Chapter Text
Frank’s body was stiff but straight-backed in the uncomfortable plastic chair outside Pete’s room. He had been there for hours, standing guard, fighting sleep. The public was outside, chanting and cheering for Spider-Man’s recovery, which Frank deduced meant his many enemies were also aware of the weakened state of New York’s favorite hero.
He didn’t know what to expect when he burst through the doors of Metro General, kid in his arms bleeding out– he knew he was shouting and inconsolable. He almost fought a security guard that greeted them in the doorway, didn’t want to give up the kid, out of his mind with grief. A nurse with a Tweety Bird neck tattoo had suddenly appeared and put a firm hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t her first rodeo.
“Okay, sir, alright,” she said calmly, one hand keeping a security guard at bay. “We’ve got him, that’s right,” she coaxed the young hero out of his arms and onto a stretcher. The slow motion Frank had felt stuck in since he fired the shot, like a bad dream where you can’t run fast enough, fell suddenly around him as the medical staff went quickly into overdrive. In rapid succession a young nurse had hopped onto the stretcher, half kneeling beside the kid, holding him together, as other doctors materialized out of nowhere and they all raced down the hall together, leaving Frank empty-armed and bereft.
Once the staff at Metro General had gathered the facts- that this really was Spider-Man and the Punisher together in the Emergency Room, things seemed to click into place. While the kid was in surgery, a social worker brought Frank into a family waiting room and spoke in a low, calm voice, about the circumstances that brought them in, about the gun strapped to his back.
“I ain’t giving up my weapon,” Frank shook his head. “You and everybody in here don’t stand a chance at the kind of pricks who might want to hurt that kid, knowing he’s here and on the brink of death.”
Against all odds, that made sense to the staff, who arranged a private room at the end of the hall once the kid was out of surgery. A young man who Frank thought looked too young to be a nurse even came by and brought him coffee.
“Thanks for saving Spider-Man. He talked my baby brother out of joining a gang a few years ago. Now he’s about to graduate high school..”
Frank snorted. He saved Spider-Man? I’m the one who damn near killed him.
As alone as the kid often seemed to Frank, he had clearly endeavored much love from the city. Other staff came by, bringing presents from the crowd outside or even gifts they had bought in the hospital gift shop, arranging it carefully beside his bed. The kid clearly had friends in high places, too, because NYPD showed up, talked to the hospital staff, security, and then left. They didn’t do more than glance over at Frank.
Tweety Bird tattoo showed up again. “You should go inside,” she said, gesturing with a chin to the room.
“I’m standin’ guard,” Frank grunted. The nurse lifted an eyebrow and gave him a knowing sort of look.
“Patients in his state.. when it’s touch and go.. They really need someone to sit beside them, talk to them, hold their hand.” She seemed to also say, with a squeeze of his shoulder, that he shouldn’t be scared. “I wasn’t sure if he was going to make it through the night. Nobody’s sure how he’s even gotten as far as he has. But I can tell he’s a fighter, and he needs someone to have his back right now..”
Frank felt the floor open beneath him. His body was heavy as he finally stood, legs threatening to give out, and walked into the room. The nurse softly closed the door behind him.
He had only taken in a glimpse of the kid in all the mayhem, and he took in the details of the kid’s face now. And kid, yes, because he looked barely old enough to drink. His face was battered and bruised, a ventilator supplying fresh oxygen, his chest rising and falling. Jean’s work, no doubt.
He wondered, with how long the kid’s been at it, how young he was when he started.
Everything this kid’s been through and survived.. And Frank nearly took his life tonight.
He lowered himself into the chair beside the bed. He reached a hand out to grab Pete’s, but instead he found himself picking up the tattered remains of the Spider-Man suit that was hanging from the end of the bed. They had cut it all off while rushing him to surgery. He ran a thumb idly over the mask.
“Doc said I should talk to you,” Frank shook his head a little. “Can you hear me? Or is that Jean in there?” Frank put his head in his hands, the Spider-Man mask dangling from his fingers. “Either way.. This is to both of you.. I’m sorry.”
________
The first emotion he had registered was anger.
After the shot rang out, a blur of red and blue, the city suddenly lurching back to life as the effects of the mind control miasma dropped all around them. Stupid kid. He saw Jean and Spider-Man standing close. He must have jerked her out of the way.
The thought barely had time to register when he saw the kid suddenly tumble down in a heap. Frank watched through the scope as Jean dropped to her knees, her desperate movements reminding him so much of himself, of reaching out for his little girl right before the bullet went through his own skull—
He lurched to his feet, took a stumbling step forward. He half considered keeling over the edge of the building. He didn’t feel his body as he made his way down the stairs, getting back in his truck, peeling out driving past a blur of people who were stumbling, getting back on their feet, the whole world feeling strange and wrong, reminding him so much of the carousal of Maria– oh god, Maria .
Suddenly he was pushing past dazed DDC guards, kicking down doors, racing up the stairs.
“Peter, please, Peter, you can’t go,” Jean was hunched over Spider-Man’s body, holding him together, sobbing. She looked up at Frank, looking stricken, looking like the scared kid he knew she really was. She looked at Frank like he was the adult she desperately needed. He raced to her side and dropped down to his knees.
“Help, please help me,” Jean was grabbing Peter’s chest, her words coming out as gasps. Frank swore he saw the lips on the kid moving in time with Jean, no sound coming out.
