One second, Peter was running through the trees, trying to resist the invisible weights attached to his limbs that kept getting heavier and heavier. He made an effort to push past the haze creeping along the edge of his mind and knew that all he had to do was shake the Punisher off his tail before he could allow whatever they had injected him with to run its course. But his body quickly started to betray him, forcing him to collapse against a tree to avoid face-planting on the ground. He remembers looking up at the Punisher and begging him to leave.
The next second Peter is lying back on the couch, his head propped up on a small pile of pillows. A blanket's on top of him, heavy and warm against the cold warehouse air. There's a dip in the cushions where he lays as if he's been there for a while, but it feels like he just teleported here from the forest.
His confusion turns into panic in a heartbeat when he realizes his vision is unfiltered by his lenses. He jolts up, his heart doing a flip in his chest as he runs a hand down his face and notes that his web-shooters are gone too. The realization comes a bit too sluggishly, a fog still in his mind that makes thinking difficult. A part of him is grateful for it though, for a reason he gladly can't dig into. Unfortunately, the burning in his chest, his wounds, and his stinging ankle is unfiltered. He curls in on himself for a moment, wincing from the pain.
Before he can decide on a course of action, there's a creak and a rolling noise as a guy in a swivel chair wheels out from behind a set-up of computers. His messy hair goes down to his neck and is parted on the side, framing his face in hair with his medium-length beard. He's wearing jeans and a button-down under a faded jacket, looking more like the picture of stress than anyone with malicious intent. But Peter recognizes him from before as the guy who gave him both the painkiller and whatever knock-out drug that was, and he's clearly in cahoots with the Punisher. The Punisher's Guy in the Chair, probably. Yet after how his Spider Sense raged in the Punisher's presence, the silence in his head around this guy was a relief.
The Punisher. Peter scans the room for the man, but he is nowhere to be found. "Where's the Punisher?" he demands in a voice that he hopes is more intimidating than he feels.
Swivel Chair Guy's eyebrows shoot up. "Oh, you're awake."
He says it like an observation, not a problem, so Peter supposes that's something. He doesn't look very intimidated, though. If anything, Peter's the one more unnerved.Had Peter seemed awake earlier? Had he said anything? God, he hasn't told them his identity, has he? He took a breath and tried not to think about the gaping black hole in his memory. "Where is he?" Peter tries again.
"Supply run. We're on the outskirts of Hempstead, by the way. And I'm David. Or Micro, if you're into those codenames. You asked earlier."
Peter's thrown by how readily he gives the information and his relaxed demeanor. There has to be a catch. But there is no latch on the warehouse door or shackles on his feet that keeps him in place. There doesn't seem to be anything stopping Peter from getting up and leaving right now.
His confusion must be visible because David clears his throat and scoots toward him. "Frank said to keep you under. I was going to, but then…" He lets out a small chuckle and shakes his head. "My son's a huge Spider-Man fan. Out of all those crazy costumed guys out there, you're his favorite. You're my daughter's second favorite, but it's second to Thor, so I wouldn't be upset. And if I let slip that I met you, they'd beg to hear about you. 'Dad, dad, I can't believe you met Spider-Man!' What's he like?' You know?"
David raises his voice and waves his hands in a mock excited gesture. Normally Peter would find himself glowing upon hearing that a kid liked him more than Iron Man or even Thor, but the information feels like just that: information. No real meaning behind it, just numbly processing itself in his brain. He hopes that due to the drugs and not something else.
David slumps a little at his nonreaction, but continues nonetheless. "'I have no idea, I kept him drugged the entire time,' isn't a very good response."
"How long was I out?" Peter says in lieu of a reply.
David glances over at the monitors. "About four hours. It's half past nine. Dunno why Frank's not back yet. Four hours is usually more than enough time for me to do my thing, though. But nope; not with you. I tried matching your face with criminal records, local high school sports teams, scoured over videos of you on YouTube, hell, even looked into the leaked SHIELD files—nothing. I guess I should congratulate you on a clean record, but it makes my job more difficult, so."
Peter's jaw drops open and he traces a hand down his maskless face, taking a moment to process David's blatant admission. "You- You're trying to get my identity?"
"I'm not planning on telling that part to my kids, if it's any consolation. Zach is always talking about how smart you are. A smart person trying to hide their identity as a vigilante would keep a low profile. Or maybe being Spider-Man cuts down way too much on your free time. Regardless, I don't think I'm going to get very far." He gives a small shrug and pushes himself to his feet before stretching his arms out in front of him. "You win. I've moved on to that Mac Gargan guy. Soda?"
