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"I ain't fuckin' doin' it," Frank insists.
"What do you mean you're not doing it? I didn't give you a choice." Matt was whispering at him, his voice raised like he was yelling, but low enough to still technically be considered a whisper.
"I don't give a shit if you--" Frank grunted as the boat they were on rocked from the blast of an explosive. "I don't give a shit if you want me to do this or not, I'm not workin' with that guy. He dresses up like a goddamn clown."
Matt held a hand up, and Frank hung his head as he sighed.
The marina smelled like gunsmoke and salty ocean water. He was thankful enough that it didn't smell like sewage... this time. Frank shuddered.
"You're being a baby," Matt said, and put his hand down to turn and run from the boat they'd been hiding on. A few shouts but no gunfire followed, so Frank grunted and ran after.
He couldn't do the little tricks Daredevil could do-- bouncing from metal beam to bar to wall. He had to hop over the railing and jump straight into the dirty harbor water. He didn't mind the cold shock so much as the guys they ran from having enough time to gather their bearings and start shooting at him.
One by one, the men on the pier went down as Daredevil landed on the pier, the boat hadn't been more than ten feet from land, but that was farther than Frank could jump. Streaks of red flew above as Frank worked his ass off to swim against the tide and find some dry rocks to beach himself on. He didn't let it slow him down, he just walked it off and waited for Matt to catch up after knocking out the rest of the gangsters.
"That was fuckin' bullshit," Frank said as Matt joined him in step. Frank was dripping wet and limping a bit from a stab he'd taken to the thigh earlier. Matt rolled his shoulders out and laughed.
"Cranky because it's cold out tonight?" he teased.
Frank grunted and kept them walking under the moonlight.
They made it back to Matt's before the sun came up, which he counted as win. He showered first-- because Matt made him, and when they finally laid down for sleep, his head was killing him. He always thought the bangs and loud guns were nothing, but the noise seemed to be catching up to him lately.
White noise seemed to eat at his brain until there was nothing left but a pounding ache. "Red," Frank grunted after he was certain Matt had fallen asleep next to him. They didn't cuddle.
"Yeah?" Matt asked, his voice much more awake than Frank thought it had any right to be. After a moment, he shifted and rolled over so he was facing Frank. "What is it?"
Frank's eyebrows were in a knot. His heart raced in his chest and he opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out.
And then Matt placed a hand over his chest and let out a heavy breath. "It's okay," he said softly. "We're safe here."
Frank squeezed his eyes closed and a single tear rolled down his face as he covered Matt's wrist with his hand. "I know," he said. He knew this, but his body didn't seem to get the memo. There was never a moment when he felt like he wasn't being chased anymore. He sighed and pulled Matt closer, letting him roll over so Frank was holding him in his arms. "I just... I need this," he said.
Matt nodded, though he didn't say anything.
That was the thing-- their thing. They slept in the same bed, went on most of the same missions, and cooked each other food. But they didn't talk about it. They didn't ask what it meant the morning after, or when Frank made pancakes, or when Matt didn't call. They just moved on and let it be. Frank found peace in that.
"Look," Matt said, breaking some kind of spell.
Frank sighed, his eyes roaming over the room. The hardest part to adjust to in Matt's apartment was how bright it was. Even with blinds drawn, he could see the purple light of the city pooling into their bedroom. He tightened his arms around Matt and felt the way he flexed beneath Frank.
"I'm not saying you have to team up with him--"
"But," Frank continued for him, his voice gruff.
"But," Matt said, somewhat bitchily, "I told him if he needed backup, we'd be there."
"I don't know why the fuck you'd do that," Frank sighed, though there was no venom in his voice. Just something tired. He wanted the static to stop, the headaches and the pressure and the ringing. "I don't do teams."
Matt snorted at that. "Right," he said. "Sure."
If Frank had the energy to be mad, he would be.
"I'm not asking you to team up with him, I'm asking you to help me out, okay? I'm supposed to be there tomorrow to break up the meeting. It's underground with low light, but if you-"
"I'll figure it out," Frank cut him off.
Matt took a moment. Then, "So you'll do it?"
