Spiders, if Peter remembers correctly, can't thermoregulate. It's one of the many tidbits he picked up after some deep research following the bite, one that only rarely comes to the forefront of his mind. A thermometer on his tongue had been quick to assure him that he had nothing to worry about on that front, and the only time he ever wonders at it are in the classrooms of teachers who believe that a cold atmosphere helps keep students awake instead of making them want to resort to hibernation.
Now, Peter can't help but reconsider the possibility. He has to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering and bunch the hoodie's sleeves around his hands to ensure that his fingers don't freeze off. His nose and cheeks sting whenever another gust of wind barrels down the sidewalk and his enhanced senses definitely aren't helping. When he swings, the cold is either taken care of by the adrenaline rush or rendered unnoticeable by the thrill. But he hasn't had to walk anywhere in weather like this without May stopping him first to pull a hat over his ears or toss a pair of gloves in his hands in a long while. Each year as winter neared, his asthma worsened, and he'd noticed May catching herself from reminding him of it a few times in the past month.
Peter flips the hood over his head and tries not to think about how May would never stop him at the door again.
He halts at a street corner and peers up at the sign. 34th Street. A few blocks to the right, and then… Peter frowns. It'd either be an incredibly good or an incredibly bad stroke of Parker Luck if Gargan is just hanging out under the 38th Avenue sign. David said that the drug deals going on were tied back to Gargan, so it shouldn't be too difficult to find one and take the dealer's phone. Did most gang members have a direct line to the gang leader? Or would he have to talk to some kind of intermediary? Hi, it's me, Spider-Man. Can I arrange an appointment with your mob boss, please?
Mr. Castle would likely know the answer. Peter's burner phone weighs heavy against his thigh as he turns down the street. Mr. Castle also hadn't given him a time that he'd return, so Peter's got no idea how long he has before Mr. Castle realizes he left. If this goes well, he'll be back in the motel room before that happens.
There are no dark alleys or sketchy parking lots in sight when he gets to the intersection. The only undesirable thing as far as he can tell is that he can see his breath hang in the air when he exhales. Where's a drug dealer when you need one? Peter pauses to survey the road when his eyes land on a pair of half-open garage doors on the side of a building at the end of the street. A small car sits tucked inside one of them, covered by a green, dust-coated tarp. A far too new-looking security camera is angled down toward the entrance.
Peter ducks his head down and pulls the hood as far over his face as he can as he strolls into the parking garage. Despite the dimly lit entryway and the suspicious lack of many parked cars for an open New York lot, the sudden shelter from the wind is a relief. He presses against the wall as soon as he's out of sight of the street. Instinct urges him to ascend it and he's quickly reminded of the splint on his middle finger, uncomfortably digging into his skin whenever he pushes it against the bricks.
"Okay," he mutters. Sticking his feet firmly against the wall and sitting back against it, Peter uses his free hand to undo the Velcro and carefully pry the splint free. "Come on healing factor, don't fail me now."
He holds his breath as he experimentally bends his finger to the trigger of his web-shooter. A dull twinge of pain thrums from his knuckle, but it doesn't register enough for him to want to put the splint back on. Punching is a firm no-no, though climbing shouldn't be much of an issue. He tosses the splint back into a trash can by the entrance and continues onward, relieved when his finger doesn't protest.
The entryway opens into a large parking space that's divided in two by a half-wall that signifies a ramp leading to a lower level, a design that likely continues further down. A few cars are clustered around the stairwell that leads to the building above on the opposite side of the lot, but the parking garage is otherwise empty. At least, the top level is. The hood falls over Peter's shoulders as he transitions from the wall to the ceiling, slowly crawling along the slanted cement above the ramp to get a vantage point to the lot below.
A lone car sits in the center of the parking lot and it only takes Peter a quick glance to note the figure leaning under a light against the opposite wall, tapping away on his phone with a distant expression. A drug dealer waiting for his customer, if Peter has to guess.
He prepares to fire a webline to swing down from and a second shot to ensnare the man when a voice rings uninvited through his head. You gotta get better at this part of the job. Peter doesn't have an interrogation mode to pry out the man's password if his phone was locked, not that that had been at all effective the last time he did this. Last time, the criminal had told him where Toomes was going to be to further his own interests and because he thought Peter was "ballsy." As much as Peter hates to admit it, he hadn't seemed the slightest bit intimidated. Peter doesn't even have his mask now. Not only would his teenage face make him less likely to be taken seriously, but the drug dealer would then be able to match the face of Spider-Man.
