To say that Frank was surprised when his phone rang displaying the number of none other than David "Micro" Lieberman himself would be an understatement.
It's not like they parted on bad terms. The opposite, in fact. But once their mission was well and done, David wanted to be a family man again, and Frank—well. Any sensible family man would want to keep him far away. He gets that. So he saved David the trouble of asking and keeps his distance, something David seemed to appreciate by the zero contact Frank received from him afterward. Of course, Frank prides himself on being a hard man to pin down and get a hold of, but it's David, so he knows that's not the issue.
He almost thinks it's accidental at first when his phone shows David's number, but he picks it up when it keeps ringing without any concrete idea on what to expect.
Turns out some creep in a beige van had been hanging around his daughter's school. According to David, he'd hang out in the parking lot with the parents waiting for pick-up, but no kid had ever climbed in his van. While that was bad enough, the line was crossed for David when the guy started taking pictures of Leo and her friends as they walked down the sidewalk. So David had reported it and when the guy was still there throughout the following week, he'd taken matters into his own hands and ran the plates.
Apparently, creep had an impressive criminal record, definitely wasn't allowed in a school zone, and is a member of some gang on the edge of Queens bordering Manhattan that allegedly deals in human trafficking. David made sure to emphasize that he usually wouldn't have called Frank, but these are his kids he's worried about. Frank gets that too.
So David scouted out an abandoned warehouse in Queens and they set up shop. He digs deep and finds out that their creep's the crony of a man named Mac Gargan who recently got out of prison and is cementing himself as some kind of bigshot. David equips Frank with the address of a headquarters and another one of those needle-pens that he jabbed Frank with when they first met. He said he'd appreciate it if Frank brought the creep back alive so he could make sure all of the photos of Leo were properly erased, though he didn't sound too picky about it.
It's like a cockroach nest when Frank arrives. They're all sitting and playing poker around a table, their laughter grating in Frank's ears. They don't even realize they're under attack until half of them are on the floor, and half of those guys can't draw quick enough before they're dead on the ground too. Frank has to hide behind a cement column to avoid return-fire, and he leaves only two left when they have to stop and reload.
It's all pretty routine until he sees red and blue spandex pressed into the corner of the ceiling.
Frank ducks behind the column just in time to avoid a sticky white glob to the face. The remaining gang members aren't so lucky; he hears gunshots and shouts and thwips before the flying bullets cease altogether.
Frank presses his spine against the column and takes a breath to reassess. Spider-Man. He remembers the guy from a few news segments and YouTube videos and some impassioned articles from the Daily Bugle. A cocky little shit that taunted criminals as he tied them up without throwing a single punch and was even more theatrical than Red in his movements. Perhaps Frank should've expected another vigilante with a gang gathering as big as this, but he usually never factors in vigilantes unless he's in Hell's Kitchen. A habit to break, then.
"Shouldn't you be in prison?" Spider-Man calls from his perch on the wall. "Not that I was invested, but I distinctly remember a guilty verdict for your trial of the century. Was prison not enough of a goldmine for you?"
Oh yeah, Spider-Man was a talker. Frank almost forgot that bit. He doesn't grace him with a response, but he hopes the cocking of his gun is loud enough to get the message across.
"Are you gonna shoot me?" Spider-Man asks immediately.
Direct. Frank can appreciate that. "Not if you walk out now."
Spider-Man doesn't reply at first, so Frank braces himself for a Red-style rant on the amount of bodies he's made litter the floor. Instead, he says in a slightly wavering voice, "They've got hostages downstairs. At least six."
This is new. Frank makes a quick gut decision and stuffs his pistol in his belt and empties the bullets from his automatic and drops it on the floor. He holds out his hands, open-palms on either side of the column. He hears a swoosh and a thud as Spider-Man drops to the floor behind the post, so Frank steps out to meet him.
The top of Spider-Man's head goes to a little above Frank's chin, but he's standing ramrod-straight. His figure is lithe, reminiscent of a gymnast. He shifts to the side to block Frank from the two breathing guys he webbed up, yet when his head starts to turn toward the bloodbath on the ground he jerks it back to Frank and his white eyes grow wide for a moment. He looks Frank over and takes him in, his gaze lingering on the white skull on his chest. Finally, he clears his throat and says, "How about instead of buffing your kill count you up your save count? Only save counts give XP, you know."
Frank doesn't see why it has to be an either or situation, but he can prioritize. "Take me to them."
"Glad we're on the same page." With a curt nod, Spider-Man takes off for the corner and half runs, half swings down a small staircase with Frank hot on his tail. It opens to a dimly lit hallway with grime on the walls and smelling of mold. Each side door is closed, but Spider-Man takes only a moment to do that distinct head-swivel thing that Red does before dashing to the second door on the left and twisting at the handle without an ounce of hesitation.
