A lamp in the living room was suddenly flipped on, and the abrupt shift from darkness to bright light had Frank squinting in discomfort. He swiftly pulled a gun from the holster on his hip and aimed in the direction the hit had come from, blinking twice and shaking his head to force his eyes to adjust. When his vision refocused, he saw a very pissed off looking woman standing just a foot away, wielding a baseball in a white knuckled grip.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

Before Frank could even say a word, a web shot across the room that trapped the gun against the wall, and his hand along with it. Peter suddenly leapt in front of Frank, stepping into the light to yank the Spider-Man mask off before holding his hands up in a show of surrender.

“Whoa whoa whoa whoa, hey hey hey, it’s me, it’s me!”

Glancing between the strange man in your apartment and your neighbor, your brows knit as your expression twisted into a concoction of confusion and annoyance.

“Peter?”

Letting out a quiet nervous laugh, Peter slowly lowered his hands with a tiny apologetic smile.

“Hi, sorry. We didn’t mean to scare you.”

“By breaking into my apartment in the middle of the fucking night?”

Still clutching the mask in his right hand, Peter gestured towards you helplessly.

“I thought you were working the night shift tonight!”

“I swapped shifts so I could-that’s not the point! Peter, you have a key.”

“Well, we couldn’t exactly walk through the front door like this.”

Seeing the way your lips pursed in irritation, Peter let out a heavy sigh and took a few steps closer.

“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to freak you out. I just…I just needed to borrow your kit.”

Slowly loosening your grip on the bat, you let it drop to your side in one hand. Your eyes darted towards the bruised and bloodied stranger before settling on Peter again, lifting one of your brows in a silent question. Glancing behind himself, Peter looked at Frank and then turned to face you again. His lips parted and then closed, clearing his throat before loosely gesturing behind him with his thumb.

“This is Frank. He’s…a friend.”

“He’s bleeding all over my floor.”

Frank’s face scrunched up at your dry comment, not missing the vexation in the undertone. Peter lifted his hands once again in a placating gesture.

“And I will…clean it up, I promise.”

With a grunt, Frank tore his hand away from the wall, yanking the webbing off his gun and his hand, shaking it out to get the sticky substance off. Shoving the gun back into the holster, he looked at Peter in frustration and threw his hands up.

“What the hell, your little bug tingle didn’t tell you she was gonna come out swingin’ with a goddamn bat?”

Clenching his jaw, Peter closed his eyes for a moment before turning to face Frank again.

“It’s not a-it’s a spider sense.”

“It’s broken, is what it is. Christ, you red spandex wearin’ assholes and your goddamn senses.”

Peter let out a dry scoff as offense flashed across his features, pointing his gloved finger in Frank’s direction.

“Oh I'm sorry, I was a little more focused on saving your ass-”

“Savin’ my ass, you weren’t savin’ shit-”

“For a second time, by the way-”

“I had it under control ‘til you showed up with your hall monitor bullshit-”

“Oh, you ‘had it under control’ huh? Just like you ‘had it under control’ at Staten Island?”

“For Christ fuckin’ sake, don’t start-”

Dragging your palm down your face in exasperation at their bickering, and from your sleep being interrupted after a fourteen hour shift, your already thin strand of patience snapped with a sharp outburst.

“Will someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?”

The arguing instantly stopped as both men turned to look at you. Peter let out a deep exhale through his nose, shooting Frank an irritated look before softening his expression when he returned his attention to you.

“He got shot in the leg, and I can’t take him to a hospital.”

“What, is he wanted for murder or something?”

Peter shot you a look that was both questioning and tense. Clearing his throat, he silently reached out to grab the handle of the lamp, angling the light towards the corner Frank was standing in. Realization dawned on your features now that you could see the man clearly. The white skull on the black vest was unmistakable, even if it was covered in blood and grime and bullet holes. When you locked eyes with Frank, neither of you said a word, and Peter looked between the two of you nervously. A few uncomfortable seconds of silence passed before you blew out a heavy, resigned breath.

“Right.”

Peter approached you slowly, holding his hand out for the bat, an apology intermingled with a plea in his eyes. Pursing your lips, you finally handed it over reluctantly. A breath of relief escaped him, and he gave you a small smile.