Is he serious? What's stopping Peter from walking out the door right then and there? Out of the corner of his eye, he sees David walk back to the computers and bend down to open a mini-fridge by the desk, taking Peter out of his line of sight as he rummages inside. Peter quietly stands, holding back a wince as he puts weight on his foot that he's sure is sprained while taking a step toward the door. He needs to get out of here, to get away from these kidnappers and back to his own apartment and- and- Peter freezes in his tracks and swallows. Check the hospital for May, a voice in the back of his mind suggests. It's what he said he was going to do, after all. But a part of him that he doesn't want to acknowledge is terrified of what he'll find, of what he won't find, if May-
Peter squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. He spies his mask sitting on a table next to a monitor, so he grabs it off before David can see. Maybe he could talk to Karen and get some insight. But when he peers inside the mask, he's able to notice a crack on the very edge of one of the eye lenses and some kind of wiring sticking through, snapped in half. A tear spreads along the seams from his forehead to his ear. Broken. Very broken. Which meant Karen was offline.
"I've got vanilla Coke, Mountain Dew, and Sprite. Oh, and one can of Root Beer. What'll it be?" David asks, poking his head up from the fridge.
"I…" Peter should refuse. He knows that. That would be the smart thing to do. To run out of here while he had the chance before the Punisher came back. To run out of here and go to… somewhere. And be left alone with his own thoughts, thoughts that he honestly doesn't want to begin to decipher. Peter swallows, the motion bringing attention to just how dry his mouth was. "Coke."
The fridge closes a second later and David's walking up to him, a Coke and Mountain Dew in one hand as he dragged the swivel chair behind him with the other. If he thinks anything of Peter standing closer to the door, he doesn't comment. He just passes Peter the Coke then moves the chair closer to the couch and sits down.
After a moment of hesitation, Peter numbly follows and sits back on the couch. He has to shift the Coke to his other hand to keep it from getting too cold, but he's grateful for it when he pops it open and takes a sip. The soda fizzes in his mouth and bubbles down his throat and Peter realizes how thirsty he is. He downs a large gulp and sets it down on the couch to hold it between his legs.
"You know, Zach and Leo were having an argument about you last week. He thinks you were born with your powers. Some kind of crazy mutation or something. She thinks it's alien-related, and I'm team Hulk-style radiation accident." David locks his eyes on Peter as he takes a long drink from the soda.
Peter can't see the harm in answering, so he mumbles, "Radioactive spider bite."
"Seriously? That's way cooler than what we came up with. But this had to be at a lab or something, right? You weren't just at the laundromat and found a radioactive spider in your underwear? C'mon kid, I'm gonna be paranoid," David prods.
Peter can see the danger of that answer. If he tells him where it happened, David might be able to match the time around when he became Spider-Man to the group of students visiting the labs. So he takes his time in downing half his soda and says nothing.
David raises his hands in submission. "Okay, okay. It's fine, I like the mystery around it."
Peter tries to think of a response, but a ringing from David's pocket distracts him. David purses his lips and fishes out his phone—a burner, Peter notes—before opening and holding it to his ear.
"Hey, honey," David says with a tired smile. "Yeah, Frank- you know. But there's been a complication. Keep them out of school for the next few days, okay?" David pauses, his mouth twisting to a frown. "He threw up? Okay, fine, you told me he shouldn't have gone to Jack's." He sighs, shaking his head. "A hundred? Yeah, that's a fever. Sounds like the stomach flu to me. Good thing we're keeping them out anyway. I'll see if I can come home for the night." The corner of his mouth tugs upwards into a grin. "G'night. Love you."
"Your son's sick?" Peter surmises.
David closes the phone and shoves it back in his pocket, running a hand down his face. "It's my turn on puke clean-up duty." He takes another glug of the soda and presses his lips in a thin line, his expression quickly growing grim. "One of Mac Gargan's guys has been creeping around the school my kids go to. He's been taking pictures of my daughter and her friends, and I found out he deals in human trafficking when I dug into him and the police weren't doing anything about him. Look, I'm not a subscriber to Frank's philosophy. Killing isn't my go-to answer for all my problems. But the guy was after my daughter."
Peter meets David's gaze and when he sees the mixture of anguish, determination, and fury, he thinks he gets it. He doesn't agree with it, but he gets it.
His Spider Sense warns him, but Peter still jumps and sets his drink aside when the warehouse door creaks open. He whips around to see the Punisher standing in the entryway, a duffle bag in one hand and some plastic grocery bags in the other. He goes stiff when his eyes fall on Peter and he curls his hands around the grocery bag handles the same way someone would hold an impromptu weapon.
