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Frank groaned as the buzz of his phone on his bedside table woke him up. 01:00. Who the hell was calling at one am?
Bedgrungingy, he answered.
“Hey Frank, how you doin’?” Peter asked, his words slurring together.
“There better be a good reason as to why the hell you’re waking me up,” Frank grunted.
“Yeah, about that..” Peter began, pausing momentarily. “I think I need some help.”
Frank sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. “What the hell did you do, kid?”
“I kinda, uh, got shot. Again,” said Peter.
“You got what?!” Frank shouted, forcing himself out of bed and shuffling tiredly across his bedroom.
“It’s no big deal, I guess. I could just do with some help getting back to my apartment,” Peter replied, trying to sound casual, but his voice was higher than normal.
“No big deal… Jesus, kid, you're crazy. Where are you?” He shoved his feet into his shoes and grabbed his van keys.
“Uh, in an alleyway on 38th Avenue, next to some restaurant. Their food’s great, you gotta try it some time. Their sandwiches are to die for, no joke,” Peter rambled on, trying to ignore the excruciating pain radiating from his shoulder.
“Whatever, kid. Stay awake. I’m on my way,” Frank said, shaking his head before hanging up.
The alleyway was dim and quiet when Frank arrived. He found Peter curled up beneath a broken, flickering light in the corner, blood-stained webbing clinging to Peter's shoulder like a bandage.
“You look like shit,” said Frank.
“Jeez, thanks. Way to make a guy feel good about himself,” said Peter, giving a crooked grin.
“Let me take a look.”
Frank crouched down next to Peter, who dissolved the webbing to expose the wound once again. Frank's rough hands were cold on Peters’ bare shoulder as he poked around the injury.
“Ow, gentle dude,” said Peter.
“Shut it or I’ll leave you here,” Frank replied.
“Whatever,” Peter murmured, flinching every few moments as Frank tended to Peter's wound.
“That’ll do it,” Frank said, having finished bandaging Peter's shoulder. “Let’s get you home, kid.”
“Can I have a sandwich first?” Peter asked, trying to stand up without falling over.
“Only if you’re payin’,” Frank replied. “Let me give you a hand.”
Peter begrudgingly allowed Frank to haul him to his feet and into the van.
Frank shut the passenger door behind Peter, then walked around to the drivers side, muttering “Stupid fuckin’ kid” under his breath.
Peter rested his head against the window. It thumped lightly as Frank hit potholes and speedbumps.
“Don’t fall asleep,” Frank warned.
“Just resting my eyes,” Peter said, already drifting.
“Rest them later.”
They drove in silence for a short while, Peter wincing every now and then as the van jolted over particularly deep potholes.
“Shoulder?” Frank asked, glancing over at Peter.
“No, my pride,” Peter said. “Shoulder too, though.”
Frank shook his head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Thanks,” Peter said, his voice softening. “For helping.”
Frank didn’t respond at first, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.
“You call, I show up. That’s how it works,” he finally replied.
Peter smiled faintly. “Lucky me.”
“Yeah, lucky you,” Frank murmured. “We’re family now, kid. Got it?”
Peter looked across at Frank, who was still glaring at the road.
“Got it,” Peter said softly.