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The mission had been an easy one: in and out, thirty minutes flat.
They had taken down a group of low-level arms dealers that Jessica Jones had discovered the week prior, and it took nothing more than a bit of amateur web-slinging to resolve. Originally, Jessica had planned to take it on herself - she was more than capable - yet the Defenders had a much more serious case of human trafficking to attend to in downtown Manhattan, pulling her out of business and leaving this job up to one Spider-Man.
And then Frank Castle decided to tag along, claiming that he needed to let off some steam.
For Peter, fighting alongside The Punisher was not his typical, every-day scenario, nor was it one he desired, yet, oddly enough, he found himself enjoying it. Frank’s tall, dark, and brooding schtick provided the perfect (disgruntled) blank canvas for Peter to bounce his signature quips off of, despite only receiving judgemental glares in return, leaving him with little to work with.
As they left the warehouse, Peter slung the retrieved bag of smuggled goods over his shoulder, and began debating what to do with it when Frank rounded on him, "Look, kid, I’ll be frank-"
Peter snickered.
Frank rolled his eyes before continuing, "I don’t trust you with all that machinery, shrimp."
"You don’t trust me?" he exclaimed, "which one of us kills people for fun."
"You don’t know the first thing about guns," Frank ground out, "I do, hand it over."
"I’m just carrying them for you, big guy, I gotchu!" He swore, crossing his heart.
Yet Frank just would not let it go.
Peter glared at Frank’s outstretched hand which beckoned for the bag resting upon his shoulder
Oh well, his funeral.
He shrugged and dropped the bag strap into Frank’s open palm, watching his shoulder plummet towards the ground as he yelped in a very unladylike fashion.
After a few mildly pathetic attempts to hoist the bag onto his shoulder, and a lot of grunting, The Punisher finally appeared to give in and accept his inferiority, directing a stormy look at the young adult in front of him, "What the hell, kid."
"Oh, Mr Tough Guy can’t handle a little bag of weapons anymore?" Peter snarked back.
"This thing must weigh nearly 300 pounds!" The disbelief in his voice was evident. Did all of Peter’s teenage jokes about having buildings dropped on him mean nothing? He must have forgotten them - or assumed they were fabricated. They weren't. Peter remembered all too well.
"Yeah, this is why I’d rather do this sort of thing with Ms Jones or Mr Cage, they don’t get dragged to the floor by a small bag of guns." Peter snarked back.
Frank left the bag on the floor and drew himself up to his full height, "Now, let me tell you somethin’, you little-"
Peter cut him off, "Just admit that you’re weaker than them." he sighed, shaking his head.
Frank ground his jaw, eyes narrowing, immediately telling Peter that he had pushed this too far.
Uh Oh.
Despite not technically being a child anymore, Peter really hoped Frank’s ‘I Do Not Deal With Kids’ rule still applied to him.
Fuck.
Didn't seem like it, with the way Frank was currently glaring at him.
Friends and family discount, maybe? He could bargain his way out of this, "Naw come on Frank, I was just messin’! You’re so strong-"
"I don’t need to be strong to be able to aim a gun." Frank levelled, coldly.
Maybe he couldn’t bargain his way out of this.
Only one more option for it.
Peter turned and ran as the Punisher abandoned the bag of weapons to the merciless streets of New York City and raised a lone pistol.
The loud bang of the bullet echoed through the street as pain cascaded down Peter’s leg.
Aw, man.
This was his new suit! Peter Parker was a dead man if Mr Stark saw this.
As he limped to a stop, Peter turned around, thanking Thor, Loki, and Brunhilde that Frank had not aimed to kill, as the young man had barely made it a few paces before Frank had pulled the trigger.
Frank crossed his arms condescendingly and raised a single eyebrow. Peter responded in kind, before reaching down and digging the bullet out of his calf.
Frank grimaced, then sighed as he gestured to the bag "Let’s go, kid, don’t you need to hand this shit over to the police? Isn’t that the type of do-goodery you get up to?"
Peter nodded his ascent as he limped over to the guns and dragged the duffel over his shoulder, and smirking slightly at his superior strength.
Then he realised that the other half to his newest vigilante duo had quickly abandoned him.
"Hey! Wait! Frank!" he blurted out, "You not coming with me?"
Frank turned around yet offered no reply, causing the Spider to put more weight than would be medically advised onto his injured leg as he strode after him, yet it appeared to inspire little to no discomfort within the man.
Frank stopped.
"How is your leg okay right now? I just shot you?"
"Oh! I! Um! I heal fast!" Peter chattered nervously.
"Uh huh, I see that. What the fuck." He shook his head, "So you're super strong and you can recover from a bullet wound in under a minute?"
"I'm not exactly healed yet, but I'll walk it off."
"Yeah, of course you will."
Oblivious to Frank's shock, Peter began to speak, "C’mon! I know a great guy at the local police station that we can take this stuff to, his name’s Mahoney - ever heard of him? He’s Matt and Jessica’s go-to for vigilante related justice, I thought we should pay him a visit-" Peter continued rambling into the distance as Frank neglected to offer so much as a noise of agreement.
***
A civilian who had observed this scene shook their head in disbelief. They saw a hit tweet in their imminent future.