"Hey, Frank. Spidey here was just telling me that a radioactive spider bite gave him his powers. How weird is that?" David says, shooting the Punisher a look that Peter couldn't read.
The Punisher uncurls his hands around the bag and steps into the room, then kicks the door shut behind him. He silently sets down the duffle and the bags next to the couch before standing to his full height, glancing between Peter and David with narrowed eyes until his gaze settles on David.
"Bad news," David starts, standing up to be eye level with Frank. "Sarah called. Zach's down with the stomach flu and it's my turn on barf duty."
Peter waits for the Punisher to scoff and order David to get back to work or to yell at him about his clear failure to do anything right regarding Peter, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward and he gives a tiny shake of his head. "Tell 'em I said hi. Can you be back tomorrow morning?"
"Provided barf duty is no longer required." David gives a helpless shrug and isn't stopped when he walks past Frank to the door. He pauses just before opening it to turn to Peter. "Your web thingies are in the leftmost drawers, third from the top in a manila folder. See you tomorrow, hopefully."
Peter has to resist the urge to ask David to come back as he slips out through the door, leaving him alone with the Punisher. Maybe now would be a good time to run. Before he can weigh the prospect, the Punisher bends down to rifle through his duffle and Peter tenses to prepare for him to pull out a gun. But when he stands, he's holding an armful of folded clothes.
He dumps them on the cushion next to Peter and briefly looks them over. "You can change into these. Your suit reeks."
Peter's initial response is to cross his arms and refuse before he sniffs and realizes that yeah, his suit does reek. Dust and plaster coat him from head to toe and the blue on his side and leg where he'd been cut is a lot redder than it was supposed to be. He prepares to ask where the bathroom was before he recalls that the Punisher already stripped him of his suit before. So he gets off the couch and faces away from the man as he deactivates the vacuum seal to pull the suit off.
He grabs a pair of sweatpants that look surprisingly comfy, but the Punisher speaks before he can put them on. "Hold up. Let me look over your wounds."
Peter takes a second to realize that would be another dumb thing to refuse. He faces the Punisher and sits back on the couch, really looking at the gashes on his leg and torso for the first time. He doesn't remember getting them stitched up, but he's kind of grateful for that part. Now that he cares to pay attention to them, the pain that pinged his consciousness before dials up to a throbbing.
The Punisher squats down next to him, staring them over with a critical eye. "Mmm. Yeah, that's some freaky healing shit right there." Peter furrows his brow. The wounds look pretty nasty to him now. What did they look like before? "I'll be able to remove the stitches in two days at this rate. But you opened the one on your stomach, so I'm gonna need to close it."
Peter could barely process the second sentence. Two days? The Punisher assumes that Peter would be here for two days? Peter opens his mouth to correct him before slowly closing it. He doesn't really want to think about where he should be in two days.
The Punisher takes his silence as an agreement, so he picks up the first aid kit resting by the couch and opens it next to him. But instead of reaching for the needle and thread, the first thing his fingers wrap around is another syringe filled with a clear liquid. Peter automatically jerks away to the further cushion. "I'm not taking that."
The Punisher holds up the syringe and frowns. "It's painkiller. You're gonna want it, trust me."
Peter tightens his jaw. David told him the Punisher had wanted to keep him sedated. "I don't believe you," he says slowly.
The Punisher gives an exasperated sigh. He grabs a small bottle out of the kit and passes it to Peter. Codeine, it reads. Opiate; for mild to moderate pain. A list of drug interactions was written below it, but that wouldn't help Peter much.
"How do I know that what's in there is Codeine?" Peter says, scooting back further when the Punisher makes a move toward him with the syringe.
"Jesus Christ," the Punisher mutters. He sets the syringe down next to him and holds out an expectant hand. Peter returns the Codeine to him and watches as he grabs an empty syringe and extends the plunger to suck up the drug. "We good?"
Peter shifts back to where he was before. He holds out his arm and tries not to wince when the Punisher stabs the needle into his bicep after cleaning it. The throbbing begins to ebb away soon after, and Peter feels his breathing beginning to even out as the Punisher threads the needle.
"It can make you tired, but it shouldn't do anything else to your head. You're gonna have to lie down for this," he states.
Peter grits his teeth as he lies back against the pillows, exposing his stomach to the Punisher. His Spider Sense pings again, protesting against such a vulnerable position, but logic overrides it and tells him that the Punisher wouldn't have spent his time stitching Peter up if he intended to hurt him later. Peter looks away as the man gets to work. The needle sewing through his skin probably isn't as painful as it could've been, but Peter still wishes for a distraction. "Why are you doing this? Wouldn't it have been easier for you to just drop me off at a hospital?"