Mr. Castle is intimidating. The man back in the convenience store hadn't taken long to give Mr. Castle the answers he wanted, and Peter doesn't think all of it can be attributed to his ribs being crushed under a boot.
Mr. Castle had never raised his voice. Maybe that was something interrogation mode got wrong. He asked his questions in a moderate tone and didn't waste time repeating himself when not given a response. Even when it's Peter he's demanding answers out of, he never yells. When it's not a direct order of "tell me," he speaks like he's expecting an answer, not hoping for one. Now that Peter thinks back on it, Mr. Castle had always made sure that Peter was sitting before pressing him for information. There was probably a reason for that, though he couldn't quite suss it out. Peter bites his lip and furrows his brow. His eye contact never wavered and he always held himself like there wasn't a single threat to him in the room. And when he wanted Peter to stay in the warehouse that first night, he made sure to explain why it was in Peter's best interests to do what he wanted.
Being known to the public and criminal underworld as "The Punisher" probably helps too.
Peter takes a deep breath. He swiftly drops to the floor and ducks behind the half-wall. He peeks over it and carefully aims his wrist at the man.
The man lets out a shriek as a glob of webbing collides with his face. His phone drops to the ground as he scrabbles to tear it off. Peter jumps over the half-wall and fires a webline to the ceiling to propel him across the parking lot while shooting a second set of webs to stick the guy's hands to his side.
"The fuck is this stuff?!" he yelps, his head swiveling around wildly as if he's trying to see past the webbing coating his eyes. Peter makes his footsteps slow and deliberate as he approaches the man, gratified when he fumbles back against the wall in response.
Peter stoops down to pick up the now cracked phone and turns it on. Nine dots shine back at him on the screen. Patterns aren't that hard to guess if the man doesn't talk. Peter fires a web to the wall and silently maneuvers around the man to stick it against his back. The guy shouts and grunts as he's yanked back into the concrete, his breaths quickly becoming desperate and frantic.
So far, so good. In a voice he's careful to keep level, Peter demands, "You're going to tell me the pattern to unlock your phone."
The man's struggles stop for a moment as his brow furrows and his head tilts to the side. "Wait, what?"
Shit. Peter steps closer into the man's space in hopes to gain back his control. "You work for Gargan, don't you?"
"I-" The man breaks off with a frown. "Wait, you're Spider-Man, yeah?"
Before Peter can figure out a response, a loud ringing erupts from his pocket. Peter's glad the man can't see his undignified jump before he fumbles for his burner. Mr. Castle's number shines at him from the screen, prompting a flare of panic as he flips open the phone to immediately shut it and end the call.
Peter starts pacing as he runs a hand down his face. Mr. Castle knows he left. He probably just returned to find the motel room empty. Should he have left a note? Would it have made a difference? And the fact that he thought Peter would answer… Peter's stomach twists.
"Maybe you should've taken that. I don't think Mommy likes it when you ignore her calls," the man jeers.
Frustration boils up in Peter's chest. He opens his mouth to spit out a retort, then closes it to reconsider. "Actually, that was the Punisher."
The man lets out a short bark of laughter, but his sneer fades when Peter doesn't follow it up. "You're joking."
"Usually, yeah. But mutual interests, you know? It happens." Peter gives a shrug that the man can't see. "I want Gargan, he wants Gargan… gotta keep tabs on each other's progress. Little info exchange here and there. I can call him back if you don't believe me." He types out random numbers on his phone, the frustration replaced with satisfaction when the guy flinches at the beeps.
"Okay, okay, you don't have to- It's a backward L, then up to the middle. That's the pattern, okay?" the man rushes out.
Peter silently sighs at the fact that he had to invoke Mr. Castle's name to get his answer, but it's a far cry better than resorting to Mr. Castle's methods. He switches out his burner for the man's smartphone and tries the pattern, humming when the lock screen switches to the home. Gar is all he needs to type before Mac Gargan shines back at him in bold letters. He opens the messages and types out, This is Spider-Man. I'm at the parking garage on 34th.
