”
“Didn’t hit you that hard.”
“Yeah but you hit me twice in ten minutes.”
“It’s gonna be three if you don’t get outta my fucking way.” Frank scolded, pointing a spoon at Peter to make a point. Peter chuckled, raising his hands up in surrender, deciding to let the man work. If he was going through the hassle of cooking him dinner, he may as well do what Frank wants.
There were a few moments of silence before Frank spoke again.
“Awe shit!” Frank muttered, glaring down at the milk carton in his hand. He tossed it onto the counter with a thud, running his fingers through his hair before resting his hand on the back of his neck. “Bought the wrong fucking milk.”
Peter furrowed his eyebrows, hoisting himself up to sit on the counter beside where Frank was standing, feet hitting the cabinet below. “There’s a wrong type of milk?” he asked before continuing, “Milk is milk.”
Frank stared at him, his lips pulling into a frown. “Now you’re pissing me off.”
“What did I do!” Peter laughed, thunking his head against the cabinet.
Frank sighed, pointing to the carton. “That’s semi skimmed– I needed whole.” He explained, raising the carton and shoving it in Peter’s face, causing the younger man to laugh even more while pushing the milk away.
“Okay, okay! I get you.” He said in between chuckles, “It won’t affect it too much, will it?”
“Nah. It’ll be fine.” Frank sniffed, grabbing the pasta and pouring it into the now boiling water, “Just won’t taste as nice.”
“That’s fine. If you hadn't showed up I probably would be having cereal for dinner.” Peter confessed, looking down as he played with his fingers. He wasn’t ashamed, it was just a bit embarrassing to admit that he was a twenty something year old who couldn’t afford basic food. Frank nodded as he made the sauce, grating cheese into the bowl. “I get it, Pete. Why’d ya think I came over here for?”
Peter hummed, “‘Cause you haven’t got a working oven on the boat?” He teased, bumping his arm against Frank’s shoulders, earning a quiet ‘Fuck off.’
They stayed in silence as Frank worked, the ambient noises of the pasta boiling and the spoon clinking against the side of the bowl as he mixed the sauce filling the atmosphere. The silence was comfortable, like a warm blanket that muffled all of Peter’s worries. God, how long had it been since he had sat in comfortable silence with someone?
Frank's eyes drifted around the apartment while he stirred the sauce. There wasn't much to look at; no pictures on the walls, a saggy couch, a couple of GED textbooks that were collecting dust on the dining table. But other than that, there wasn’t anything personal about this place apart from the suit hanging on the back of a chair.
"Lemme tell you something, kid." Frank muttered eventually as he strained the pasta. Peter looked up from where he had been playing on his phone. “This place is depressing as shit.”
Peter winced, setting his phone down on the counter beside him. “I don’t really stay in here a lot– there’s the attic upstairs where I have all my tech and stuff. This place is just for sleeping.” He explained, swinging his feet, his heels hitting the cabinets.
Frank glanced around again, unimpressed. “Yeah, well, you sleep in a depressing ass place.” He deadpanned as he mixed the pasta and sauce before pouring it into the pan. Peter watched as he grated cheese over the top and then put it in the oven. “It’ll be done in an hour.”
Peter groaned as he hopped off the counter, his feet landing on the floor with a thud, “An hour?”
“You complain too fucking much for someone who was gonna eat cereal an hour ago.” Frank said, putting the leftover food in the fridge and cabinets.
“Thanks, Frank.” Peter began, “For going out of your way to do this for me.”
Frank chuckled, “I ain’t doing this for you. I was hungry” He said, washing his hands at the sink.
Peter laughed, he knew Frank was full of bullshit, but he wasn’t going to push it. He’d let Frank think he was just doing it for himself. He would be grateful either way. Standing in the kitchen, the smell of a home cooked meal wafting through the apartment, Peter couldn’t help the smile pulling on his lips.
They hung about for an hour, and eventually the timer went off. Peter was on his feet immediately. “Finally!” He celebrated.
“Jeeze, hold your horses, Pete.” Frank chucked, groaning as he got off the couch and moved towards the kitchen, Peter following on his heel like a puppy.
They sat at the small dining room table across from one another, a serving of pasta each in front of them. (If Peter had grabbed a significantly larger serving than Frank, Frank didn’t mention it.) Peter grabbed a forkful, shoving it into his mouth, and it was like heaven.
“Frank.” He said over a mouth full of pasta, “This is so good.”
“It’s fucking mac’ n’ cheese, of course it’s good.” Frank deadpanned.
“Yeah, but it’s like… Your mac’ n’ cheese.”
Frank looked at him, fork in his mouth. “Don’t make it fucking weird.”
Peter smiled, taking another bite.
The other man began to say something else, but Peter was just nodding along, taking it all in. A year ago he didn’t think he’d be able to have this again– connections. He couldn’t help smiling, really.
Maybe he actually was enjoying his day off.