“Thank you, Y/N. I owe you.”

“Yeah, you know your tab is getting pretty high for someone unemployed.”

Peter let out a quiet chuckle, nodding as he walked over towards the fire escape window.

“I thought that’s why we had a bartering system.”

Watching him swing his leg through the window, you took a few steps forward and placed your hands on your hips, a crease knitting between your brows.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Peter instantly froze at your tone, looking at you in wide eyed apprehension.

“Next door, to change.”

Pressing your lips together in a line, you brought your arms up to cross over your chest. Peter faltered for a moment, glancing over at Frank who was watching in mildly contained amusement. He met your stern look again hesitantly.

“I’ll come right back.”

Staying silent, you arched one of your brows. Letting out a defeated breath, Peter nodded.

“And…I’ll…take a day off.”

“You’ll take two. One to rest, one to clean up my apartment. Right back.”

With a mock salute, Peter disappeared through the window. Unfolding your arms, you brought your hands up to rub at your temples with your fingers. When you turned to look at Frank, he was still standing there in the corner you’d knocked him into, looking equal parts brooding and uncertain. Gesturing towards him with a sharp exhale through your nose, you turned to walk towards the kitchen.

“Alright, take your pants off.”

Frank’s features abruptly shifted into a look of shock, blinking a few times before his brows lifted up his forehead.

“Excuse me?”

Retrieving your medical kit from one of the bottom cabinets in your kitchen, you brought it over to set on top of your small dining table, unzipping it to reach in and pull out a pair of latex gloves. Looking over at him as you slipped them onto your hands, you lifted one of your brows inquisitively.

“He said you got shot in the leg.”

Frank’s lips parted, his eyes darting between your hands and your face. He looked at you in curiosity but also complete puzzlement.

“Uh…yeah.”

Gesturing towards him again impatiently, you placed one of your hands on your hip and leaned against the table.

“So, you wanna take your pants off, or should I turn them into daisy dukes?”

Frank’s brows furrowed, creating creases of annoyance in his forehead. He seemed to genuinely contemplate your question for a moment before finally letting a heavy exhale slip. He limped across the living room towards the dining table, leaving a trail of blood behind him. Unclipping the holster strapped to his thigh that wasn’t actively bleeding, he set that gun on the table with a thud before unbuckling his tactical belt, adding another gun and a few clips to the pile. He reached for the button on his pants and paused, looking down at himself before glancing over at you. 

“Do I have to uh…all the way?”

Even though he was trying to hide it, you could see that every move he made caused him pain. Glancing down at his leg, you realized he’d have to bend down to take his boots off if he was going to undress fully, and given the amount of blood he’d already tracked through your apartment, you needed to stop the bleeding sooner rather than later.

“Just enough that I can get to the wound.”

He let out a subtle exhale of relief at that, nodding as he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. He clenched his jaw as he gingerly pushed them down, inhaling sharply through his nose as the fabric rubbed against the wound on the way down. Once his pants were down to his knees, he slowly lowered himself down into the chair you’d pulled out and leaned back with a quiet hiss.

Grabbing a few things from your kit, you knelt down and started to inspect his thigh. There was a lot of blood, and a decent sized hole. Placing your hand on his knee, you pulled it towards you carefully so you could get a look at his inner thigh.

“Went straight through.”

Frank let out a grunt of acknowledgement. Reaching for the irrigation syringe, you placed the tip in a bottle of saline and pulled the plunger back to fill it before starting to clean both sides of the wound, wiping away the blood gently with sterile gauze.

“Castle.”

Hearing his name, Frank’s eyes flickered over your face with a guarded expression as his brows knit slightly.

“What?”

“You’re Frank Castle.”

You glanced up at him as you wiped some more blood around his wound on the outside of his thigh carefully. He regarded you silently for a moment before looking away.

“Yeah. I am.”

Shifting forward on your knees, you had to tug his pants further down past his knees to reach his inner thigh. He let out a faint grunt, looking anywhere but at you, his bloodied hands resting awkwardly on his lap like he didn’t know what to do with them. As you cleaned the wound on the inside of his thigh, a question suddenly crept into your head.

“Why didn’t you let him cover the holes?”

