Work Text:
Frank very gradually wakes up, shifts in the cold hospital chair as his gaze lifts to meet your unconscious body. Dumb kid, he thinks regretfully as he remembers the events of the past few hours, just had to be a fuckin’ hero.
You look exactly how he’d expected you to, a nice girl. A nice, familiar girl. Looking at you for long enough makes his head ache, as his mind involuntarily turns itself inside out to figure out where he must’ve seen you, but he needs to watch over you until your eyes open back up so he pushes through. It’s the least he can do after all of this.
You also happen to be gorgeous. Beautiful inside and out, judging from what you did. How you protected that kid, even with everything she did to you and your friend. You didn’t want to talk with him or anyone else about it, but Frank knew it was bullshit when you told him you didn’t know the girl you’d brought over to his place. Something to do with her…
He hears a doorknob click, and his head snaps in the direction of the sound to see a face he recognizes. The girl you’d asked him to keep safe. MJ, that was her name.
Speakin’ of which.
She gives a stiff wave with her vacant hand, the other one holding a folded up piece of paper. Frank expects her to leave it on the table to your left, overcrowded with Spider-themed gifts and cards, but she continues to walk towards him.
“Hey, uh,” she starts, her voice soft and awkward, “your name was Frank, right? I think I remember hearing her call you Frank.”
He gives a nod and grunt of confirmation, which triggers the quiet girl to extend her arm and offer him the paper. “I assume this is for you, it was in her suit pocket and they snagged it before it got bled on too hard. They gave it to me but I saw your name on it so,” she mutters, releasing her grip on it once he accepts it before sauntering off as she stumbles through a goodbye and a thank you for helping her out.
When the door shuts and MJ’s footsteps become quiet enough to indicate she’s out of the vicinity, Frank unfolds the battered sheet with a raised eyebrow. He grimaces at the small splotches of red fading into brown littered on one of the corners, but he tries to ignore it as he begins to read.
• • •
Hi, Frank.
My name is Y/N, and you don’t remember me but all I ask is that you don’t freak out when I tell you what I need to tell you. It’s the truth, and I can survive whether you believe it or not.
We used to know each other, we were together. Bet that sounds crazy after everything you’ve been through, but I promise I wouldn’t lie to you about something like that. We were together, and we were happy.
But something bad was gonna happen, to the whole world. And the only way to stop it was to make everyone forget about me, including you. Because I’m not just Y/N. I’m Spiderman, and sometimes Spiderman has to make the right choice even if it’s the choice that hurts.
And God, did it hurt to lose you, Frank. Losing all of that trust you had for me, and losing your presence completely. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to get you back, but I know there’s a high chance that I never will.
You don’t need to do anything about this, don’t even need to speak to me about this, but I owe you the truth. So here it is, hopefully not too late, and it’s told the best I know how.
I love you. I won’t get into everything I love about you since I bet this entire letter’s already weird enough, but just know that I love you. That doesn’t mean you have to love me.
And I’m here for you, even if you don’t want me anymore.
Y/N
• • •
Frank’s stunned, brows furrowed and eyes softened. He rereads it once, then twice. Then a third time, until he swiftly puts it face down against the closest table so he can’t make eye contact with the damn paper for a fourth time.
He almost killed you. There was a chance he never would’ve seen this, never would’ve known this. Never would’ve figured out why you seemed familiar, memories of you seemingly locked away in the same manner his childhood memories are. It’s frustrating, trying to pinpoint a thought of you and getting nothing from his useless feeling mind.
No wonder you’d been so rigid when you’d swung over to his hideout with MJ. You’d seemed so shut off, overly professional even for a beloved vigilante superhero. Frank remembers wondering how the hell you were Queens’ favorite girl, with the way you kept your eyes averted and your conversation short like you were scared of him without any reason to be. He’s been through his fair share of frightening people, given his line of work, but it felt off seeing that discomfort in you. Felt wrong.
He’s lost so much, but he did come to accept the death of his wife at some point in time. Maybe that was when you two were a thing, and he simply kept that growth with him while you were erased from the picture. This all seems as plausible as it is unsettling.
And the whole thing feels heavier as he hears you begin to stir, your weak but cordial voice cutting through the cold silence.
“You’re here.”
What is he meant to say? Does he start with a choppy apology for shooting you or letting you know he read the letter? Bad picks, both of them, but he leans towards the latter. His words come out thick and a bit choked, which is new territory for Frank. So much to say, so hard to phrase any of it.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Your brows furrow at the pet name, trying to shove away the immediate thought that protrudes your head. The thought that he remembered you. It won’t happen, it’ll never happen. But at his next words, it feels like your heart is a hot metal ball that melts clean through your skin and falls straight out of your body.
