The clock reads 1:39 PM when Frank swerves into the motel parking lot.

He hadn't even spent five minutes at the warehouse before realizing he needed to book it back to the kid. The place looked like it got hit by a hurricane. The door was blown in, the edges singed black and the handle misshapen as if something had exploded next to it. The damage was targeted enough that Frank would guess high-tech military-grade weaponry if he didn't know any better. A brief skim of the warehouse told him that the couch was facing a different wall and his protective vest wasn't where he left it. More importantly, the computer was missing and the kid's costume wasn't anywhere in sight.

They weren't going for subtlety. Doesn't seem like they were going for much either. The place wasn't ransacked, as Frank's guns remained disassembled and undisturbed in their drawers. Hell, even Peter's web things were still in the folder David had dropped them in. If Frank had to guess, he'd bet that Gargan got pissed when he found the warehouse empty and took it out on the room. Snatched the Spider-Man suit as bait, maybe. As if Frank would let the kid be that stupid.

He puts the car into park and opens the door in the same movement. He wastes no time in getting to the motel room door, giving a short knock as he twists the key in the lock. Frank pushes inside and relocks it behind him after giving the room a quick once-over. The gun hasn't moved an inch and a folded piece of paper lies on the nightstand—probably the kid's letter to his friend.

The kid in question is splayed out on his stomach on the bed furthest from the door. He's on top of the bedspread and his forearms are tucked under the pillow that his cheek is pressed into. Despite the fact that he's facing the door, his face doesn't even twitch when Frank enters. Heavy sleeping isn't ideal for what they're doing, though Frank could just as easily chalk it up to the exhaustion catching up with him. Regardless, Peter clearly needs the rest, so Frank steps lightly as he fetches his handgun even if he knows that thirty more seconds won't do the kid much good.

Frank's not sure why he pauses when he rounds the bed to rouse the kid, just stands there uselessly for a moment and watches his back rise and fall as he breathes.

Frankie used to sleep on his stomach.

"C'mon, Pete," Frank says, resting his hand on Peter's shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. "Up and at 'em."

Peter's eyelids flicker open as he takes a sharp breath before propping himself up. He must've passed out with his hair still wet, and the way it's flattened against the side of his head doesn't do him any favors. His brow goes tight when his eyes meet Frank's face, but it's quick to smooth out with a barely audible, "Oh."

Frank can sense disappointment there, but there's not much he can do about it. So he offers what he can, reaching into his pocket and dropping the kid's web things by his side once he rolls himself over to his back.

Peter perks up a little at that. He grabs the device and places it on the back of his wrist and gives Frank a glimpse of how the things actually work. They looked like innocuous rectangular devices when Frank nabbed them, unrecognizable to the point where he was unsure if he correctly remembered where David said he stashed them. But as soon as it rests against Peter's skin, the device swiftly unfolds and wraps itself around his wrist. What looks to be a button makes itself at home in Peter's palm, probably what the kid pushed to get the webs to shoot out.

"You make those?" Frank can't help but wonder as Peter applies the second device.

"Hm?" Peter looks up at him and follows Frank's gaze down to his wrists. "Oh, I- kind of. The web formula's mine. Er, most of them. I provided the prototype for the first web-shooter, but this version is mostly-" Abruptly, Peter cuts himself off and snaps his jaw shut. He clears his throat as he rubs at one of the web-shooters with his opposite hand.

Frank pointedly lowers his chin and raises his eyebrows.

The kid pretends he doesn't see him for a second before he peers up and tries, "Classified?"

Frank lets out a short chuckle. He used to be very familiar with that response, though it was never delivered with such uncertainty. It's like the kid's testing it out to see if he can get away with it more than anything. In any case, it's better than being fed another bullshit answer, so Frank makes a show of holding up hands and stepping back.

Peter sits up as Frank lowers himself on the opposite bed, hoping that the kid wouldn't take note of how he's putting himself between him and the door. He waits until he has Peter's full attention and speaks in a level voice. "Gargan's men found the warehouse. Busted in the door with some kind of high-tech shit. Your suit wasn't there."