Frank’s face twisted up in perplexity when he looked down at you again.

“What, with his web shit? Is that sanitary?”

“Would’ve stopped the bleeding.”

Frank let out a scoff, shaking his head as his face scrunched up in barely concealed disgust. 

“And let him plant some fuckin’ spider eggs in my goddamn leg? No thank you.”

That drew an amused laugh out of you. Setting the empty irrigation syringe aside, you looked up at him with a faint smirk.

“It doesn’t work like that. He creates the web fluid, it doesn’t come out of him-”

“It does now.”

Your hand stilled when you reached for your suture kit, all your previous humor quickly transitioning into surprise before snapping straight into bewilderment.

“What?”

Frank held out his forearm and tapped two of his fingers against his wrist.

“Straight from the tap. It’s fuckin’ weird. And gross.”

“What-wait, hold on. When the hell did that start happening?”

Frank shrugged his shoulders, his voice dripping with mild annoyance.

“How the hell should I know?”

“He said you were friends-”

Letting out a scoff, Frank shook his head and looked away again to glance around your kitchen.

“Friend’s a strong word. Kid’s more of a pain in the ass than anything.”

Irritation simmered within you at his rough dismissal. You knew Peter faced trouble head on every single day to protect the city, and that he’d encountered a variety of dangers and villains as Spider-Man. The low level criminals in New York he’d been dealing with lately were certainly a better alternative than galactic threats. But the Punisher wasn’t just a danger himself, he was a magnet for it. Anywhere he went in the city became a war zone, and every one in his path became collateral damage. Tonight, that collateral damage could’ve been Peter, and Frank’s careless attitude towards his safety hit a raw nerve.

“Yeah, well if anything happens to that ‘pain in the ass kid’ and I find out it’s your fault, I'm not gonna be stitching up bullet holes. I'm gonna be making them.”

Frank quickly turned his attention back to you, meeting your heated gaze without flinching. He wasn’t sure if you were just pissed because you’d been woken up in the middle of the night thinking someone was breaking into your apartment, or if you were actually threatening him. His eyes flickered over your face slowly, trying to figure you out, before they settled into a faint squint.

“You know he’s got like…powers, right?”

“I do. And I also know that cute little vest you got only protects your chest.”

Frank’s brows lifted considerably up his forehead, visibly taken aback by that blunt remark. That was definitely a real threat. He could tell by the look in your eyes that you weren’t joking, and he realized swiftly that you weren’t just Peter’s nurse neighbor who patched him up from time to time. You cared about the kid. Deeply. Something that could’ve been construed as respect or admiration flashed in Frank’s eyes, and he gave you a firm nod.

“Understood.”

He watched how you looped the thread through the suture needle with effortless precision, and for some reason, he felt the need to ease the tension in your shoulders and make that frustrated furrow between your brows disappear.

“He can hold his own.”

“He’s still young. And he’s not invincible.”

“Didn’t say he was.”

“Then don’t act like he is when you drag him into your shit-”

“Hey, I didn’t drag him into nothin’, alright? He showed up on his own. I told him to leave, he didn’t. Shit went sideways. He knows the risks when he puts on that goddamn suit.”

You didn’t realize how roughly you’d begun to handle the thread in the midst of arguing until you pulled it so taut that it snapped. The second it did, Frank backed off at seeing how visibly agitated you were. The stress radiating off of you was palpable, and he recognized it. The feeling of wanting to protect someone you love but knowing there’s only so much you can do. He softened his demeanor into something less combative and dipped his head to catch your eye.

“Hey, I’m the one who got shot, yeah? Kid’s fine. He was talkin’ shit the whole way over.”

“But it could’ve been him.”

You tried to conceal it, but he could hear the worry in your voice, see it clear as day on your face. Keeping his eyes on you, Frank spoke in a quieter voice, but it was firm with conviction.

“Not on my watch. I wouldn’t let that happen.”

A moment passed where you two just looked at each other, Frank’s sacred vow hanging in the silence between you. Letting out a deep exhale, you nodded as you reached for another piece of thread.

“Good. Because if you do-”

“You’ll cap my ass, yeah. I got it.”

