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“I’m sorry.”
It takes Peter a second to register the words, the gruff voice muttering them, the pained eyes staring back at his own.
Frank sits next to his hospital bed, glassy-eyed with the stress lines on his face impossibly deeper. Peter’s never seen him so scared before.
He’s been wanting to hear those words from the man’s mouth for a while, now. For a completely different, selfish reason. They feel loaded, but Peter can’t decide if he’s looking into it too much, holding onto the weak vestiges of his delusional wishes.
“…For what?” he manages to reply, voice thick. A memory replays in his head at the words.
Frank’s eyes meet his for a moment, seemingly fighting with himself over how much he can look at him. It twists Peter’s heart and makes him ache more than a gunshot wound ever could.
“I almost killed you back there, kid. It’s obvious.” Frank scratches at his jaw, looking away, and that has to be a deflection.
They never broach the subject. In fact, this is the closest they’ve gotten. It’s supposed to be locked away, a mistake that never should’ve happened, in Frank’s eyes.
And Peter’s biggest hope, in his own eyes:
The events that happened after Staten Island.
2 Hours After Staten Island Departure
“I’m tellin’ you, I had it all under control,” Frank said while Peter practically held up all his weight as he limped, his knee all bloody and bruised.
“No, you didn’t.” Peter pushed open the door to the man’s hideout with his leg, a familiar motion now that he’d been here countless times. “Careful, careful.” Peter helped settle the man onto a chair but Frank brushed his hand away.
“I got it now, I’m not a damsel in distress.” He groaned as he attempted to stretch out his leg with no luck. “And I would’ve had it, I’ve been in my share of kidnappings.”
Peter sighed. They both knew that wasn’t true. If Peter had gotten there a second later… he didn’t want to think about that outcome. “…Would it really be so hard to just say ‘thank you’?”
Frank paused, eyeing Peter with that stubborn, contemplative stare he got whenever Peter made him actually think about his actions. Thanks to him, Frank had been a lot better at voicing out difficult emotions rather than turning them into vocal ammo.
He kinda referred to it as ‘taming the beast’, in his head, but he knew Frank would kill him if he found out.
Sighing, Frank nodded. “You’re right, kid. No point in lying. You saved me, for whatever reason, back there, and… I owe you.”
“…And?”
Frank scoffed. “Thanks,” he muttered, turning his head to the side and scratching his jaw, a nervous habit that Peter noticed during their now-many meetings.
And, okay, maybe it’s weird that he noticed, but. This guy was kind of all he had. And so what if he paid apt attention to every detail he could grasp, so he had something to think about whenever he was alone?
He wasn’t a creep.
“You’re welcome,” Peter replied, a genuine smile lighting up his voice.
He knelt in front of Frank and helped cut off his pant leg and eye the damage, following Frank’s orders to get the first aid kit despite how severe the wound looked. He knew Frank wouldn’t listen to any of his suggestions to get better care (for now).
Something else was bugging him, though, as he helped Frank wrap a bandage around his knee. “Whad’ya mean by ‘for whatever reason’, anyway?”
“Huh?”
“What you said, before.” Peter paused, trying to figure out a way to say what he meant. “Sounded like you, um. Almost like you thought I didn’t care about you, or something.”
Frank didn’t say anything to that. He only grunted, looking off into the distance.
“You know I do care about you, right?” Peter moved into Frank’s line of sight. “I, uh. I’ve never said this before but. You’re kind of all I got, so. And I don’t mean that in a bad way, like you’re the only thing I have and I’d want something better, you know, I mean like—you’re great, and I love spending time with you, and—”
He got cut off by the unexpected sound of laughter, and his face went red at the unplanned barrage of words he just threw up.
Frank ran a hand over his face. “Kid, you’re really somethin’ else.” There was a spark in his eye, though, a little hint of appreciation that Peter clung onto with a relieved smile of his own. “You’re all I got, too. Which feels crazy, considering I don’t even know who you are under that mask, but. Not like I have to know everything to know you’re a good guy. You deserve better company than someone like me.”
That snuffed out Peter’s smile. “That’s not true. These last few months have been… my happiest ones, in a while. That’s something I gotta thank you for. And, about the identity thing…” He paused, heart beating too hard for his liking at the words he wanted to say next. “You can look under the mask, if you want.”
He was probably crazy for that. No, he definitely was. He’d already looked the other way on the signs of immorality on this whole… friendship? he had with Frank, given the amount of people he’d killed. But he needed someone, and Frank was always there, and he really liked him. He trusted him. So it only felt right to let someone in again, after so long, when it felt like they had something special going on here.