Peter's expression blanks and for a second Frank thinks they're in the clear. Then his hand grows tight around the edge of the bed, the only warning before he jumps to his feet. Frank's quick enough to match his movement. But Peter's learned from his mistakes, backing up once he gauges Frank's position.

"I have to get it back," he pleads, searching Frank's eyes. "It's all I have, Mr. Castle, I can't let them- they already took my-"

"It's a trap and you know it," Frank interrupts. That shuts him up. His jaw clamps closed and his eyes drop back to the ground. When Frank takes a slow step toward him, he doesn't react. "You know that, don't you?"

Peter gratifies him with a nod.

"Good."

The kid looks like he means it, too. Whether or not he's smart enough to not walk straight into what he knows is a trap is still beyond Frank. He'll run out of safety into a collapsing building or a convenience store full of guys who want to shoot him if he thinks there are people to save. Frank doesn't think that it extends to objects, but he resolves to keep a close eye on the kid anyway. Stupid tends to be unpredictable.

Frank goes to return his phone to his person when Peter clears his throat. "Hey, Mr. Castle?"

Frank gives him a questioning grunt as he shoves the phone back in his pocket.

"I won't freak out about my suit if you won't freak out about my bad news."

That's definitely one of the stranger bargains someone's tried to make with him, but it makes Frank freeze nonetheless. He slowly turns to face the kid, who responds by shrinking back onto the bed. "What did you do?" he growls.

"I just wanted to call May, that's all, I swear," Peter rushes out. "I thought I'd get her voicemail, but this- this officer guy picks up because apparently her phone's at the station or something and-"

Fuck. It seems that stupid has a head start. "Shit," he hisses as he runs his hand down his face. Frank rounds on the kid. His back is hunched and his arms are folded close to his sides, fully avoiding looking at Frank's face. He ducks a little lower to make himself even smaller, fully preparing himself for Frank's wrath. Frank stops in his tracks and steps back. "What'd you tell him? What did you tell him?"

"That I was a friend from work! I changed my voice and everything! They're- They're going through her phone as evidence or something, and apparently they're looking for me- for Peter, and I hung up right after that. Besides, they can't track burners, right?"

Even if they wouldn't be able to trace the kid's call, a random number calling a dead woman's phone and suddenly hanging up would undoubtedly ping their radar as suspicious. It wouldn't take long for them to guess that it was Peter if they dug into it. The dumbass. How had he dealt with these situations with his own kids? There was a Goldilocks zone of discipline he'd learned to find, harsh enough to discourage the same fuck-up but lenient enough to not put them off telling him about future fuck-ups.

Then again, the kid already lost his aunt and his suit, and he's already well-aware of his mistake. "Okay," Frank begins, softening his tone. He fishes a second burner out of his jacket, one he bought for the kid while he was out. "You take this. It has my number and Curt's. You don't dial anyone else. You got that?"

Slowly, Peter reaches out and accepts the phone. "Yes, sir."

There it is, the sir again. May must've raised him right, because manners like that are rare in his generation. Still, he finds himself frowning at the words. It's the exact same thing the soldiers under his command would respond with when given orders. Hearing it come out of the kid's mouth doesn't feel right. "Hey, cut it with the sir, all right?"

Peter's brow goes up a little in what might be surprise. Frank realizes that he's forgotten what a little shit he can be when the kid replies, "Sorry, sir."

Frank's about to tell him as much when his burner vibrates in his pocket. He pulls out his phone, fully expecting David's number, but the only thing on the screen is the text announcing Blocked Number.

"Who is it?" Peter asks, quickly picking up on his unease.

Frank has a guess. "Stay inside," he tells the kid. He slips out the door with a brief glance to ensure Peter listened, one hand on the phone while the other drifts to his gun. It's only when the door is closed and he's sure there's no one in sight that he flips the phone open. He holds it up to his ear and waits.

"Is this one Francis David Castle?" a voice comes after a beat. "Lieutenant of the Cerberus Squad, official unofficial triggerman on Ahmad Zubair?"

Frank can't help but scan the parking lot. That's not public information. The only record of that belongs to Homeland, so unless this asshole works for them, either he or people working for him have hacking skills that rival David's own. Frank knows this tactic; letting him glimpse at some of his cards to catch his attention and hint at the greater threat to come.

