Chapter Text
Peter doesn't know what to do other than help people.
However he can.
Wild news stories have started - and continue to spread -basically sound bytes from the doctored footage that was leaked by Quentin Beck (or more likely one of his henchmen). He regrets thinking of such a cool name as Mysterio. Beck doesn't deserve that, Peter thinks; especially not when his last act of life was to send out footage cut and spliced together to spread around the popular culture Zeitgeist due to a man named J. Jonah Jameson. (At least, that's what was happening until a spell was cast to stop a rip from forming in the fabric of reality.) Good news, that spell took all the scrutiny that had been focused on Peter Parker away. Bad news: it also took away everyone Peter loved.
They no longer knew him. It was why a painful sense of irony formed when the Punisher got to know him enough to start calling him kid. He knows the other man as Frank, but for awhile he's only known as Spider-Man. Who is apparently a kid. At least, for the majority of their acquaintance. And Peter thought he was okay with that, that he could handle it.
"This life is a sentence, kid," Punisher growls at him. "Not a choice. And I wouldn't wish it on anybody."
"What should I do, then, Frank?" Peter asks "What's your advice, do I just hang up the suit?"
"Nahhh I know you're not gonna do that," Frank's forehead starts to crinkle. "That's what you got, this suit. Hell, it might seem like all you got. You didn't give up on watching your best friend or that girl 'a yours for how many years? Shit." Frank sniffs and shakes his head. "You ain't fooling me, kid."
"Fooling you on what, Frank, that's - they're not -"
"Not what? Don't try to tell me they aren't important to ya. Because I know for a FACT that's fuckin bullshit."
"Whoa, hey, wait a minute,"
"Bullshit, wait a minute. You can't tell me.you ain't been laser focused on them. You've been locked in. But you need to get past that watching from afar bullshit and let yourself open up. Not to anybody you don't want to, but even if they don't remember, you shouldn't be livin' out the entire rest'a your life solo."
"Oh, yeah? Are you...are you tellin' me it's just that easy, huh Frank? What else 'm I gonna do? You got any bright ideas?" Peter can feel himself shaking, his eyes are blurry as he gasps out the words. He blinks back tears.
Frank blinks and drops his head before jerking his chin from side to side. "Ah, kid," he says roughly, then with voice dropping down close to nothing, he adds "fuck it. Just - come and stay with me when you need to hang out. Or in general." Peter's eyes widen as his head shoots up.
"I- I have an apartment, Frank."
"I know ya gotta place, but come on, do you really give a shit about living there? Do you ever feel glad to be home, or are you just dropping when you're so worn out you can't do anything but sleep?"
"Are you seriously telling me you're looking for a roommate? Am I the only person who can handle your insane murderous lifestyle?"
"Wow you really do have a mouth on you, kid," Frank intones as he raises his eyebrows.
"It's Peter!" He doesn't mean to say it. Not like that, at least - abrupt and loud and desperate. Frank narrows his eyes. "Just- call me Peter. Okay? You -you're the only person who I really...uhm. Anyway, I'm sorry," his voice has dropped to a whisper, wet and trembly and breaking.
"Hey," Frank looks at him. He reaches out and puts a hand on Peter's shoulder.. "Okay, Peter. It's okay," Frank's voice is low now too, his palm moving in circles on Peter's shoulder, and Peter's face crumples even as he can't speak. With a whimper he moves and Frank's hand on Peter's shoulder is pulling him in.
Peter shuts his eyes tight, squeezing them closed as his face presses into Frank's broad shoulder, his hands gripping with an amount of strength he hopes desperately isn't too much, his sense of control slipping away from him as he registers his body shaking. He's sobbing, at the sound of his name, but it isn't simply that - it's the sound of his name spoken casually, but with care. With this man who got everyone outside the hospital to cheer for Spider-Man while Peter made a getaway; the man who took down his own sniper operation, or more likely left it someplace to get him, pick him up and carry him to the hospital in the first place. Peter knows Frank did, because he had a woozy shred of consciousness for part of the journey. Mostly the part where Jean's face was replaced by Frank's, his eyes were wild and his hands gripped Peter's shoulders as he said, in a voice that sounded like it was being yelled through water "Fuck, kid, don't do this- don't you die on me."
And then his arms were under Peter's back, he cried out and Frank said "okay, okay, quit screaming, kid, I got you." But his voice had wobbled the tiniest bit. And Peter isn't clear what happened then, the next time he wakes up he's in bed with Frank sitting beside him, head tipped back, snoring. He sees the guy cry when he wakes up and says that Peter showed something else on a level above just plain old regular bravery.
He had a plan, he helped Peter see that people cared about Spider-Man, that they...they appreciate him. Even love him, maybe. And that was really nice to see, it had meant a whole lot, but- that's just it, they love Spider-Man. Not Peter Parker. "No one knows who I am," Peter had said to himself, and he made it back home, put some stuff in his backpack and walked- aimlessly, he'd thought, until he ended up on the rooftop where Frank had been lying in wait to snipe Jean Grey.
He had cleared his throat and said "hey, Frank."
"Jesus! Kid, what the fuck are you doin'? You're lucky I didn't just shoot-" Frank stowed his pistol after he'd whirled around, standing after staring down at the rifle he had used. And when Peter shrugged and said he was going it alone, that's when Frank said to him that this kind of life is a sentence. Again.
"You know I don't shoot and kill people because I'm well-adjusted. I do this shit because it's the only way for me. But you... you don't have to live like this, kid. You can make yourself a life."
And then he offered for Peter to stay with him. Or hang.
Somehow, Peter thinks, he's passed some sort of test with Frank Castle.
Or maybe the guy just really needed a friend. Peter wraps his arms tightly around Frank and nestles against him. He can't find an iota of fault with that- because he needs one too.