“Move your hands, kid,” Frank grunted. Jean wouldn’t budge, big tears rolling down her face.
“I– I—” she suddenly closed her eyes, steadying her breath, focusing. Frank wrapped his hands around hers, covered in blood.
In an instant, he was sucked into a memory. He was at the carousel again. There were families around, but not his. He looked around desperately, turning on his heel, sweeping in a big circle. Where were they? Instead he saw Jean Grey, who was kneeling in the grass, clutching another young girl in her arms, sobbing and rocking back and forth.
In an instant he was pushed out, and his hands were moving Jean’s off of the kid. He shook his head, trying to evaporate the vision.
“We gotta pack the wound,” he grunted, grabbing some gauze from his backpack medikit. “Hold that there for a sec.” Jean didn’t move. Frank looked back up at her, and saw she had fallen into some kind of trance. “Kid! Jean!” He swore and reached back into his bag for more supplies with one hand.
Suddenly Frank felt the kid– Peter? – Spider-Man’s breath and heartbeat become stronger. Jean’s breathing deepened and steadied beside him, calm although some tears still fell.
Frank understood. “Can you keep that up and move at the same time?” Unbelievably, he felt the kid beneath him jerk his head in the smallest nod, as Jean gave her own nodding confirmation beside him. “Atta girl.”
Frank didn’t often dwell in the world of Gods, aliens, and the supernatural, although he’d seen his fair share of bullshit since the sky opened a decade ago. He preferred to deal with whatever was in front of him with a level head. And he knew in his bones at that moment that he had killed the kid- except for Jean Grey’s intervention.
He put the mask back on the kid, stroked his head for a moment, and then scooped the masked hero up in his arms, bracing him against his chest as he made a sprint for the stairwell, Jean close behind him.
The guards in the Department of Damage Control building had seemingly cleared out to regroup elsewhere, Frank thanked God for that, as he ran through the lobby, out the door and back to his truck. He tossed Spider-Man into the back and Jean quickly darted to sit beside him. Frank clambered back into his side, adjusted his weapon in the passenger seat, and put the truck into gear.
He remembers every agonizing moment of the drive to the hospital – and when he pulled up to Metro General and went to the back of his truck to get the kid, Jean was long gone. Atta girl. .
__________________
Frank wasn’t sure how much time had passed, holding the kids hand as the night went on, when suddenly there was a small knock at the door.
Tweety Bird tattoo was there, and so was MJ, whose face was stormy when she entered the room. She had on a backpack and carried a brown paper bag.
The nurse shut the door behind MJ. She stood over the kid’s bed. “I told you to help him, to watch his back. You did this,” she shook her head.
“Yeah, I did.” Frank agreed.
“You didn’t mean to,” she acknowledged.
“He jumped in the way. His senses are really something else.” Frank shook his head a little. “He warned me, y'know, about trying to shoot my way out of every situation. He’s so stubborn. Prick got shot just to prove a point.”
MJ actually gave him a small smile at that. “I bet.” She sat down in a chair on the opposite side of the bed. “He’s gonna be okay?”
“That’s what they say.” Frank acknowledged. “Actually, he’s getting a bit of help right now courtesy of our body hopping friend.”
“Huh,” MJ replied, brows furrowed. “Here’s to having frenemies.” She reached into the brown bag she had brought in. “Want a sandwich? I brought bahn mis.”
Frank gratefully accepted half a sandwich and took a bite. It was stale but good.
“I’m surprised they let you in here,” Frank said.
“I had proof that I know him.” MJ reached into her backpack and pulled out a sketch pad. Clear as day, the kid was right there, unmistakable, mask off and relaxed, happy.
“His name’s Peter.. Parker,” she told Frank. “Apparently we were in love, but I don’t remember. Nobody remembers him. He’s all alone.” She turned to the table behind her, placing her sketch amongst the gifts from well-wishers.
“Not anymore,” Frank disagreed. They fell into a comfortable shared quiet, eating their sandwiches, until MJ spoke again.
“We kissed, and I don’t remember that either,” MJ shook her head. “It’s so weird.. Y'know, it happened when I was under mind control.” She smiled a bit. “Peter told me it happened. And he apologized.”
Frank snorted. That sounded just like the kid. “He’s real purehearted like that.”
“He’s a good guy,” MJ acknowledged. “I get it.. I get why I loved him.”
Frank hesitated, looking down at the kid. “Y’know, when I met my wife..”
MJ looked up at him sharply. “Am I about to get romantic advice from the Punisher?”
“Nah, forget it,” Frank shot back, shaking his head and taking another bite of sandwich. MJ rolled her eyes a bit.
“No, tell me. Really.”
Frank was quiet for a while. Maria. Bringing her to mind brought back all the emotions immediately, the love, the grief, the anger.
“First time I saw my wife, I knew.” Frank shook his head, eyes brimming, picturing that moment in his mind clear as day, playing his guitar in the park and laying eyes on her. “I’d like to think if I lost my memory, god forbid, I’d fall in love with her all over again. They say when you know, you know.”
“That’s you, and I’m not sure that’s me,” MJ stated. She looked pained, guilty.
“You could be friends,” Frank acknowledged. “Not a bad place to be.”
“Friends. I like that.” MJ smiled a bit. They looked down at Peter. MJ rested a hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, feeling his chest rising and falling a bit unnaturally. They stayed like that for a long time.
Finally MJ looked back up at Frank. “So what exactly happened on Staten Island?”
***