Fine. He'll bite. "I take it you're the guy who took the computer."

"That's just how I got this number," the man says, confirming Frank's suspicion. It's troubling, but David's smart enough to have more than one firewall. He doubts this spook could get past all of them. "What the CIA and Homeland have on you is a good read if you can access it. And the NYPD's looking at you for a gang massacre yesterday, but I'm sure you already knew that."

Frank says nothing and waits for the man to get to the point.

"You have something that doesn't belong to you."

There it is. "Is that right?" He risks a glance at Peter's shadow through the curtains.

The voice lets out a scoff. "You know, I prepared a whole speech and everything for this, but I feel like it would be lost on you."

Frank doesn't grace him with a response.

"Central Park, noon tomorrow. Bring the kid, unharmed, and I'll let you walk out with all your limbs still attached."

The spook just made it miles easier for him if he just gave Frank a time and place where he's gonna be. Then again, he'd be more than hypocritical if he berated Peter for wanting to waltz into a trap then walked into one of his own the next day. Besides, Frank knows more than anyone that there are too many civilians in a place like that that could get caught in the crossfire. He wonders if the asshole picked the place for that exact reason. "You know, it's tempting, really. I'd love to meet up, I would. Have a talk about it. 'Fraid I'm a bit preoccupied, though."

There's a beat of silence, then, "I'm going to find you, Castle."

"Yeah? Get in line."

With that, Frank snaps the phone closed. He sounded far too confident on his last line for Frank's liking. While Peter's right in that burners can't be tracked like normal phones, he's wrong in thinking that that means they're safe. The kid must not know that the signal can be triangulated through cell towers, and Frank has a feeling that this spook could pull it off.

Frank rushes back into the room and pops the cover off the phone to remove the battery and toss it in the trash. He removes the SIM card and drops it in an air vent on the floor before putting the rest of the phone with the battery.

"The computer was stolen?" Peter asks quietly, watching him from the bed with wide eyes.

Frank pauses. "You heard that?"

"Only your bits," Peter says with a small shrug. "I've got enhanced senses. Who was that?"

Peter might as well be a clone of Red at this point. Maybe Red can stick to walls too and he's just holding out on them. "Some asshole that thinks knowing a few computer tricks means he's clever."

Frank grabs Peter by the forearm and tugs him to the door. The kid pulls back at first, but only to grab his note from the nightstand before he quickly falls into line and allows Frank to lead him to the car. It's a midsize gray one, as inconspicuous as it comes. It even takes Peter a moment to notice where they're heading.

"How'd you get that?" The accusation isn't hidden in his voice.

"Took it from a guy who stole it. Relax—he's still breathin'." Breathing with a black eye and a broken arm, but breathing. He'd dropped his van off in a parking lot where no one should mind it and transferred a few choice weapons into the trunk. It's not ideal by any means, but Frank's not in any position to be picky. His answer does seem to satisfy the kid, though Frank knows that's not going to be the case for long.

Peter slides into the passenger's side as Frank starts the engine. The kid gets a glimpse of his bedhead in the rearview mirror and attempts to smooth it down, letting out huffs of frustration when his hair betrays him. They're barely out of the parking lot before Peter gives up and turns his focus out the window, but Frank can tell he's stewing on something from the number of side-eyes the kid keeps sending him.

"So are we on the run now?" Peter finally wonders. "Like in the movies? With the whole baseball caps and sunglasses get-up? And sketchy motels and fake IDs? Am I going to have to cut my hair? I really can't pull off much else, Mr. Castle."

He's babbling now, his voice just high enough to let Frank in on how scared he really is. At least Amy wasn't new to this part. Frank reaffirms his grip on the wheel. "Just do what I tell you and you'll be fine."

"So that's it, then?" Peter's eyes flick over Frank's face. He must not like what he sees, because the next thing he says is, "Just- Just let you stuff me in another random motel room and sit quietly while you go off and- I dunno, murder your way to a solution?"

Frank gives him a warning look, tapping his forefinger on the wheel. The kid's nervous energy is building on itself, and he looks about ready to use Frank as an outlet. The transition from sir to this is almost jarring, a window into just how much turmoil is taking root in the kid's head. Frank stays silent, giving the kid a chance to follow his example.