It doesn't open, so Frank reaches for his gun to shoot out the lock when Spider-Man gives a frustrated grunt. But it proves unnecessary when Spider-Man takes a few tiny steps back and kicks out at the door with a single thrust. The door—the metal door—is blasted off its hinges and flies inward with a force that lets Frank know shit, Spider-Man is strong.
High, frightened screams come from inside. Spider-Man quickly steps in and rushes out, "Woah, hey! It's me, your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man! This is a rescue!" He pauses a moment to gag dramatically and waft his hand in front of his face. "Phew, it's stinky!"
It's honestly amazing how quickly the screams morph into giggles. A strange mixture of pissed and impressed churn together in his chest at the situation before him. Frank's not surprised it's kids—not even out of elementary school by the sound of them—but it only cements his certainty that he's not going to allow those two webbed guys to walk out of here alive.
Spider-Man glances back to him and says, "This is my big, scary friend. He's bigger and scarier than all of the guys who put you here, so he can keep you safe from them."
Frank takes this as his cue to enter the room, and it's probably the best introduction he could've gotten because only half the kids flinch when six pairs of eyes look up at him. His heart twists in righteous fury but he gives them his best disarming wave that prompts a few relieved smiles. Spider-Man swoops down and picks up two of them, one with each arm, and carefully transfers them to Frank.
It's been years since he ever held a kid this young and he can't help but flash back to his Lisa and Frank Jr. But now isn't the time, so he shoves those memories back.
Aside from the six first to third graders, there's one woman in the room. She stands in the corner, hands curled protectively on the shoulders of two of the kids as four of the elementary schoolers huddle around her like ducklings. Her hair is long and brown and Frank would put her around her mid-forties. He thinks teacher at first, but there's something about her smile as she stares at Spider-Man that says something other than relief. He'd label it pride, but he can't be sure.
Spider-Man approaches her and catches Frank off guard again when instead of taking two of the kids, he takes the woman's hand and gives it a squeeze once she readily removes it from the kid's shoulder.
Frank narrows his eyes. Somehow, she knows Spider-Man. He makes a note of it and clears his throat and they almost jump. Spider-Man scoops up two of the kids and the woman gets the final two. With everyone accounted for, he marches out of the room to the staircase.
He stops at the bottom, shifting each kid in his grasp until they both looked up at his face. "Close your eyes," he says, because he wouldn't have done it like this if he'd known kids could see it. They blink up at him with mirrored expression of confusion, so he repeats in a voice that doesn't leave room for questions, "Close your eyes and don't open them until I tell you."
It works. Their eyelids snap shut, and the youngest one—barely a first grader with little pigtails—wraps her arm around his neck and buries her face into his shoulder. He tries not to think of Lisa as Spider-Man and the lady repeat the order behind him. Tightening his grip around the children, Frank races up the stairs with the other two on his heels.
He's about halfway across the room when he sees Spider-Man freeze in his peripheral. It's too late when he notices the remote clasped in one of the webbed guy's hands and the sadistic grin on his face and it's too late when Spider-Man shouts out a desperate "RUN!"
There's a deafening BANG and all of a sudden there's an earthquake beneath his feet. The children scream in his hold and clutch onto him with all the strength in their tiny arms as he careens to the side to avoid a large chunk of ceiling that almost collapses on top of him. He doesn't look back before he makes a break for the exit, barely making it outside before depositing the children in the grass.
"Don't move," he snaps, and he sees their terrified nods before he runs back in.
The building is collapsing. Explosives planted around the corners, he wagers. The guy who set it off is most definitely crushed under a large portion of the ceiling, but he must've deemed it worth bringing two vigilantes with him. Well, joke's on him. Spider-Man is still standing, staring up at the sky through where the roof used to be as dust rains around him. His arms are raised at his sides and he's poised for defense and there's four children gathered around him.
Frank rushes down and picks up two of them, frozen in horror, and somehow Spider-Man seems to be in the same state. "Shit," Frank mutters under his breath. "Hey!" He makes a quick step into Spider-Man's space and knees him in the hip. Spider-Man jumps violently and his attention goes to Frank. "Get your ass in gear and grab them!"
That snaps Spider-Man out of it. He picks up the final two kids and races after Frank to the exit. They make it just in time before a wall caves in, but Spider-Man doesn't seem to appreciate the safety. Once the kids are on the solid grass, he spins around on his heel and sprints back into the building right before the door frame crumbles behind him.
