Chapter Text
Frank didn’t understand what was up with his new neighbors.
As a wanted fugitive who was constantly on the lookout for anyone trying to arrest him, he knew a thing or two about going unnoticed. But this was getting ridiculous.
They had been in the apartment across from him for a solid month, but Frank had yet to meet anyone other than their teenage son. And even then, it hadn’t exactly been a meeting so much as a coincidental run-in.
The poor kid had accidentally bumped into Frank in his haste to get up the stairs to his floor and had startled so badly at the unexpected contact that Frank was worried he’d keel over on the spot. With a quickly mumbled apology, the boy stumbled into his apartment, refusing to make any form of eye contact.
By that reaction, Frank had assumed he’d been recognized as the Punisher and was already dreading having to move once again. He’d only been in this apartment for a few months, goddamn it. Having to pack up all his stuff again so soon would be a nightmare.
But then again, the kid hadn’t even looked at him. There was no way he’d have figured that out through such a brief encounter. Not to mention it had been over a week ago. No cops or angry parents had appeared at his door yet, so Frank figured he was in the clear.
Speaking of the kid’s parents, they had to work from home because, as often as Frank went out, the fact that he’d never seen either of them was definitely weird.
It wasn’t that he wanted to have to talk to anyone outside of the few people he considered friends, but he couldn’t help being curious about the mystery of it all.
Karen had even come over one day after they first moved in and brought a small welcome gift for the new neighbors, much to Frank’s chagrin. After receiving no reply after they had knocked, the pair decided it would be best to just leave the gift on the doorstep.
It had been met with no response. Not even a polite thank you.
Then again, Frank would actually have to talk to one of them for that to come up.
He wasn’t sure why the situation bothered him as much as it did. Normally, having quiet neighbors would’ve thrilled him considering it kept his identity at less risk. But something about this situation felt… off.
An uncomfortable feeling settled into his gut every time he stared at the apartment door across the hall.
Ignoring his instincts, Frank bit back the urge to knock just to catch a glimpse of the people living inside. If anything, it was a safety hazard not knowing, he tried to reason with himself.
They could be cops, or someone he’d pissed off in the past lying low until the right moment to get the jump on him. The kid—who couldn’t have been older than seventeen—threw that theory off a bit, but Frank knew better than anyone that certain groups would stop at nothing to get what they wanted, even if it meant putting a child in harm’s way.
It was one of the reasons Frank did what he did.
To try and minimize the kind of evil still out there.
He shook his head, clearing away thoughts of his mysterious neighbors.
He had far more important things to worry about than some family that appreciated a little privacy.
Recently, not only had Frank been dealing with Murdock and his righteous bullshit every time he stepped foot in Hell’s Kitchen, but a new pest had started digging into his side.
Spider-Man.
The masked vigilante had become a serious nuisance over the past few weeks, randomly appearing in the middle of an interrogation or chase to “help him out,” which usually ended with a fight breaking out between the two of them.
The vigilante was fast—Frank would give him that—but he was too hesitant. He pulled his punches like he was afraid he might actually hurt someone.
Frank had no such qualms.
He was more of a shoot-first, ask-questions-never kind of guy.
Unfortunately, that usually resulted in Spider-Man walking away from their encounters with a few more injuries than Frank would’ve liked. But in the end, the kid was getting in the way of what Frank was trying to accomplish, and he wasn’t going to let that slide.
Still, Frank couldn’t help but admire Spider-Man’s spunk.
No matter how hard he hit him, the vigilante always came back ready for another confrontation. It reminded Frank so much of Red that it was almost eerie.
Both were too noble for their own good.
Their complete disregard for their own safety was genuinely baffling sometimes.
Which brought them to their current situation.
Spider-Man was propped up beside the body of a criminal Frank had just shot, desperately searching for a pulse. He looked like he was struggling to breathe, overwhelmed by the stress of the situation. The mask on his face definitely wasn’t helping him calm down either.
“Kid,” Frank called. This guy couldn’t have been out of his twenties yet. That voice modulator wasn’t fooling anyone. “He’s dead. You sitting there isn’t going to magically bring him back to life.”
Spider-Man looked like he hadn’t heard a word Frank had said, continuing his frantic attempts to find some sign of life.
Frank’s brows furrowed.
Spider-Man had been around for a couple of years now. There was no way he hadn’t seen a dead body before. Not in this line of work.
So why was he acting like this?
Spidey finally seemed to gather his senses and whirled around to glare at Frank.
“How could you do that?” he demanded, getting right in Frank’s face. “How could you take a life so carelessly? Don’t you have any feelings at all?”
“Not for this kind of person,” Frank spat, shoving the other vigilante away. “You shouldn’t get so upset about this. That man wasn’t worth a moment of your time. He was a filthy excuse for a human being and would’ve been better off dead a long time ago.”