His thumb hovers above Send for what feels like a minute before he musters the ability to press it.
"You gonna turn Gargan in or something?" the drug dealer pipes up.
Peter's breath catches in his throat when the phone vibrates in his hand. With a shaky thumb, he opens the message.
Prove it.
His heart batters against his ribcage. He opens the camera and the image trembles when he angles it to point at the web-shooter on his wrist. He somehow manages to get a clear picture when he snaps the photo.
Gargan's reply is almost immediate.
Can't wait.
A shudder crawls down Peter's spine.
"This web stuff comes off, right?" the man grumbles, twisting his neck to rub his face against his shoulder.
"Give it t-two hours."
The man perks up, eyebrows raised. "Aww, you scared, Spidey?"
Peter presses his mouth into a thin line.
"Gargan's really not a fan of yours, you know. Got real pissed after you scarred him up on that ferry."
"That was an accident, okay?" Peter snaps. "I wasn't the one who knocked him overboard."
"Yeah? Have fun explaining that to him."
"Drug trafficking is a felony, you know. Gets you about five years, right? You think you'll have fun in prison?"
The man shrugs. "At least I can expect five more years."
Peter huffs in an attempt to cover up the deep breath he has to take at the man's words. He's never met anyone who completely refuses to listen to reason, who doesn't have a single ounce of humanity. Even Toomes spared him in the car homecoming night and he hadn't fought against Peter after he pulled him out of that fire. When all was said and done, Peter knows that Toomes did what he did because he cares about his family and wanted to support them. It lines up with what Ben and May taught him about there being good in everyone, and even Mr. Castle failed to prove them wrong. There has to be something Gargan cares about that he can appeal to.
"I've seen Gargan do some pretty messed up shit," the drug dealer begins casually. "I'd be surprised if he-"
A web to the mouth is quick to render him silent. The man grunts in protest and writhes for a bit before giving up with a long sigh through his nose. When Peter finds himself pacing again, at least the man can't comment on it.
There's only one way Gargan can enter, so Peter doesn't have to worry about an ambush. That's something. But the only cover in the lot is the man's car in the center, which doesn't provide him with much if things go south. He's pretty sure he has enough web fluid left to fight his way out if it comes to it, and if not, he now knows how to get a gun out of his opponent's hands without it.
About five more minutes of fidgeting pass before his Spider Sense catches his attention with a pounding at the base of his skull. Peter goes rigid, focusing his attention on what's to come beyond the half-wall. He's surprised at the rumble of a car engine and the nearing scent of exhaust, all too aware of how the drumming in his chest gets faster and faster. When he sees the shimmer of metal sliding down the ramp, he can't tell if the thundering in his ears comes from the engine or from within.
The car stops just outside the entrance, blocking it off in a way that wouldn't keep Peter from exiting, but the message that it sends feels like ice water being poured down his neck. Peter's fingers come to rest over his web-shooters and he has to disobey his screaming instincts when he stands his ground.
The driver's door opens. Then the passenger door, then the two back doors. The huff of laughter from the drug dealer behind him sounds distant.
They can see his face. All four of them can see his face-
"Hi, Spider-Man."
Peter barely withholds a jolt. He snaps his head to the man closing the passenger door behind him. A long scar stretches from the hairline of his buzzed head to the corner of his eyebrow and a smaller one mars his cheekbone. Even from where he stands, Peter can make out the blotches of red in his left eye that form a messy ring that encircles his iris. Is he- Did he get partially blinded? Before Peter can dwell on it, the man cranes his neck to the side as if he's trying to crack it, displaying the scorpion tattoo in Peter's full view.
Peter's mind goes blank.
"I really have to thank you for setting this up," Gargan says, raising his eyebrows and nodding. "You know, Bobby here—" Gargan jerks his head toward the driver, following close behind "—was saying that it'd be a trap, since you're buddies with the Punisher now, but I said 'Peter? No, he would never.' And what do ya know?"
Just then, Peter realizes that he's never heard Gargan speak. It's not low and gravelly like he'd been expecting; kind of like Mr. Castle's voice, which screams danger in the way that a lion screams danger. Gargan's voice is almost high and smooth, for lack of a better word. But still dangerous—dangerous like a creak below one's feet in the middle of a frozen lake.