"Easier, yeah. Would've screwed you over, though. Your identity would be in the headlines by now," the Punisher replies, not looking up from his work.
Peter knows this already, so he clarifies. "But why do you care? Why go this far out of your way for me?"
"Because you're a kid." He says it simply and with finality, as if that's supposed to be enough for Peter or make any sense. He must be able to feel Peter's stare, because he continues, "A stupid-ass kid, but a kid. And somehow, you got superpowers. Radioactive spider bite or not, I don't give a shit. But if I had gotten super strength, wall-climbing, or whatever other shit you've got going for you when I was your age…" He trails off, shaking his head with a small chuckle. "I picked fights all the time. I liked to hurt people. I definitely wouldn't have been going around the city to help people out. I don't think most kids would."
Peter blinks, not sure how to take such a surprisingly candid answer. That a famous serial killer was tending to his wounds and keeping him out of police custody because he thought Peter was a good person. That is… not how Peter thought the Punisher worked. More punishing, less altruism.
Nope, nope, don't think like that, Peter chides himself. He's a mass murderer. He drugged you and brought you to a secondary location without your permission. The only reason you're not running away right now is because he provides free healthcare. Stockholm Syndrome bad.
The Punisher ties off the final stitch and gives a satisfied nod. Peter puts on the sweatpants then grabs a plain gray folded t-shirt and pulls it over his head as the Punisher walks back to the plastic bags, picks one up, and presents to Peter two sandwiches wrapped in paper. "Turkey or ham?"
"I'm not hungry," Peter says, more to be perverse than truthful. The sandwiches smell good.
The Punisher is unphased. He walks to the mini-fridge and puts one of the sandwiches inside before returning with a bottle of water and his sandwich in hand. He sits back on the swivel chair and unwraps his sandwich, taking large bites without a second glance at Peter. Peter nurses his Coke, trying to reel in his thoughts.
Any other day, he would've webbed up the Punisher and left him for the police. But he was an extra pair of arms, and there were little kids in danger that needed to get out of it as quick as possible, and he knew that the Punisher didn't hurt kids. So he asked for his assistance out of necessity and everything had devolved from there. Calling the police on him now after everything he'd done for Peter, albeit unwarranted, feels like a dick move. Judging by how the Punisher had briefly provided him with a phone, he seems confident of this too. Still, the Punisher isn't a good guy. Peter knows that. May definitely wouldn't want him to be in his company. May would-
Peter closes his eyes and clenches his hand around the soda can.
"So Mac Gargan knows your identity. How many people would he have told? A select few or his whole gang?" the Punisher asks between bites.
Peter's silently grateful for the distraction. "I dunno. Never got the pleasure to know the guy."
The Punisher swallows a mouthful and leans in, fixing Peter with a hooded gaze. "Based off what you do know, I need you to think about this very carefully: does he want to kill you?"
Peter presses his lips in a tight line. "I- I think he does," he answers quietly. "Especially after-" Peter clamps his mouth shut before he can say especially after he ran out of ways to hurt me. Because that isn't true. Ned's his friend, and Peter knows he'd be more than upset if he was hurt. But Mac Gargan probably couldn't figure out who his friends were. Hopefully. Besides, May is still- she has to be-
"So you've got a target on your back," the Punisher states.
Peter's not sure he likes where this is going. "That makes it sound like there are bounty hunters after me. And even if there were, I could handle it. Spider powers, 'n all."
He forces a smile, but the Punisher's expression remains the same. "Okay," the Punisher begins, clasping his hands together and resting the sandwich on his lap. "I'm Mac Gargan. I want to kill Spider-Man, even more so after he and Frank Castle killed off a dozen of my boys. But-"
"I didn't kill anyone," Peter corrects quickly.
"No, but Gargan doesn't know that," the Punisher points out, impatience flashing across his face. "Until all the bodies are dug up and the cause of death is determined, all he's got are the eyewitness accounts of a bunch of elementary schoolers. And whether you like it or not, those kids are gonna tell it like we buddied up for this. 'This is my big, scary friend,' remember?"
Peter swallows. As much as he hates to admit it, the Punisher's got a point. "So what are you saying?"
"That the only thing keeping them from tracking you down or offing anyone else you've ever talked to is they think you've got a big, scary friend." A smirk flashes across his face.
Offing anyone else? "May's not dead," Peter says reflexively. The Punisher takes a breath to comment, so Peter barrels on, "Besides, I don't want to associate with you."