Frank lets out a warning shout and he still doesn't turn back. Cursing, he practically throws the last two kids on the ground and runs in after Spider-Man. The building is falling apart around him and it's hard to see with the flying plaster and dust, but Spider-Man's red and blue sticks out like a sore thumb. He's near the leftmost, still-standing wall, and he's heaving and trying to lift up at a massive piece of roof.
He spares a glance to Frank and cries, "Help me!"
Frank has to stop in his tracks. Spider-Man's voice is high and terrified and it cracked in the way only a teenager's could. This guy—Spider-Man—is a child. The realization hits Frank hard enough that he barely registers a shingle that chips at his shoulder.
Frank bites down on his tongue to focus and rushes back to Spider-Man's side. He takes a breath to demand what the hell this kid thinks he's doing when he sees the figure lying on the ground in front of him.
It's the lady. Her arms are splayed out at her side's and her hair is spread around her head like a halo. Her legs are trapped underneath a fallen wall, but it doesn't matter. Her chest isn't moving and her mouth is too open. Frank's seen enough death to know that she's gone after only a second of looking at her. Yet the kid is still trying to lift the wall off her legs.
Frank swallows and puts a firm hand on Spider-Man's shoulder. "We gotta go. The floor already caved on the other side of the room."
It's like he hadn't spoken. Spider-Man groans and keeps straining at the wall and grits out, "I've got you, May. I'm gonna save you, I promise I'm gonna save you, just- just a little more-"
Frank clenches his jaw as a crack travels across the floor closer to them. "Spider-Man, listen to me-" He gives the kid's shoulder a harsh tug this time and he doesn't see the blow coming. Spider-Man hits him back with a single hand, sending him flying back and almost hitting the column that's barely keeping the roof up.
He pushes himself to his feet with a wheeze and pauses a good yard away from the kid, still trying to pry off that wall. Frank grits his teeth and lunges, ducking under a second hit to grab the kid around the shoulders and yank him back. Spider-Man cries out as he's dragged across the floor. For a second Frank thinks he's going to make it to the exit, but then Spider-Man plants his heels into the ground and suddenly he's immovable.
"GET OFF ME!" he shrieks, elbowing Frank aside. The blow's harsh enough to allow him to squirm free of Frank's hold and back to the woman.
Shit. They've got maybe thirty seconds before the floor caves in entirely or the walls all close in. Spider-Man's not going to leave without a fight. He's one stubborn son of a bitch, but he hasn't met Frank yet. Frank's hand drifts to his pocket, fingers curling around the syringe-pen David had supplied him with.
David had called the drug inside something different from what he'd got Frank with. This was a paralytic only, affecting just the spinal cord and not the brain. Best for scaring the pedo once Frank nabbed him and stuffed him in his van. Keeping him entirely aware of what was going on yet helpless to do anything about it.
He really wishes he had an actual sedative now.
He catches the kid from behind in a rear chokehold. Frank kicks out at his knees to knock him off balance and give him a few extra seconds to push up the back of Spider-Man's mask, exposing pale skin at the base of his neck. He clicks the pen and jams the needle into the side of the kid's neck, probably a bit more rough than necessary judging by the kid's yelp of pain. Frank manages to hold it steady for a solid second before Spider-Man shakes him off with a yell filled with both terror and fury. Frank stumbles back, but he's back on his feet before Spider-Man is.
Spider-Man totters to the side and meets the ground with his knees. Frank crouches down to pick him up, and the kid lets out another infuriated shout as he shirks away from Frank's steadying arms. His chest collides against the floor with a thud that results in a whimper.
"Sorry, kid," Frank grunts as he grabs him by the legs and hoists him up. Spider-Man's upper body dangles over Frank's shoulder. He can feel the kid's heart pounding against his back and hear quick, frantic breaths coming from his nose. Spider-Man's head jerks against Frank's back in what's probably supposed to be an offensive maneuver against him. Frank ignores it in favor of securing the kid and booking it to the door.
He bursts out just in time before the building falls into nothing behind him. Frank's panting and he uses his free hand to wipe away the dust and sweat gathered at his forehead.
"Is he okay?" a small, hesitant voice asks with a finger pointed at Spider-Man.
Frank turns his attention to the little kids, huddled together in the cold November air, and gives an absent nod. "He'll be fine. Just passed out."
Spider-Man scoffs at that, unable to protest.
"What about May?" another kid wonders.
"She'll be fine too. She stopped to rest," he lies, because they're kids. Yet he can't help but feel a flash of guilt when Spider-Man's breathing stills for a moment at his words.
That's when he hears a siren in the distance, so he ushers the children to a tree by the road. "Tell the officer what happened. Shout to get his attention and don't go anywhere until he gets here. I've got to go."