“I read your letter. The one y’had in your pocket.”
He sees your facial change into something softer, fearful. Sad, but maybe even a bit hopeful. It hurts to watch your demeanor contort into that array of emotions, and he begins to speak again when it’s clear you have no clue what to say.
“I would say you’re bullshittin’ me big time but you’ve been lookin’ funny t’me since the doctors took off your mask. I keep thinking I’ve seen you somewhere, bet that’s why.”
Quiet.
“‘M sorry for what happened, whatever it was. Y’look familiar, y’really do, and I wish I could but I can’t put a finger on it. Any of it.”
No response from you, your expression attempting neutral but bordering on helpless and pained. What you wouldn’t give to walk out of this hospital right now and not have to face him again for a while - him not recognizing you at all would’ve been much better than whatever dumb limbo stage he’s stuck in. He sighs, upset but only with the circumstances, watching you study his face like it’s a mosaic with a disappointment in your eyes that he can’t seem to shake.
Frank evaluates in this period of time. Looks at the curvature of your eyes as they look at him so solemnly, your tousled hair that’s tangled as can be but has definitely seen worse days, the sliver of your body that isn’t hidden by the hospital blanket. You’re so beaten up, so broken, but there’s something shining through all of it that drives him to make the choice he does.
“Y’got a good heart, hon. And I can see why I’d like you, ’s the same reason I like you now. And ’m not good with things like this, feelings’n stuff-“
“You never were,” you interrupt gently, and it tugs a small chuckle out of him that makes you feel that bittersweet and dearly missed warmth. It pulls a sad but accepting smile out of you as you watch him stand up and walk over to the side of your hospital bed. As you silently listen to him speak, your surprise growing more and more physically obvious with each word he says.
“It wouldn’t be the same f’you or me, I know that, but I wouldn’t mind, uh, takin’ you out? Nothin’ crazy, but maybe you can take me to a place we went t’gether. Maybe I’ll… remember.”
And that ask is exactly what you fell in love with about Frank. How kind and understanding he is past his gruff exterior, how compassionate he can be when you peel back a layer or two.
Between the lack of strength and your already less than strong heart, you can’t even comprehend the depth of what he’s just offered to you. If someone asked you to right now, you wouldn’t be able to put it into words. Wouldn’t be able to describe how much this means to you. This feels like your equivalent of an angel saying he wouldn’t mind taking you to heaven.
A chance. A chance to get to know him again. A chance to love him again. A do-over.
You’d be damned if you passed that up. So you don’t. Your heart swells in your chest as you accept, your grateful eyes holding a small but slowly thickening sheen of tears.
“I’d love that. You have no idea how much I’d love that.”
His face is graced with a small reserved smile, one that’s not as open as the smile he’d give you back then but one that soothes every nerve in your body just like the other one used to. You’re the closest you’ve ever been to death, but somehow this is the most alive you’ve felt since Strange casted the spell.
You can’t help but stare at his lips, the mouth that just blessed you with the best words you’ve heard in forever. And he follows your stare, suddenly wanting exactly what it looks like you want, but he stares a hole into the oxygen mask you previously wore that now lies next to you and chooses to redirect. He put you in here, he can’t let himself be the reason your stay extends, and he doesn’t want to rush anyways.
So Frank simply moves a hand down to cup your cheek. Your blink contentedly, and one of your hands reaches out to hold it there.
Maybe it’s the feeling of your hand against his. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re touching him at all, since you hadn’t until now and made a point to keep your distance. Any touch - a brush against his shoulder, a handshake, god forbid a hug - would’ve shaken you up like nothing else, and you couldn’t afford to gamble that with Jean and everything else happening in the background.
The first time you’ve made physical contact with him since before the spell was when he frantically carried your bloodsoaked body bridal style through the automatic hospital doors. You’d been slipping in and out of consciousness, but you instantly recognized the warmth of his chest almost like how a pet recognizes their owner after time spent apart. You weren’t convinced you were gonna survive, and you remember thinking it was nice to feel that one last time. Even if he didn’t know as he was holding you.
But you’re touching him now, your smaller hand overlapping his. And something about this makes him think of the first time you’d slept in his bed, when you’d done that same thing.
And after that, he thinks back to the first time you’d surprised him with flowers. Your hands holding the bouquet and your mouth curving up in a smile as you watched his reaction.