Gargan extends his arms, referencing the parking lot in a grand gesture. "No Punisher. I appreciate that we're both on the same page as far as getting this over with without a hassle goes, I really do."
Peter's gaze drifts down to the guns at their sides.
"Funny, I was told you're a talker. Cat got your tongue, Pete?" Gargan halts about ten feet in front of him, turning his ear toward him expectantly.
"You don't get to call me that." The words erupt from Peter's chest before he can think them over.
Gargan purses his lips. "Right," he says, drawing out the word. "Secret identity. You should be more careful with that. Honestly, you should thank me for killing off your bitch aunt. Someone was bound to get it out of her eventually."
For a split second, Mr. Castle's solution doesn't seem that bad. Rage, red and hot and pure, scorches through him and it takes all his willpower to keep himself in place.
Gargan turns to the men behind him and laughs. "Oh, he didn't like that, did he?"
Peter sucks in a slow breath through clenched teeth. "I didn't give you your scar. Toomes knocked you off that boat, not me."
There are wrinkles at the corner of Gargan's eyes. "Yes," he says slowly, as if he were talking to a fucking toddler. "I was there. And why did Toomes put on his bird suit, huh? Because someone wasn't where he was supposed to be."
"I'm sorry that you got scarred, okay? I didn't mean for that to happen." Is that what you want to hear? Peter barely holds himself back from saying.
"Apology accepted."
Peter blinks. "What?"
"Oh, I'm still going to kill you," Gargan says with a dismissive wave of his hand, not seeming to notice how Peter blanches at the words. "You put me back in prison. Don't pretend that that's not what you wanted. And it's not just me. You're thinning out the herd, Pete. My guys, our buyers—the ones you haven't put away are skipping town or won't do business with us. It's a bad look."
Gargan steps forward and Peter matches it with several steps back. C'mon Spider-Man, think think think- "Listen- The city is- it's a safer place with me. I- I save people. Those alien weapons you wanted to buy? You r-really think they're tested? Hell, the ferry got cut in half when one backfired! How long before it would've backfired on you? And- And the people I save- I've saved gang members too. I've prevented shoot-outs. If you k-kill me-"
"I can live with the consequences."
The world vanishes beneath his feet. His Spider Sense goes off like a siren as Gargan raises his hand. The men behind him reach for their hilts in slow motion as Peter's gut screams at him to run, to hide, but there's nothing to run to and there's nothing to hide behind-
Peter squeezes his eyes shut when he sees the barrels of four guns preparing to aim straight at him. But before they fire, the tingling at the base of his skull grows sharper with a different kind of warning.
Peter opens his eyes as multiple shots ring out. Two of Gargan's men drop to the ground like puppets with their strings cut, their bodies thudding in succession against the concrete. The third man turns around to meet a bullet head-on, and Peter gags at the warm spray of blood against his cheek and forces his eyes up from the mess on the ground. The drug dealer behind him is screaming deep in his throat, screaming that's silenced with another bang.
In less than a second, Gargan's the only one left standing. Which means-
Peter dives for Gargan, colliding into the man's side just in time to feel something sting past his upper arm. He yelps as they crash into the ground, tumbling over each other until they settle with Gargan's calf pressing into Peter's windpipe. Before Peter can shove him off, Gargan has him staring straight down into another firearm.
"HEY!"
It sounds like a battle cry. Peter can feel his heartbeat pick up in his throat at the familiar shout as a wave of panic threatens to overwhelm him, all while he struggles for a breath. Gargan whips around, facing away from Peter, and leans forward to increase the pressure.
Now's his chance. Offline- Peter narrows his eyes on the gun and lunges, sticking his hands to the barrel and shoving it away from him. Get control, and twist away. He darts his hand for Gargan's wrist and squeezes, wrenching the gun out of Gargan's hand when the man takes a sharp breath.
He skids the gun across the ground in the same movement he flips Gargan off of him. Peter switches between coughing and gasping as he clambers to his feet, only to find himself looking down a rifle pointed to his chest.
Gargan groans from behind Peter and it takes him a second to realize where he's standing. He looks up at Frank Castle, his expression impossible to read. Both of his hands have a tight grip around the rifle, his finger hovering above the trigger and a fire in his stare. Mr. Castle gestures his rifle to the side, the order firm and implicit.
