Work Text:
His phone buzzed. Again.
He didn't have to look to know who it was.
WebHead:
You ever watch true crime?
Again a buzz.
WebHead:
Or is it too similar to work?
He groaned and threw the phone onto the couch. It continued to buzz.
WebHead:
I used to like it but I can't watch it anymore.
He didn't know why he had given the kid his number. He should have told him to fuck off right there. But his voice sounded so soft when he asked, so genuine, none of that joking bullshit.
"Can I get your number maybe? Ya know, incase we ever need to get in touch?" It had been quick, rattling off the numbers, leaving it up to thr masked vigilante to remember them.
He hadn't expected the text to ping on his phone that night.
(Unknown number):
Hi, Spiderman here.
He responded once, one word.
Me:
Frank.
It started off slow, one message a week max. Then the pictures. Stupid shit. Some of it made him laugh, some of it made him roll his eyes, all of it distracted him. He never responded.
Then came the daily messages. Good morning with pictures above the new york skyline. How've you been? Missed you on patrol tonight.
It was incessant.
And he never responded. Never told him to stop. Never told him to go on. They didn't talk about it when they met in person.
What finally made him snap was the questions.
Too much. Too personal. It wasn't Spiderman's buisness of he like true crime. Whats it to him anyways? What angle was he going for.
His mind reeled as his phone intermittently buzzed.
Fuck it.
Me:
Meet me on 12th, abandoned church.
He was gonna stop this shit tonight.
-----------------
Peter jumped at the notification. His cracked screen showed one unread message.
Frank :) :
Meet me on 12th, abandoned church.
His heart sped up.
Me:
Everything okay?
Message read. No response.
Me:
I'll be there in 5.
He suited up and moved fast as he could, getting down to the church, waiting in the rafters for Frank to show up.
"Aye bug boy, you in there" the thick new york accent echoed through the church. Peter descended upside on his webs, still confused as to the meeting.
"What's up Frank?" Be cool. He told himself.
Frank held out his hand, "gimme your fucking phone, unlocked"
Peter cocked his head to the side, letting himself drop to the floor he pulled his phone free.
"O-kay, whats this about?" Frank said nothing as he snatched the phone away, eyebrows scrunched in concentration as he worked the device.
A beat passed before his face smoothed out, eyes shifted from the phone, to the masked man in front of him.
Peter started tapping his foot, "you gonna tell me what this is about?"
No words. A guarded expression on the mans face. Peter could hear his heartbeat, a skipped beat, an increase.
Frank cleared his throat.
"Just making sure it was really you is all." He looked around, pointedly not looking at Peter.
"What do you mean?" He took his phone back and looked at the screen Frank had left it on.
The contacts app.
"Ya know, the messages and shit. Just making sure it was you." His body temp increased slightly, a near imperceivable change in breathing, a change to his heart beat. Frank was lying.
Before Peter could call him out on it, Frank did the last thing he expected, "you wanna grab a bite? I'm starving"
He had never invited him out before. His stomach flipped.
"Uh, sure, sure... I, ah. I don't know where I can go like this" he gestured to the outfit.
Frank shrugged, "could take it off, I got a change of clothes in here."
His breath hitched. He hadn't shown himself to anyone in so long.
"I don't know if thats a good idea... once people know me they tend to get hurt." He hated how to words felt leaving his mouth.
Frank looked at him, pursed lips, nodding, "I know the feeling. I'm a tough man, I'll take the risk." The silence was heavy, Peter felt like his body was vibrating. Years of being alone. No one looking at him twice. No one knowing him. No one wanting him around. A ghost in his own life.
But there in front of him stood his friend. His equal. He wasn't a civilian and he was willing to risk it. Risk it for Peter.
His hands shook as he removed his mask.
Frank smiled, a face Peter hadn't seen before.
Peter smiled back.
"Peter, Peter Parker." He reache out his hand, Franks eyes sparkled with mirth as he shook it.
"Francis Castle. Call me Frank."
Peter stood there beaming, before he realized he really did want to go out for food.
He cleared his throat, "you said there's clothes?"
--------
They sat across one another under the flourescent lights if the diner. Peter drowning in Frank's shirt, sweatpants held up by the drawstring alone. He wasn't a small man, all lean muscle, but he was still physically smaller than Frank.
He acknowledged in the back of his mind that he liked seeing Spiderman in his clothes. He filed that away for later.
"Peter" there was a reverance in his tone saved only for few, "how many people know you? Real you I mean."
Peter slowly chewed on his fry longer than necessary before responding, "no one. No one alive anyway."
The words felt heavy, he wouldn't pry, wouldn't take that from the man he had already pushed so far today.
Contact List:
Frank :)
End of list.
He had no one.
No, not no one. Not anymore.
He's got me.
And if the next night Frank sent a text message with a picture of a particularly large pigeon to the contact in his phone that now read "Peter", no one else needed to know it.