Frank’s brows raised in surprise, unable to predict the turn of events. “Huh. What’s with the change of mind?”
“I don’t know. Just—I don’t know. I think it’s time?”
Frank eyed the way he fidgeted with his web shooters, and nodded. “Alright, then. Sure,” he said simply. Then, Peter felt the man’s thumbs run up from the base of his bared throat until he found the seam of his mask, and then those rough, warm fingers ran up against his skin, leading to a full-body shiver.
How long had it been since anyone touched him like this?
He felt the mask run up his neck, his nose, those thumbs sliding over his jaw and cheekbones and leaving a trail of fire in their path. The cool air hit his bare skin, as the mask entirely came off, and he held his breath as Frank eyed him with wonder in his eyes.
Seemingly not thinking about his next movements, Frank grabbed his chin and turned him this way and that, absorbing every detail. Peter felt like a specimen being studied under a microscope. He didn’t hate it.
Quite the opposite, actually.
“You really are young, huh.” Frank’s eyes finally landed on his, and everything felt so intimate with actual eye contact.
Peter’s defenses went up at those familiar words. “I am, but I know what I’m doing—”
“Relax, kid. I’d be the last person to tell you that you aren’t capable.” Frank pointedly looked at his knee.
“I… know that, yeah. Thanks.” Peter didn’t know what to say, half of his attention still on the fingers touching his face. And then cold, lonely air replaced that warmth, and a deep ache that he hadn’t felt in a while made him grab the man’s hand and put it back before he could even think.
They stared at each other for a second, before Peter’s face went red and he looked away, letting go of the hand as if it burned him. “I’m so sorry. That was really weird, uh. I don’t know what came over me.” He laughed awkwardly.
There was a moment of silence where Peter wished a giant sinkhole would open right under him and suck him in.
Then he felt that warm touch lead his face back to Frank’s, and his heart stuttered when the eyes staring back at him were dark, as if they reflected that same need that Peter so desperately craved.
Frank was shaking his head, almost to himself. “You’re fuckin’ beautiful, kid.”
All the air in Peter’s body left him. And then, he really couldn’t breathe, because Frank’s lips were on his. He didn’t know who leaned in first, but he was grateful for it, never wanted it to stop. He wrapped his arms around the man’s neck, pulled him as close as he could.
And then, it was over as soon as it began. Frank froze and pushed him away, as if he came to a realization, and covered his face with his hands. “Fuck. Fuck!”
“Frank? What’s wrong?” Peter was almost panicking, unable to understand what he did wrong.
“I’m sorry, kid.” Frank sounded more pained than he did when his injury was at its worst.
“Huh? For what?” Peter tried to gently pull Frank’s hands off his face, but was again pushed away. His already battered heart was shattering in his chest, and he didn’t know if he was capable of picking up the pieces again. “Please, tell me—”
“Just leave.”
“Did I do something—”
“Leave, Spiderman!”
He never knew the sound of his hero name could pierce him so deeply.
And just like that, Peter understood that he wasn’t meant to have anyone in his life. He got too comfortable, having someone around, but loneliness was like a second skin to him by now. He’d grow into it again.
Over the next few days, he texted Frank, trying to figure out what went wrong, whether they could talk. There was never an answer. He focused on patrol most days, trying to get his mind off of everything, fall into a routine while he picked up every shard of his emotions and threw them away.
He sent one last thing to Frank. An embarrassing, desperate letter where Peter told him his real name. He figured the man should be able to call him something other than Spiderman when he thought of him. If he thought of him, his mind unhelpfully corrected.
Months went by without hearing from Frank. After a while, Peter grew worried that something had happened to him, but it grew painfully obvious that he just didn’t want to see Peter whenever he’d swing by and watch him from the sidelines to make sure he was alive.
When they eventually had to speak again out on the streets, with Peter attempting to stop Frank from killing people, Frank acted seemingly normal, the same way he did before they ever got close. And that’s how their cordial relationship started again, never as close as they were before. Frank acted like nothing ever happened between them, and Peter followed along because it was better than not having him around at all.
The more he thought about it, he didn’t know which option hurt the worst.
Being this close to Frank brings back all the feelings from that day.
It took months for Peter to realize he never did anything wrong. Every night, he’d replay the conversation over and over in his mind until he fell asleep, trying to figure out what he could’ve done or said differently.