A voice in the back of Peter's mind shouts at him to walk away. To step back from Gargan and let Mr. Castle end it. After all, it'd be the easy thing to do. Probably the smart thing to do, too. The threat of his identity getting out would die with Gargan and he wouldn't have to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, constantly waiting for the next grocery run to turn into a shootout. Besides, he gave Gargan his chance. A chance that Gargan chose not to take. And after what Gargan did to May, Peter's not sure he'd even feel guilty about letting the Punisher do his job.
Then Peter remembers the last death he could've prevented.
Mr. Castle sidesteps to aim around Peter and goes stiff when Peter sidesteps with him. His eyes narrow. "Stand down."
Peter clenches his fists in hopes to hide their tremor and he wants to throw up at the smell in the air. He's sure Mr. Castle can hear the pounding of his heart by now, but somehow, Peter doesn't move.
Mr. Castle steps forward, close enough that Peter can make out the veins popping in his neck and no less imposing without the white skull on his chest. "This a game to you? I look like I'm playing fucking games? Stand. Down."
It's then when Gargan decides to bolt. He makes a break for his car by the exit and Mr. Castle adjusts his aim just as quickly. Peter barrels into Mr. Castle's side, tackling him to the ground and dislodging the rifle from his hands.
Rough hands clamp on to Peter's shoulders and force his chest against the cement, pressing him down for a few beats in an unspoken command. For a moment, Peter's tempted to listen. The weight above him vanishes with a muttered "Goddamnit" as a car engine roars to life and a boot lands beside his face a second later. As Mr. Castle lifts it to take a step, Peter manages to get a web to connect to the back of his ankle. He pulls the thread taut and yanks his arm back, returning Mr. Castle to the ground.
Mr. Castle shifts to his side and fires his handgun at the car as it speeds out, but it's not long before his bullets are deflected by the half-wall. "Shit!"
Peter rolls to his back to sit himself up, but all he can do is freeze when the movement brings him face-to-face with a man with a hole in his forehead. He's slack-jawed and his eyes are still wide with a mixture of shock and horror. He thinks he can see a glint of metal in the wound as blood pours out around it, creating an ever-growing puddle around his head. Peter wants nothing more than to scramble back as it gets closer and closer to reaching him, but his limbs won't listen when his brain shouts at them to move.
A hand clasps tight around Peter's forearm and hauls him up. It moves up to his upper arm as a second hand presses in between his shoulders, proceeding to push him toward the ramp. Peter stumbles under the pressure before he forces his feet to move fast enough to accommodate it. He takes a deep breath in an attempt to get the numb tingling to dissipate from his hands, but he has to keep himself from choking on the stench of blood instead.
It's the convenience store all over again. There are bodies all around him and he can't move and there's blood that isn't his on his face-
Only this time, none of the deaths can be put on him. It was Mr. Castle who intervened, Mr. Castle who pulled the trigger, and it's Mr. Castle who came and saved his life. He's not even sure how he manages to keep his feet moving to the exit. Everything feels like it's in the background, happening to someone else-
Without warning, Peter's shoved forward into the bricks of the entryway, just out of view of the sidewalk. Peter's too shocked to respond as Mr. Castle inspects the hole in the sleeve of his upper arm that had resulted from the bullet that whizzed by him, saying something under his breath that he doesn't catch. He risks a glance at Mr. Castle's face and tenses when he's finally able to make out his expression.
It's the same one Mr. Stark wore after the ferry, only ten times more terrifying.
Mr. Castle's hand shoots up and fastens on Peter's face by his jaw to direct it up to meet his eyes. "The fuck was that?!"
Peter tries to flinch away, but Mr. Castle's grip on his face only grows tighter. "I- I-"
"You tryin' to get yourself killed?!" He twists his hand, forcing Peter's face to the side while grabbing the frayed fabric on his upper arm and thrusting it in front of him. "You see that? Huh? See how close I came to killing you?"
Peter blinks rapidly in an effort to alleviate the burning behind his eyes and shakes his head free before backing up. "I d-didn't mean- didn't w-want-"
"You didn't want this to happen, is that it?" Mr. Castle snarls. Peter shrinks back as he advances, but he's trapped when Mr. Castle's arm flies out to the wall by his shoulder. "This is what happens when you can't follow a single goddamn order!"