"Then don't," the Punisher replies bluntly. "But until the autopsy results point to me, Gargan won't want to wait to ask you for clarification. If he or any of his guys see you swingin' around, they're not gonna want to give you a chance to explain yourself before taking the shot. And they know who you are. They'll be watching for you at your school, and if you show up it becomes a shooting ground. Do yourself a favor and lie low."
Peter doesn't like it, but the Punisher is right. A part of him wishes he remembers Happy's number so he could've called it while another part of him is glad for the excuse. He's not sure he could handle talking to such a familiar voice, and that's if Happy even picked up in the first place. And then it would all get funneled to Mr. Stark—Peter's not sure how he would react if he found out Peter had let himself get kidnapped. Would he be mad? Would he take away Peter's suit? Would he even care?
It's not like he's ever there when it matters.
"So- So I'm just supposed to sit here and twiddle my thumbs with you?"
"I don't plan on hangin' around, but yeah," the Punisher says, finishing off his sandwich.
"How long until the autopsy results are released?"
The Punisher shrugs. "Preliminary results can be released within twenty-four hours. But they're gonna have a lot of autopsies to do." Peter's face must reflect his dismay because the Punisher raises his eyebrows and leans forward. "I know you don't like it, but I'm not gonna let you get yourself or anyone else killed if you're stupid enough to think you can handle yourself against these guys. So are you going to cooperate or are you gonna be difficult?"
Peter narrows his eyes. The Punisher says it like he's asking a five-year-old, expecting the negative answer but asking anyway so whatever happens next, the fault could be put on Peter alone. It's frustrating and it made Peter want to be difficult even more based on the pure principle of the matter, but a quick cost-benefit analysis told him 'difficult' would be the wrong answer here. Besides, he has a feeling that he wouldn't have much of a say anyway if he took the difficult route. He doesn't like the prospect of getting drugged again, and with David gone, he doesn't know how much time he'd end up losing.
Still, 'cooperated with the Punisher' isn't something he wants on his resume. So he bites his lip and clenches his jaw, giving the Punisher his best glare.
The Punisher huffs. "Smart choice." With that, he gets to his feet and begins to make his way toward the door. "You're eating something in the morning. Bathroom's in the corner if you wanna piss or freshen yourself up. No shower, but I'll get you one by tomorrow," he says, not bothering to turn to face Peter. He locks the door before flicking the lightswitch and the warehouse goes dark all at once. Peter's eyes adjust quickly to the light provided by the monitors, allowing him to track the Punisher as he makes his way to a cot that is assembled against the wall.
He pulls back the covers and unceremoniously lays in his bed and pulls up the blankets, on his side with his back to Peter. His arm is partially under the pillow, and Peter would be surprised if he isn't clutching a gun in his hand. The abruptness of it all leaves Peter a bit flustered, and he lets out a small cough when thirty seconds of nothing pass between them.
"What?" the Punisher snaps, saying it more like a demand than a question.
"Are you-" Peter cuts himself off before he can ask are you sleeping, realizing the scathing response he'd receive.
"Not all of us have superpowers, kid. You gonna tell me you're nocturnal too?" he growls, though his form remains perfectly still.
Peter shrugs and rests his head back on the pillows. "Spiders don't sleep."
The Punisher sighs. "Then you gonna try to crawl in my mouth or something?"
Is that a joke? He said it in the same gravelly, threatening tone he says everything else in and Peter can't see his face to get any clues. Drowsiness is beginning to itch at the edge of his mind, making the question too hard to ponder for long. "That's a myth. Spiders don't do that."
"Spiders don't talk either."
A quip forms on Peter's tongue but he swallows it back. He could sneak out of here once the Punisher was asleep. That thought was almost immediately countered with a should I? He doesn't exactly have any safe houses to go to. And like the Punisher pointed out, he couldn't stay with anyone without endangering them also. Besides, keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer, right? The Punisher couldn't kill anyone as long he was here with Peter. And he didn't seem to have any desire to hurt Peter either. This was pretty much as close to a safe house he was gonna get. No one in Gargan's gang would be suicidal enough to try to track down the Punisher.
Peter grabs the blanket and brings it up to his chin. A part of him wonders at how he's tired after being knocked out for such a large portion of the day, especially considering how he should be geared for the danger he knew he was in now. But exhaustion feels like a heavy weight against his chest, pushing down at his eyelids and the desire to sink into the warm blanket is becoming overwhelming. A distant voice in his brain warns him that this is just the Codeine talking, but Peter couldn't bring himself to argue against it.
He lets his eyes fall closed and his mind slip away.