He's surprised that there's not a single protest; they're either all silent or nod gravely. It tugs at something in his chest, but it's the answer he wanted so he's in no position to complain. Frank shifts his grip on Spider-Man's boneless form and leaves for his van parked around back. He momentarily considers leaving Spider-Man for the police, but his gut tells him that that would be far worse for the kid in the long run.
"I'm sorry," Frank says again as if it had any more meaning than the first time once the kids are well out of earshot. "She was gone, kid. She was dead."
Spider-Man can't respond, so Frank's not sure why he pauses like he expects him to. When they finally get to his van, Frank opens the passenger door and slumps Spider-Man onto the seat. He almost immediately takes a nosedive for the dashboard, so Frank has to catch him and prop him up as he buckles his seatbelt. He tilts the seat back more so Spider-Man can rest his head back instead of having it loll over his chest. Frank instinctively looks up at the kid's eyes to try to gauge if he's uncomfortable, yet the mask that meets him instead tells him nothing.
Frank tightens his jaw as he studies the kid. Red had been relieved when Frank hadn't taken off his mask. He bet this kid would feel the same in that regard. At least Red had the lower half of his face exposed and he could read something. That mask of Spider-Man's surely couldn't help with breathing either. Slowly, Frank reaches out to grab the edge of the mask underneath the kid's chin. "I'm just gonna pull it up to your nose. No higher," he asserts before peeling up the mask.
The lower half of the kid's face is blank, save for two identical streaks of wet that go down to his upper lip.
Frank doesn't stare. He looks the kid over, his gaze settling on a long, deep cut on Spider-Man's calf. There's another gash between the kid's hip and his ribs that's quickly gathering blood. "Gonna need to stitch those up. Probably hurts like a bitch," he comments after remembering that this kid wasn't on a painkiller either. He could be—no, most certainly is—experiencing one of the worst pains in his short life and is unable to say a single thing about it. "I'll check if I've got anything for ya."
Frank closes the door. He opens the back and scans it with a frown. He isn't big on painkillers; he has a half-empty bottle of ibuprofen in his first aid kit and the kid couldn't swallow. He follows a hazy memory and zips open the outside pocket of a duffle bag. He lets out a short hum when he spots the tiny glass bottle inside. Nabbed it off some nurse that moonlighted as a drug dealer, he's pretty sure. He picks up the bottle and turns it over in his fingers to better study the label. He skims for pain reliever or analgesicand mutters a quick "dammit" when nothing comes up.
The thought crosses his mind that he has no idea how long the paralytic will last, especially with whatever weird enhancements Spider-Man's got going for him. More importantly, he has no idea how the kid's going to react once it passes. Whoever May was, they were close, and Frank knows more than most how watching your family die around you can fuck you up. He could handle a crying Spider-Man or a pissed Spider-Man or a numb-to-the-world Spider-Man, but the kid's got super strength. Frank's not sure what he can do if the kid tries to grab the wheel while he's driving.
So he reads the label again with a furrowed brow. Midazolam. Hypnotic, anticonvulsant, amnesic. Frank gives a considering nod. He could handle a drowsy Spider-Man. Besides, a knocked-out Spider-Man would be much less bothered by his wounds. He makes his decision when he determines that he'd much rather not risk the kid memorizing the route to their warehouse set-up and trying something stupid. He stuffs the Midazolam in his pocket and grabs a roll of bandages, rubbing alcohol, gauze, and some medical tape before he shuts the back and returns to the passenger door.
"Not gonna let you bleed all over my car," Frank offers as an explanation as he wraps the bandage around the kid's leg. He follows with carefully placing a pad of gauze between the slash in the kid's suit and the wound by his stomach and tapes it down.
He pulls out the rubbing alcohol and another pad of gauze next and pours a small amount over the cotton. Fortunately for him, there's a tear in the suit on Spider-Man's upper arm that only results in a scratch that'll heal fine on its own. He pushes the spandex up and cleans a patch of skin, making sure he's gentle as he dabs and rubs at it with the cotton. A forceful exhale comes from the kid's nose, bringing Frank's attention to his face.
The pulse point on his neck below the corner of his jaw is hammering at a pace Frank usually sees on shitbags when he holds the barrel of a gun to their temple. This kid—kid—is terrified out of his wits. Spider-Man or not, this is a child being manhandled into the van of a prolific mass killer after witnessing someone who Frank bet was his mother get killed right in front of his eyes. Not only that, he's paralyzed and unable to do anything about it. Of course he's having a panic attack.