But at the end of the day, Frank is a damaged man who’s been through a lot. Something told him it’s a bad idea for them to be together, and he followed that intuition that’s kept him protected, to the detriment of them both.
At least, that’s Peter’s conclusion.
“I know you didn’t mean to shoot me.” Peter breathes in, deep. “Is that all?” Their eyes meet, and Peter hears the spike of his heart rate from the monitor.
Frank looks down again, sliding his hand over his mouth and shaking his head. “No.” It comes out as a whisper, then he clears his throat. “No. It’s not.” Silence, for a while, as the man thinks. “I fucked up. After Staten Island… You opened up to me, and I messed it all up. Which is par for the course.” A humorless laugh. “…And I’m sorry for that, too, kid.”
“…Why’d you do it?”
Frank let out a sigh, expecting that question. “Back there, when I almost died before you saved my ass… Usually, in those situations, I never really feared for my life. I had nothing to live for, except my mission.” A pause. “…And then you came along. And suddenly, I felt this.. This fear, that I hadn’t felt in a very long time. The fear that I’d never get to see you again. And that—fucked with my head.”
Peter’s throat closes up, eyes glossing over with unshed tears. He reaches out, beckoning for Frank to take his hand. He does, and that warmth feels like home, sparks a long-absent sense of hope in him.
Frank continues. “I already didn’t want you to get too attached. You don’t deserve to spend your time with a fucked up old man. I got issues, lots of them, which I know you’re well aware of.”
“I am, I know what I’m getting into—”
“—Let me finish, kid—Peter,” he corrects.
Hearing his name in the man’s voice effectively shuts him up.
“Shooting you was my last fuckin’ straw. It was already hard enough before.. but if I killed you, after the shit I pulled… If you were really gone.. I don’t know what I’d do.” He stops for a second, his grip tightening on Peter’s hand. “Hell, I don’t know where I was going with that, I need to shut my mouth.”
A light chuckle comes out of them both. Peter gives him a moment to think.
“All this to say,” Frank says, “I need you around, kid. And I wanted you to know that. Whatever you decide, I’ll understand.”
“I need you, too,” Peter whispers, a tear falling down his cheek. When Frank looks up, Peter’s surprised to see one mirrored on the man’s face. “I—I don’t know what to say,” Peter continues, “but I got so used to having you in my life, I… I don’t know how I went so long without you.”
“Shit,” Frank mutters, and Peter recognizes the emotion on the man’s face, the same one he saw when Frank pushed him away that day. Guilt.
“It’s okay now. We can start over,” Peter decides.
“..If that’s what you want.” Frank nods, relieved.
“Also can you kiss me?” Peter blurts out, then quickly covers his face. “Oh, God, why’d I say it like that,” he groans.
Frank snorts, taken by surprise, and quickly recollects himself. “That was my original plan.”
Hands wrap around his wrists (and woah, he never realized how big Frank’s hands are, he’s adding that to his mental notes) and pull his hands off his face, and now Frank is real close.
Right as their lips are about to touch, though, Peter grabs Frank’s shoulders and stops him. “Wait.. First, I need you to promise me something.”
“Oh, come on.”
“I’m serious! Promise me you won’t leave me like that again. And promise me that you formally acknowledge that you are worth my time,” he adds on.
“You’ll be regretting that last part real soon,” Frank jokes. “But alright. I promise.”
Peter nods, letting out a deep breath he doesn’t realize he’s holding. “Okay. Nice. Great. I also—”
Frank doesn’t give him a chance to finish, crashing his lips against Peter’s. It’s everything Peter’s been aching for, for months on end, and he melts into it. He wants to be attached to this man so he would never be alone again. Wants to wrap them in a cocoon so they’d grow to become one. He pulls Frank closer, and now the man doesn’t pull away—does the opposite, in fact, and runs his fingers through his scalp, a surprisingly pleasant sensation, given his heightened senses.
Afterwards, once they’re both back home at Frank’s place, Peter recounts all the stories he had no one to share with during the last few months.
When Frank takes a moment to use the bathroom, Peter spots a wrinkled note on his dining table. His eyes widen when he realizes what it is, the familiar words visible under blood and dirt and grit.
Hi Frank. I don’t know if I did something wrong, or if you’ll even read this but I really miss you. I miss hanging out with you. Sorry if its my fault you dont want to talk. If you lost your phone and cant remember mine or something I wrote my number on the bottom. I guess this is my last attempt to make things right if that’s even possible. Send me a sign if you wanna talk.
PS My name is Peter Parker. I never got the chance to say it.
Peter crumples it up and throws it away.