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You shoot one more web towards Frank’s hideout before stopping your swing and letting your feet meet the dingy ground. It’s an easy trip, this place is like your second home.
You just had a nasty run in with Scorpion, and he’d managed to strike your waist before you’d webbed him down. You ran off once it was taken care of, rather uncharacteristically fleeing the scene out of the muted fear of your body’s condition. But as you started the route back to your tiny apartment, the wariness of your injuries steered you off course and towards Frank’s place instead.
It’s Frank Castle, he must have extensive knowledge on disinfecting a wound the size of a fucking soda can. More knowledge than you, at least, and you know you’d rather pass out with someone more skilled than all alone in your unlit bedroom.
So here you are, landing and beginning to walk deeper into the area. It’s a miracle you even made it without hitting a building, your vision’s so blurred with tears. This hurts like nothing else has.
And by a bigger miracle, you just barely back away from the trap that’s set off in the wake of your presence. Just a sharp, clampy thing - you could’ve survived it if it’d gotten you, but it’s still very menacing looking. All you can do is stare blankly at the mechanism, the loud noise of it closing shut fading and being replaced with the sound of heavy footsteps.
“What the… kid, what’re y’doin’ here?”
Frank’s puzzled voice fills your ears and you’re quick to face him, tilting your head up to see him eyeing you confusedly from the balcony. You’re too tired and pained to be embarrassed, but nervous is still a good word to use. He’s gonna think you’re weak. He’s gonna think you’re stupid.
“Frank, do you have any gauze?”
“Gauze?”
“Gauze. Like the bandaid stuff-“
“I know what gauze is,” he interrupts, voice matter-of-fact and faintly offended. You’re frustrated now, taking the deepest recollecting breath you can when you’re bleeding out your side before responding snappily.
“Do you have any?”
“Hey, don’t give me that,” Frank starts, but he cuts himself off once he sees you clearer. The blood pooling against your side, the rips in your stained suit that frame smaller scratches on your arms, your masked eyes off to the side and still glued to that set off trap. His eyes just barely widen, and a beat passes before he starts walking down to where you are with a purpose. “Shit. Shit, what happened?”
“Fight,” you answer simply, your voice softer as the pain rises. Frank immediately catches this, shuts it down as he gets to you and sees the extent of the wound you’re clutching with both hands. “Fight with what, a fuckin’ tiger? Uh-uh, keep your eyes open, stay with me.”
“Frank,” you whisper helplessly, consciousness still intact but dimming in spurts. “Frank, it hurts.”
“No shit, it hurts… I know, kid, it’s okay. We’ll get you fixed back up, jus’ take my hand.” Frank’s well versed in this, reassurance, and you can tell in the way his voice has calmed to keep you from freaking out more. It’s working, in a way.
Your shaking, bloody hand meets his. The next moments are total blurs, the only thing you can process next being his firm hands guiding you into a chair. Your eyelids are heavy, but you fight to keep them up when you recall Frank’s order. You turn your head slightly to see a glass of water on the table beside the chair, one you hadn’t even heard him pour.
“Who was it this time?” you hear him ask from what sounds like very far away, which is weird since you turn back and see him right at your side, disinfecting the gash through the hole in your suit with liquid from a bottle you’re too disoriented to read. It stings a bit, but you trust him so you don’t react to it past a small inevitable hiss before you take a sip of the water and reply in a murmur.
“Scorpion. There were people around, I got distracted trying to get them away.”
Frank hums in understanding, and you hear his footsteps fading to grab something again before his voice cuts through the ringing of your ears. “Kid, I’m gonna need t’wrap your actual waist. Can y’do it yourself or d’you want me to help?”
You usually can do it yourself, but you feel so out of your body and unable. Like you’re high, in no control. So you hesitate before asking quietly, “Can you do it?”
“Mhm,” you hear him reply, before you feel his large hands removing the top half of your suit. The process is slow, like he’s trying to give you space to change your mind and do it on your own if you want, but you’re sure and you’re still. Completely still besides lifting your arms out of the sleeves as he peels away the fabric, caked with drying blood, to reveal your bra and bleeding waist.
As the air hits the wound, you hear the ripping of a long strip of gauze and feel Frank wrapping the strip around your abdomen. “You’re a real hero, hon,” he says quietly once the bandage is secure, rough voice holding a sincerity that’s never lost on you, “doin’ this all the time even when it hurts.”
“Can’t really stop now, can I?” you reply with a small smile, starting to pull your suit back on before he stops you. “You seriously puttin’ back on the suit? The thing needs a wash, big time,” he comments in a mutter, “y’want different clothes?”
“I mean, I don’t wanna take your stuff-“
“You’re not takin’ my stuff. You’re borrowin’, I’m not letting’ you steal my shit. So do y’want different clothes or not?”
After a few seconds and an amused scoff, you find the strength to nod before finishing your drink. At that, Frank’s footsteps fade again when he walks to his room and fishes through his dresser for a baggy shirt and sweatpants.
Soon, you hear him return and start to gently stand you up. “You want me to get y’dressed?” he asks, earning another nod from you before he helps you remove your suit and equip the new clothes.
When you’re dressed, you attempt to stand and succeed as Frank folds up your dirty suit and hands it to you. “Thanks,” you say as you take the garment, voice small but meaningful as you look up at Frank with a thankfulness in your eyes that he’s not used to.
But he’ll let himself enjoy it for a bit. “Don’t mention it.”
“Sorry for barging in, you were just the first person I thought to see-“
“No, no, don’t…” Your words suddenly start to loop in his mind, he hasn’t been the first person in a long time. “don’t apologize. Just be careful, yeah?”
“Yeah, yeah, I will.”
Some silence before Frank pipes up again. “Can I take off the mask? ‘M surprised you’re still breathin’ under that thing.”
You nod amidst your inner hesitation before leaning into his hands as they pull the fabric off carefully. You don’t notice his eyes softening as he takes in your face for the first time. You’re so young, such a young face past all the bruises and cuts.
“Y’know, you look exactly how I thought y’would.”
You huff, bemused. “How did you think I would look?”
“Just a nice kid.”
That brings a small smile to your face. “You don’t look too bad yourself, grandpa,” you jest in a murmur, earning a look of mock offense from your friend.
“Watch it, kid. This ‘grandpa’ just cleaned up that fuckin’ crater on your waist, respect your elders.”
A laugh leaves you, weaker than usual to avoid hurting yourself but still so genuine. You catch a small grin on his face too, a rarity that you silently cherish. You stay for a bit longer, talking and laughing and forgetting about the wound that was once so severe.
And when you’re good to go, Frank walks you outside. A bout of wind hits the both of you, but Frank’s gruff but kind voice cuts through the sound of it. “Be safe gettin’ home, alright, kid?”
You nod with a stronger, less wounded smile, before carefully moving in to hug him. He doesn’t return it but the feel of his warm hand affectionately messing up your hair is enough to appease you, and you pull away to look at him with grateful eyes, uncovered one last time before you tug on your tattered mask. Before you turn and begin your swing home, your body growing smaller and smaller as you move deeper into the city.
Frank watches from the hideout as you eventually disappear into the patterned sky of stars, an almost invisible smile on his own face as he remembers what you said. The first person I thought to see.