Peter squeezes his eyelids shut and turns his head away.
"How about this?" Something cold and hard presses against his temple. Peter doesn't have to look to confirm the handgun to his head as he jerks back only to fall against the wall. "This what you want?!"
A bang that sends a jolt through his body cuts off his response. Dust from the bricks shower down upon him and patter against his cheek, prompting an unwitting whimper from his throat.
"IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT TO HEAR?"
"NO!"
Peter ducks under his arm and scrambles to the side, pressing his spine against the wall once he's a good distance away. He sinks down to the floor, shaking as he pulls his legs in and hides his face in his knees. Shudders that he can't attribute to the cold travel down his body as a sob escapes his throat. He opens his eyes and it takes him a moment to see his knees through the blurry film of tears. His sweatpants are stained red where he pressed his cheek. Red from the blood of the man whose skull shattered in front of him, red that no number of showers will wash off.
He hugs his legs closer to his chest as he tries and fails to stifle his cries.
Footsteps near him before doubling back, then near him again, the pattern indicating pacing. Mr. Castle takes a deep breath through his nose. "This isn't working," he mutters, almost inaudibly. "This isn't goddamn working."
Peter's heart skips a beat. That's almost exactly what Mr. Stark had said. Before he took the suit, before the forever, before Peter had broken something that he still hasn't managed to fix. Okay, it's not working out.
He wipes his eyes with his elbow and fumbles to his feet. "No, no no no no-"
Mr. Castle stops in his tracks.
Peter reaches for his arm, grasping desperately at his sleeve. "I'm s-sorry, I'm sorry- I know it was d-dumb and I- I won't run again, I promise, I'll never run again, just-" He breaks off, clutching Mr. Castle's arm as he swallows back the lump rising in his throat. "Just- Please, don't lea-leave. P-Please, I don't wanna be alone, don't make me be alone-"
He has to break off when his throat closes for a moment, forcing him to take a desperate breath. He's never been alone before—never like this. Even when the world came crashing down around him after Ben's death, May was there to grieve with him. But May's not here now, and he can't go to Ned without putting him in danger and MJ doesn't even know. Mr. Stark's radio silence after Peter turned down his Avenger offer sent enough of a message and it's only a matter of time before Gargan would get to him if he had to fend for himself. Gargan would shoot him, or worse, and he can only imagine Ned's expression if it's reported that Peter Parker's body is found at the bottom of a river-
Peter makes himself loosen his hold when he realizes how tight his grip had become. "I'm sorry, s-sir, I'm-"
"Hey, hey- Stop. Stop that." Mr. Castle's hand curls around his shoulder and pushes him back, but he lets his grip remain as he pries his arm free to rest both hands on Peter's shoulders and keep him in place. He stoops down to be level with Peter's face, then breaks his stare to turn his head away and shake it, making a noise that sounds like a scoff. But when he speaks, there's no trace of scorn in his tone. It's something Peter hasn't heard before, a mix of disbelief and something he couldn't identify. "You think- You think I'd come and save your ass just to- to what, throw you back to them?"
Peter searches his face with burning eyes, unsure if he's meant to answer.
"Listen to me," Mr. Castle says, his brow raised and his dark eyes boring into Peter's own. There's a different kind of harshness in his voice now. "I'm not leavin', kid. Said I'd get you an after, right? So you get that through your head."
A moment passes before his words process. Relief washes over him as the energy and everything else gets sapped out. The subsiding adrenaline leaves him wavering on his feet and all he can manage is a weak nod as his eyes continue to drain themselves of tears. He closes them in an effort to block out the rifle dangling at Mr. Castle's side and the cold brick wall, but images flare up behind his eyelids, flickering between the bodies of Ben and a stranger splayed out on the ground. If he listens closely enough, he thinks he can make out the echoes of a gunshot.
"Hey, let's get you outta here, yeah? Let's get you outta here." Mr. Castle doesn't wait for his response before turning him around and shepherding him out to the sidewalk, pulling the hood over Peter's head as they cross under the security camera. "Steady, kid. Car's close. You're gonna sit tight while I make a call."