"Yeah," Frank said. "You've got that case to win for Karen and Foggy, right?"
Matt seemed to relax in Frank's arms and that was really all he needed to get to sleep. "Right," he said. "And what could be the harm in just helping out, right? It's just some people who don't know what they're doing."
"Aren't we all," Frank mumbled.
The case, as it turned out, was better suited for Daredevil. First, his teammate-- Spider-Man, some clown in a red costume-- didn't know what the fuck he was doing, like he'd never fought someone in a dark tunnel before. Then, Frank's equipment failed him. The night vision didn't work, and Daredevil's hearing probably would have been the most valuable part of the team-up. So instead, he resorted to firing off rounds in the enclosed tunnels.
"Not smart, Mr. Punisher!" Spider-Man shouted at him.
Frank frowned and shouted back, "You mind your guys, I'll mind mine!" Each shot from his rifles lit up the tunnel enough for him to know where his next was going to go, but the other guys had guns and Spider-Man kept bouncing all over the place changing the game.
Frank felt like he was forgetting where he was. Darkness swallowed him and he was fighting for his life. Shooting off in wild directions, letting the loud echos split his skull open as people shouted all around him.
His heart tried to leap from his chest. Spider-Man wasn't helping. Frank felt really scared in a way that he was typically able to avoid.
"This way!" someone shouted and Frank tried to run in that direction, only for hands to grab him.
He fought back. He punched and roared and swung his gun, even, but more and more hands grabbed at him. He was punched back, kicked, and finally his vision went red with a crack against the back of his skull. He didn't realize he'd fallen over until he was already on the ground.
Nausea bubbled in his stomach as he clawed at the stone ground, trying desperately to save himself, kill the bad guys. He felt something distant ring in his head-- like he was missing something. That ringing grew until it took over everything and he was rolling onto his stomach to retch. He was hardly aware of himself as he threw up everything he had in him. All he saw before his eyes was a moving kaleidoscope of colors, fading in and out as he fought. Reaching for legs, hoping anyone would get near him so he could take them down.
And then pain burst through his face as someone landed a blow to his face. His nose felt like it broke and he felt the heat of blood pour from it.
"Red!" Frank groaned out. His voice sounded wavery and far away, like it was under the ocean.
Numbness washed over him as stars appeared in the black darkness before him.
"Don't worry, I'll get you out of here!" Spider-Man called.
Frank remembered the feeling of being dragged, the crack of daylight through a manhole cover, and nothing else.
He blinked, a terrible nausea and pain rolling over him. He smelled something awful as he groaned. "Matty!" His voice sounded somewhat hoarse to his own ears. "Matty..." His lips barely moved as he reached out totouchthe couch he was on. The seats were fabric rather than leather, which was only significant because his and Matt's cushions were leather.
"Um... No, it's still Spider-Man."
Frank jumped and then groaned as something knocked at his head. A hard pressure just behind his forehead coupled with something that felt like someone had taken a scoop out of his skull just right of center, and that pain radiated through the back, down to his shoulders. The ceiling above him spun like a fan and he groaned as he felt something rise in his throat.
"Oh no!" Spider-Man gasped, and a streak of white flew past Frank's face before a bowl landed on his chest. "Throw up in that," he said.
Frank took the bowl and tossed it to the side. It was surprisingly lightweight and plastic. "I don't need no fuckin'--" He groaned again, and this time Spider-Man placed the bowl on his chest with his hand.
He sat in an armchair beside Frank, still wearing his red and black and blue suit.
"What the fuck?" Frank muttered at the giant white bug eyes.
"Sorry," Spider-Man said. "I'd take off the mask, but I'm--... I don't like--"
"Whatever," Frank waved his hand. "What the fuck are we doing here?" He tried to look around, but the room kept spinning.
"Um... Well after you got hit in the tunnel I tried to take you to a hospital and then you started trying to shoot me... with your guns..."
Frank chuckled and then groaned.
"And I don't know where you live, so--"
"Listen, Webhead," Frank started, trying to stand, only for Spider-Man to rush to his side. He lifted himself by basically doing a dip on the armchair and uncrossing his legs in the air, using momentum to get to Frank's side quickly.