"Where's the line for you? How come car thieves get to walk away but gang members don't?" he pushes. "Or does it just come down to- to how generous you're feeling at the moment? What gives you the right to choose who lives or dies?"

Frank clenches his jaw. Jesus Christ. The kid's persistence is almost admirable if it isn't the grief making him lash out, but Frank recognizes that it's only going to escalate if he doesn't shut this down now. Peter's fingers are drumming on the button in the center of his palm and there's defiance in the stare that Frank would meet if he weren't driving. If the kid wants to start something, then Frank'll oblige.

"Let me lay it out for you," he growls, easing on the break to better split his focus between Peter and the road. Now that he's got Frank's attention, Peter suddenly seems less sure of himself. "Back at the gas station. You came out of the bathroom and you made the choice to throw that bottle, yeah?"

"Yeah," Peter says through his teeth.

"Now, I don't know what was going through your head when you did that. We both know you could've done more damage with that throw, but you didn't. Now maybe- maybe it was self-defense. They get me in a bind and finish me off, they go to you next, right? Maybe adrenaline was calling the shots. Or maybe when it boils down to me or him, you thought I was the one who had to make it out."

Peter swallows. "I- I didn't want you to kill him."

"But you knew I was going to, didn't you?" Frank challenges. "You knew that one of us was gonna go, and you made the call that it wasn't gonna be me. You made that choice."

The kid shakes his head insistently. "That- no. That wasn't a choice. Was I just supposed to let them strangle you? Or- Or beat you with that bat?"

Frank shrugs. "You could've. But that's not what you decided, is it? Fact is, you'd done somethin' different, he'd be alive and I'd be dead. Hell, you'd probably be dead too."

That hits him. His bottom lip wobbles as he turns away in the seat and takes a shaky breath. "I- I don't-"

"What? You don't what?" Frank snaps. "What's your way? Gargan's not gonna stop hunting you 'til your dead. You know that. You send him to prison, he spreads the word on your name and someone else gets out who wants your head. And they're gonna get it. Maybe in a week, maybe a year, but they're gonna get it. Maybe collect some of your friends' too. How many people do you save in a month, huh?"

The kid sniffs. "I'm not- I d-dunno."

"Every month after Gargan gets to you, that many people die. Or hell, we could just ignore it, right? I'd ship you down to Florida if you asked. Get you a new ID and set you up without a gang on your ass. Wouldn't chase after Gargan then. But then no more Spider-Man, and those people that you save? They die." Frank doesn't soften the blow.

Peter's hand is covering his mouth and his eyes are scrunched shut. Frank pauses, gives him a chance to speak, but for once the kid doesn't take it.

"You're in it now, kid, and there's no backing out. Whatever choice you make, people die."

Peter's sniffle is wet and his exhale makes his chest shudder. He turns his face away from Frank, but he can see the kid wiping at his eyes in the side mirror. He almost feels guilty for reducing the kid to this state, yet it's a lesson he needs to get through his head. Frank can stave off his sympathy for later. Peter needs to understand just what's at stake, feelings be damned.

Frank lowers his voice to a near-whisper. "The only call you have is which people end up in the ground."

Peter, as it turns out, is a big fan of the silent treatment. They're over an hour into the drive and the kid hasn't said a word to him, just staring out his window and refusing to so much as look at him in fear of acknowledging Frank's existence. Frank can't tell if it's more misery or resentment that fuels it, but the kid's going to have to get more creative with his arsenal if he wants to do damage.

No one could beat Lisa when it came to the silent treatment. Frank doesn't remember what he did that sparked it, but it must've been pretty serious to prompt her to give him the cold shoulder for three whole days at age nine. Less than a week after he came back from overseas, even. It was Maria that finally convinced her to talk to him again, ending the three-day span that had made him wish at times that he was back in the Middle East.

Frank's got a good enough read on Peter by now to know the kid's not capable of that. If he hasn't noticed they're back in Queens yet, it won't be long before he does, and Frank would be surprised if he's got no comment on it. It's a risk, after all. Taking Peter where he's more likely to be recognized and where the bastards that wants him dead reside would be something Frank would try to avoid if it weren't for the simple fact that it's the best place to track down and kill said bastards. The kid'll be all about that, but the jury's still out on what he'll do about it. If he would do anything about it—seems like Peter hasn't decided yet. If Frank's lucky, he'll get to work before the kid does.

