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Peter hovered outside of Frank’s ‘home’, if it could even be called that, perched on the rooftop. He’d been there for ten minutes, working up the courage to go inside, rehearsing in his head what he was going to say, and hating every second of it.
Frank eventually noticed.
“The fuck you doin’, kid?” He shouted from the ground, craning his neck up. “Get your ass down here before you break my roof!”
Peter swung down, landing with a soft thud. He pulled off his mask, revealing his already flushed cheeks.
“Uh… sorry about that.”
“Jesus,” said Frank, staring at him. “You look like you’re about to confess to a murder.”
“What? No. No murder,” Peter stuttered, hands fluttering uselessly.
Frank crossed his arms, his frown deepening by the second.
“I need a favour,” said Peter, shifting his weight.
Frank didn't blink. “Who?”
“What?”
“Who do you need me to kill?”
“Jesus, Frank,” Peter sighed and let out a small chuckle. “Nobody.”
“Then fucking spit it out.”
Peter took a deep breath, then held out a folded hospital form like it was a cursed object.
“I need an emergency contact,” he said. “I don’t have one.”
Frank didn’t answer. He stared at the form for a moment, like touching it might detonate something emotional that he wasn’t prepared for.
Peter panicked at the silence.
“I mean, I do, technically, but they don’t remember me, and I can’t put Spider-Man because that’s stupid, and I didn’t want to ask you because it’s weird and you’re busy and you have actual things to deal with and—“
“Give me the goddamn form.”
Peter blinked. “Wait, really?”
Frank snatched it out of his hand, dug a pen out of one of his many pockets, and started filling it in.
“Stupid fucking forms,” he muttered. “Wanting to know your whole goddamn life story.”
He finished, shoving the paper back into Peter’s hands.
“There. Fixed.”
Peter stared at it. “You barely read it.”
“I don’t need to read it.”
“I didn’t want to burden you,” Peter said quietly, eyes fixed on the floor like it might swallow him whole.
Frank clenched his jaw.
“You’re not a burden,” Frank said finally, firmly. “You’re the one person I don’t mind showing up for.”
Peter’s breath caught. He didn’t say anything, not that he would’ve known what to say.
Frank huffed.
“Next time you need something,” he said, voice softening, “you ask. You don’t sit on my rooftop like a fucking creep. You just ask.”
Peter looked up, startled by the man’s attempt at affection.
“We’re family, right?” Frank said with a shrug. “Families show up for each other.”
Peter nodded, suddenly feeling like a kid again. “Thanks, Frank.”
“Anytime, kid,” Frank grunted.
Peter left with the form tucked carefully into his suit, and Frank watched him go, muttering something under his breath about how, for the first time in a long time, someone had asked him to stay.