"I don't think standing up is such a good idea, Frank."
Frank knew the kid was right-- kid? Frank closed his eyes as he laid back on the couch. "You're young," he said.
"Yeah..." Spider-Man said, sitting back down.
"Did you call Red?"
"What?"
Frank closed his eyes. "Daredevil."
"Oh! Yes-- Well, no. I tried, but he didn't pick up." Spider-Man scratched the back of his head. "I was going to ask you who to call when you woke up..."
"Red. Try him again." He was probably done in court by now.
"Yeah, totally!" Spider-Man said, and stood to rush from the room, presumably for his phone.
Frank got a better look as his bearing came back to him. The apartment was small, definitely New York. He grunted as he moved slowly, pushing himself to sit and then slowly rising and grabbing onto the built-in shelves to keep himself up.
He paused when his hands brushed a framed photo. A peewee soccer team. Frank's heart nearly burst from his chest as he blinked twice-- he must be seeing things, because why the fuck was Junior in that photo?
He grabbed the photo and looked at it for a while. He remembered getting updates from Maria about the team. A single paragraph in her letters dedicated just to tell Frank that the team wasn't doing good, but that Junior was having the time of his life. He was always so proud.
He blinked twice like he expected the photo to disappear.
From the other room, he heard Spider-Man rush into a long story, probably giving Red all the details.
He kept his grip on the shelves as he kneeled down to get a look. Yearbook. From 2008. He barely caught it before he fell backwards onto the couch. He knew his hands were shaking, but he needed to see.
He flipped the pages, and there was Junior in the first grade. He kept flipping until he found Lisa, and his heart just broke, clutching the book to his shirt stiff with blood and who knows what else.
"Okay, so Daredevil said--..." Spider-Man paused as he walked back into the room. His bug eyes moved as one widened and the other squinted. "Um. Are you... okay?"
Frank didn't say anything. He didn't want to.
"Look, I know you probably have a concussion, but hugging my second grade yearbook is pretty weird. I'm also like pretty sure that you had a seizure in the tunnel, so--"
"They're my babies," Frank said, tears slipping down his grimy and blood-caked face. "My boy and my girl, you've got them in here, and in your-- your--" He swallowed, but he couldn't say it. Through the throbbing pain and the walls closing in on him, he looked up at Spider-Man. "You knew them?"
There was a long moment before Spider-Man reached up and pulled his mask off. He was young, just as Frank figured, but he had pale skin, dark eyes and dark wavy hair. It looked a bit golden in the sunlight from his windows, but his face struck a chord in Frank. "I'm Peter," he said, and took a slow step towards Frank, and then sat down next to him like he was afraid Frank might bite. "Can I see?" he asked, holding his hand out.
Frank didn't want to part from the book, it felt like the only thing tethering him, but he let Peter take it from him and he scanned the page until he landed on Junior's face. "Castle, right?" Peter asked.
"Yeah," Frank said, his voice feeling broken. "That's Frankie junior."
Peter smiled. "He was on my soccer team... He was the grade below me, so I didn't really know him... He had an older sister, I remember."
"Lisa."
"Right." Peter smiled as he flipped through the yearbook, stopping at a page of some kids at recess. "I remember this picture," he said, and Frank felt like his life was ending all over again when Peter pointed out a picture of Lisa and Junior at the playground together, Peter was in the background on a slide. "My Aunt May pinned this one to the fridge. It's probably around here somewhere."
"I've never seen this before," Frank said, and he shocked himself when a tear landed on the page.
"They were really sweet kids," Peter said. He didn't say that they died the next year or how many days off from school he got. "Daredevil told me he was on his way... Do you feel dizzy?"
Frank shook his head as he took the yearbook back, looking down at the black and white photo like it was his world. It kind of was. "No," he said.
"What about--"
"I'm fine. I've been dealing with my mess since my head got messed up the first time." His words should have been harsh, but they weren't.
"Alright," Peter said and nodded. "Okay."
"Could I--..." Frank didn't know how to ask it.
"I'll see if I can find the picture," Peter said, his voice so soft for someone so young. He understood loss, too.