But Frank knows to never count on luck. Peter may not have known it, but he hit the nail on the head with Frank's plan to have the kid keep his head down while Frank tracks down and finishes off the guys that have it out for him. Revisions may be necessary. The kid made it clear that he isn't on board with it and Frank would be surprised if their talk changed that for good. Still, Peter's surprised him before.

Frank lets out a small sigh. Adults are easier. Far more predictable. And tend to not have goddamn super strength. The drugs are always an option, though he has no doubt that that play would throw away whatever he's managed to gain of Peter's trust and cooperation without any chance of getting it back. Besides, the last thing the kid needs right now is-

Without any sort of warning, Peter lunges for the wheel. His hand clamps around Frank's wrist with an iron grip.

Frank can't stop himself from jerking in his seat as he uses his free hand to try to yank the kid off. "Hey! The hell are you—?!"

"Slow down, you have to slow-"

Frank immediately glances ahead at the road, expecting to see the bumper of another car approaching his windshield, but there's nothing. "Get your goddamn hand off-"

"Slow down, slow down!"

There's white surrounding Peter's irises and a note of panic in his voice that prompts a visceral reaction from Frank. He slams on the breaks and jolts forward with the movement that follows. "Shit!"

Peter releases him as soon as the vehicle slows. Before he can pull away, Frank darts out his hand and seizes the kid by the forearm.

"The fuck was that stunt?" Frank tightens his grip. "You think that's funny? You think-" He breaks off when he sees a police car in the side mirror, sitting inconspicuously on a gravel path and hidden from the main road by a bush. A speed trap. He almost got caught by a goddamn speed trap.

Peter takes a sharp breath through his teeth and tries to tug away. "You- You're hurting me, let me-"

Frank instantly drops his arm, switching his gaze between Peter and the road. The kid's pressed against the door and regarding him with wide eyes. Frank's insides twist when he notices the fear in Peter's face and the way his fingers hover above the web-shooter's trigger. "Sorry," Frank says, sparing a few seconds to meet Peter's stare. "I'm sorry." He waits a beat to make sure the kid knows he means it, and after a long moment, the kid's shoulders drop and he settles back into the seat. It takes a moment longer for his fingers to drift away from the button. "Did you- How did you know?"

Peter shrugs. "Spider powers."

"That all I'm getting?" Frank asks when Peter doesn't elaborate. Kid just pointedly turns back toward the window and shifts his jaw.

Frank's no spider expert, but he's pretty sure that there aren't any that are able to sense when cops are nearby. But Frank doesn't know shit about this superpower stuff, so if that's all the kid is willing to tell him, then Frank will make a note of it.

"It's hard to describe," Peter mutters after a decent pause, still not facing Frank. "It's just- It's a bad feeling. You know how in horror movies a person will be doing something normal, then the creepy music comes on and you just know something bad's about to happen? It's like that. I didn't know it would be a police car. I just- I knew you had to slow down."

"Huh," Frank muses with a small nod. That's useful. That's pretty damn useful. It'd be next to impossible to catch the kid in an ambush. And it explains why he was on edge, staring at the parking lot in the gas station before Gargan's men arrived. "You let me know when that feeling comes again, all right?"

"Yeah. Sure," Peter bites out in the same tone he would say fuck off in.

Straight back to spiteful then. There's a shocker. But Peter can prioritize; Frank can commend that. When it came down to it, logic overruled the emotion and pressed the kid to work with him. If it happened once, it can happen again. If Frank comes at this from the right angle he might be able to get the kid to stay out of his way. Hell, if this doesn't all go to shit, Frank can see himself working with Peter in the future.

Only on a select few cases due to some prominent differences in opinion, but he can see it. The kid's got a good head on his shoulders and quick reflexes. A skill set that includes wall-climbing, super strength, and threat perception ain't half bad either. And apparently, some deep, instinctual part of him wants to keep Frank out of the hands of the police. He wonders whether or not Peter realized that yet.

Hopefully that will stick for a while.