Which makes him remember when you first told him you loved him, that same small but fulfilled smile on your mouth, followed by the first time he said it back.
Memory.
After memory.
After memory.
All of it comes back.
Your eyes eventually start to widen in tandem with his, as your already fogging brain confusedly tries to put together what’s going on. But when you see Frank begin to tear up and you hear him utter your name - your real name - in that unprecedentedly knowing tone, you can’t help but give a faint gasp. Don’t get your hopes up, make sure. Be sure.
“Frank?”
Frank feels like he’s floating. Like he’s just ascended to some higher plane of thought, each inch of his mind feeling like a locked door that was just now broken down. Like he’s free, unshackled from the chains he hadn’t even been aware of until these past 24 hours. Like he just woke up from a long and uneventful dream.
It’s you.
“I remember.”
Your heart stops. Silence fills the room, suffocates you so deliciously. How? Stephen, how the hell did you… Jean?
“I remember,” he repeats, more to himself than you, but he’s quick to say it again through tears as he leans down and carefully but so excitedly pulls you into a hug. You hear him give a cross between a hearty laugh and a cry, and that’s the first nail in the coffin. That’s the first thing that makes you think he’s telling the truth. “I remember, baby, I remember everything. Oh, my god, it’s you… I’m right here, sweetheart, everything’s okay.”
Your shaky hands lift and your palms meet the back of his head, dark brown locks surrounding your fingers as you begin to let your own incredulous tears fall. “It can’t… this isn’t possible,” you mumble to yourself in wide eyed disbelief, the pads of your fingertips running over his scalp underneath the strands like you’re still not convinced he’s real and grasping for something past this. This is a dream. This is a dream.
”I remember, hon, I do. The wizard dude, y’ friends, the bad guys, all of it. God, I love you so much, Y/N. More than anything. ‘M here now, ‘m right here.” You melt, irrevocably falter at those words as they truly grace your long awaiting ears, having spent what felt like eons without hearing them. This is real, you start to realize. So unabashedly real.
He hears a short and soft sob inch out of your throat after a few more seconds, a cry of both relief and breakdown that rips him like adhesive and immediately paints a picture of just how tortured you’ve been. All he can do is shut his glassy eyes and hold you tighter, albeit just as gentle considering your somewhat fresh injuries.
“Baby, you’re okay,” he reassures, voice soft in your ear as he feels your hands snake through his hair and feels his heartbeat waver at the agony in your now lengthened sobs. He doesn’t even know how long it’s been since he forgot about you, whether it’s been a year or a decade. But he can worry about that in a second, he just needs to feel you. And he can tell you need to feel him too, with the way your quiet but ever so prominent crying densely packs the room as you clutch onto him like a lifeline. “It’s alright, I’ve got you. Baby, you shoulda told me sooner, I can’t believe I spent this long without you. How long has it been?”
You can barely manage an answer through the tears. “A- A little over a year…”
Frank’s eyes open and darken at the realization of how much time has already passed, and one of his hands moves to smooth your hair. “Kid, were y’ever gonna tell me? Your little friend dropped the letter off. Y’told me you’d come and find me.”
”I was, Frank, I-I promise,” you get out desperately through cries and sporadic hitches of your breath, thinking about the thousand times you’d written and rewritten that damn letter and the thousand more times you’d almost swung over to his hideout to drop it off. “But I didn’t know how. Everyone else forgot about me completely, and I was just… I was so scared. Thought you weren’t gonna remember, thought you were gonna be mad-“
”No, no, sweetheart, don’t worry, ’m not mad. I get it, I get it. A whole year… and you’ve been all on your own. ’S been hard, hasn’t it?” You nod with another muffled sob, and the sound both shatters his heart and puts all the measly pieces of it back together at the same time. All Frank can do is sniffle and hold you closer as he continues to console you, his murmurs of reassurance felt against the side of your head. “Must’ve been, I can’t even imagine. Oh, my pretty girl - my strong, beautiful, girl… I’m so sorry…”
And as you two sit in this unexpected mess of a reunion, the joy and sadness of the moment entangling in this huge and beautifully obnoxious knot, somehow things feel so close to normal. By no means is everything fixed, and it may never be, but now you know you’ll be okay either way.
You’ll be okay now that you know Frank’s by your side, even after the horribly strenuous time you’d spent without him. He’s here to hold you, to comfort you, to love you.
Your heart, your air has returned to you. You can breathe deep again.