You worked quickly and efficiently while you sutured up the wounds. You didn’t have any anesthetic, so you tried to be fast while remaining gentle. Frank grit his teeth, closing his eyes and breathing through the pain with faint grunts intermittently as the needle pierced his jagged flesh repeatedly, weaving it back together with each stitch. When he heard you start to laugh, his eyes flew open, and he looked down to see you smirking to yourself. He frowned as his brows knit together.

“The hell’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

If the faux look of innocence didn’t give you away, the way your voice rose in pitch certainly did.

“Then why you laughin’?”

Unable to fight the grin spreading across your lips, you finally looked up at him as you tied off another stitch. 

“Because the big bad Punisher is sitting here in a bulletproof vest and his underwear with his pants around his ankles. Kind of a goofy look for someone so scary.”

Frank narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips together in annoyance. That look only seemed to draw another laugh from you, and it made you grin even wider. Shaking his head, he looked away with a dry scoff. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, and he fought to not see the humor in the ridiculous image you’d just pointed out, or let amusement spread across his own mouth because of it. Looking down at you again, he cocked his head to the side. 

“You always got this good of a bedside manner?”

“I’m off the clock.”

A flash suddenly went off, accompanied by the sound of a camera shutter clicking, and both of you turned to see Peter standing in the kitchen holding up his phone with a shit eating grin. Frank immediately sat up straighter, his momentary levity shifting into full blown aggravation. 

“Oh you fuckin’ shithead. Delete that, right now.”

Peter put his hands behind his back, pretending to look innocent even though he was still grinning.

“Delete what?”

“The picture, asshole.”

“I don't know what you're talking about, Frank.”

As soon as Frank went to get up, you reached out to put your hand against his vest to push him back.

“Easy big guy, I'm not done.”

Peter snickered as Frank shot him a death glare. When you finished up the last stitch on Frank’s thigh, you slowly turned your head to look at Peter, and his mirth quickly faded into an expression of someone who knew they were in trouble for something. 

“When were you going to tell me?”

Looking at you in slight panic, Peter eyed you cautiously. 

“What do you mean?”

“You have organic webs now?”

Confusion bloomed across his face at how you knew that. He looked from you to a still irritated Frank, who simply flipped him off. Peter’s lips parted as he started to speak, fumbling over his words.

“I…well…it's you know…new.”

“And?”

“I don't really know how to explain it. It just…started happening, along with some other weird stuff.”

“And you didn't think to tell me that?”

Peter let out a sigh as he ran one of his hands through his messy hair.

“I didn't think you'd understand. And I mean it's not really a nurse thing, it's a…spider thing.”

Standing up from the floor, you calmly pulled off your bloodied gloves and tossed them on the table with the rest of your used supplies, and Frank’s pile of guns and ammo, before placing one of your hands on your hip.

“Peter, what you're going through is completely normal.”

At your simple statement, Peter’s features quickly morphed into a display of perplexity. 

“It is?”

“Of course. At some point during every young spider's life, they all go through a transitionary phase. Your body will start to change, you may find you have these urges-”

“Oh my God, stop, stop.” 

Peter covered his face with his hands in embarrassment as he groaned, and you struggled to contain your smirk. Behind you, Frank started snickering, and Peter shot him a glare of annoyance. The tips of his ears were burning red when he looked at you again, and with a shake of his head, he held his hands up in resignation. 

“Alright, fine. Next time something weird happens, I'll tell you.”

“Good. Now sit. You're next.” 

Peter's face contorted in confusion at your command.  

“Next? I’m fine.”

“Those bruises and cuts say otherwise.”

“They're just bruises and cuts, they'll heal. I'm fine, I swear.”

Reaching for a fresh pair of gloves from your kit, you pulled them on nonchalantly. 

“You know, with these urges you're gonna start having Peter, it's important to be safe. Are you using protection?”

Frank busted out laughing, and Peter looked absolutely mortified, covering his ears with his hands and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Oh my God, I’m sitting alright, I'm sitting. Jesus.”

As Peter turned around to pull out a chair to sit, another flash went off along with the click of a camera shutter. Peter abruptly turned in puzzlement, only to see Frank with his own phone out, his mouth split in a big toothy grin.

“Nice pants, kid.”

Frank looked him up and down with a taunting smug smirk.