"I'm cleaning up your arm," Frank narrates as he turns over the swab to get rid of the grime. "It's only rubbing alcohol. I'm not gonna kill you, kid. Not gonna hurt you either. I'm leaving your mask on, so don't freak out on me about your identity. I'm going to take you somewhere I can stitch you up proper."
Frank's already got him where he wants him, so he hopes that Spider-Man realizes that Frank would find no point in trying to comfort him unless he means it. But the kid's pulse doesn't slow. Frank sets down the swab to reach for the syringe-pen and empties the cartridge to replace it. As he starts to suck up the Midazolam from the bottle, the kid takes a sharp breath.
"Relax," Frank gruffly assures. "This is just gonna tap you out for a while, make the ride a little smoother and help with the pain. That's all."
If his nostrils flaring and the small grunt coming from the back of his throat is anything to go by, Spider-Man is not consoled. Frank doesn't blame him. But he doesn't have time for this, so he squeezes the kid's bicep and presses the head of the pen into the cleaned skin. When he injects the drug, he's able to get it all in this time.
He ducks through the door into the driver's seat when he notices a police car through the trees. He twists the key in the ignition and backs out, careful to drive in the opposite direction of the police car due to the masked vigilante in his front seat. He spends a minute or two weaving out through the back alleys and takes a breath of relief when he makes it to a main road without a hitch.
He sets on course to the warehouse and splits his attention between Spider-Man and the road when the kid sniffles and emits a quick whine. Spider-Man's jaw drops and his tongue sloppily moves over his lips as he makes a short noise from the back of his throat. "You trying to talk?" Frank guesses. "Believe me, kid, we're gonna have a long talk later. So save it."
To emphasize his point, Frank turns on the radio. He messes with the volume dial until the music was just loud enough for the lyrics to be discernible so he doesn't have to strain to listen to them, yet still only barely louder than the sound of the road and cars around him. A perfect white noise that doubled as a silent agreement between him and Maria to shut up whenever one of them changed the volume to this level. Combined with the movement of the car, it almost never failed to lull the kids to sleep. Lisa and Frankie would usually be out in less than fifteen minutes whenever they pulled this, but Frank never got the chance to see if it still worked on teenagers.
Spider-Man closes his mouth and works his tongue on the inside of his jaw. Frank watches him out of the corner of his eye as he drives and waits for the fifteen minutes to tick by. He's not sure if it's the drug, the trauma, or the music that finally takes him, but Spider-Man's breaths are deep and even in only five. Once he's properly unconscious, Frank fishes his phone out of his pocket and dials David's number while keeping his other hand tight on the wheel.
"Was he there?" comes David's voice instead of a greeting.
"Probably. Check the casualty list once it comes up."
"Probably?" David echoes. "You didn't take him, then? But you did see him? You remember what he looks li-"
"The building collapsed before I could do a headcount. Every one of those bastards bit it, I can tell you that." Frank paused, glancing at Spider-Man in the seat beside him. "Still ended up using that pen, though."
David takes a second to process this. "Who's with you?"
"Remember that blue and red spider guy?"
David makes a slightly strangled noise. "Hold on- Frank, did you- Are you telling me you kidnapped Spider-Man?"
"I didn't kidna-" he starts immediately, but quickly breaks himself off because yeah, that's pretty much what he did. "Look, he was there when I showed up. Told me they got some hostages in the basement—a bunch of elementary schoolers. So we busted them out, but the building was rigged. We got all the kids, but there's one hostage that's middle-aged; I'd ballpark her around forty-five. She got crushed under the rubble, and she must've been Spider-Man's mom or something by how hysterical he got trying to free her. She was already dead, David. I had to dose him to drag him out of there so he didn't get himself killed."
"So Spider-Man's, what, a teenager?" David says after a brief silence. "And you just dragged him away from his mom's dead body?"
Frank takes a small breath. "Yeah."
"Shit. We- We gotta find his dad or something."
"He's banged up. I'm taking him to the warehouse to stitch him up first; he can't go to a hospital without raising suspicion."
"So he's just paralyzed and bleeding out in your van right now? Jesus, Frank, he's probably scared shitless-"
"He's clocked out. Midazolam. Found it in the back."
"Of course you did," David mutters. "Wait, sorry, that's hypocritical of me. I think I've got a reversal of Midazolam in here somewhere. ETA?"
"Thirty," Frank says with a quick glance at the clock.
"Good luck." With that, David ends the call.
Frank casts another look at Spider-Man. He's completely relaxed as he slowly breathes in through his nose and out through his parted lips. His face is slack and Frank would even call it peaceful if he didn't know any better. Frank lets out a small sigh and shakes his head. "You're gonna need all that luck, kid."