Frank turned and started to walk away, viewing the conversation as over.
A shove from behind made him stumble.
He spun around angrily, only to find an even angrier Spider-Man staring him down.
“You don’t understand what some people would do to reverse a death,” Spider-Man snapped. “How dare you treat life so thoughtlessly. Like killing people is just another chore to you.”
His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, his breathing ragged after the outburst.
Frank paid that no mind.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” he growled, throwing a punch that the masked vigilante barely managed to dodge.
“How are you gonna stand there and talk to me like that? As if I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone.”
Spider-Man froze at Frank’s words, as if he’d suddenly realized exactly who he was talking to.
Frank was having none of it.
Too much anger. Too much grief.
“As if you could understand even a fraction of what I’ve been through,” Frank snapped. “Look at you, acting all high and mighty. Like nothing you say or do has consequences.”
His hand drifted to the pistol at his side.
“I’ll show you real pain, Spidey.”
He mocked the vigilante’s name before pulling the gun free and firing.
Spider-Man reacted fast, almost as if he’d sensed what Frank was about to do before the weapon had even cleared its holster.
Almost.
The shot wasn’t meant to kill him, even if Spider-Man hadn’t managed to twist away at the last second. Instead, the bullet tore through his thigh, punching a bloody hole straight through the muscle.
Blood immediately began soaking through the blue fabric of his suit.
Frank’s mind was still clear enough not to put a bullet through the kid’s heart.
But he needed to learn.
He needed to understand that if he kept sticking his nose into Frank’s business, there would be consequences.
“Next time,” Frank called as he turned away, “that shot’ll be through your heart.”
Behind him, he could hear Spider-Man stumbling backward in a panic, one hand clamped tightly over the wound as he struggled to stay on his feet.
A flicker of guilt wormed its way into Frank’s thoughts.
He shoved it aside.
This wasn’t on him.
He’d let the masked vigilante off the hook far more times than he should have. How many people had Frank been forced to let walk free because Spider-Man insisted on getting involved?
Maybe this time the kid would finally realize his place and go back to helping out the little guy—or whatever the hell it was he used to do.
By the time Frank made it back to his apartment complex, it was late. Probably around two in the morning.
He slowly climbed the stairs, every muscle in his body aching.
He’d only get a couple of hours of sleep before his own mind inevitably dragged him awake again.
It seemed like every night ended with ruthless nightmares.
Sometimes Frank considered himself lucky if he managed to sleep at all.
He was just about to reach his floor when something caught his eye.
Blood.
A few fresh drops stained the stairwell floor.
Frank stopped instantly, every muscle tensing as his gaze swept the hallway for movement.
Nothing.
No sounds.
No sign that anyone was waiting to jump him.
After another long moment, he looked back down at the blood.
It looked fresh.
Maybe an hour old.
Even that felt generous.
An uneasy feeling settled back into his chest.
There weren’t any other drops leading toward the stairs.
Just these.
Technically, they could have belonged to anyone in the building.
But the fact that they were so close to his apartment was enough to put him on edge.
Still wary, Frank crossed the hall and unlocked his door.
The second it swung open, Max came barreling toward him, tail wagging so hard that his entire body shook with excitement.
Frank’s expression softened.
“How you doing, bud?” he muttered, crouching down to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “Miss me?”
Max leaned into the affection, happily accepting every bit of attention.
Frank lingered there for another minute before finally standing.
Inside, he unloaded the weapons he’d been carrying and set them in their usual places.
His shirt hit the floor a moment later.
With a tired groan, he collapsed onto the bed.
Despite everything, the night had been successful.
The man he’d been hunting for days was finally dead.
He’d never get the chance to hurt anyone again.
Frank himself hadn’t walked away with so much as a scratch.
The thought immediately dragged his mind back to Spider-Man.
That annoying feeling of guilt resurfaced.
Part of him felt bad for shooting the kid.
Spider-Man was young.
Naive.
Probably only a few years out of college.
Frank could’ve handled things better.
But at least he wouldn’t have to worry about the masked vigilante ruining any more of his operations for a while.
There was no way the kid would want to get in Frank’s way now.
The bullet had nearly passed clean through his leg.
It was a nasty wound, probably made even worse by Spider-Man’s desperate attempt to dodge.
On the bright side, he’d probably be out of commission for a while.
No sane person would try walking on a leg like that unless they absolutely had to.
Not if they wanted to avoid permanent damage.
Frank let out a long sigh before rolling onto his side.
There was no point dwelling on it.
It wouldn’t change anything.
He just hoped he hadn’t given whoever the kid was staying with too much of a scare.
With that final thought, Frank finally drifted off to sleep, exhausted from another week of too little rest.
Hopefully, this time, he’d stay asleep for more than a couple of hours.