He has six fingers, like ...fr?
The atmosphere was rainy, and people reacted differently to it. Some ran for shelter, others hurried home before the storm worsened, while some walked calmly under their umbrellas, unfazed by the cold raindrops.
Peter was among the latter. He held his umbrella quietly, sipping a carton of fat-free milk as the rain poured down heavily, splashing onto the ground indifferently. Cars sped by, spraying water onto sidewalks and walls, but Peter paid no mind.
As he made his way to his clinic, he suddenly stopped. His eyes landed on a man leaning against a wall, panting and muttering something incomprehensible.
This wasn’t an unusual sight for Peter. How many times had he encountered people bleeding in alleys or slumped against abandoned buildings?
He watched as the man clutched his stomach tightly, attempting to wrap a bandage around his wound in a completely wrong manner.
Oh, no… No, just watching this is frustrating. Everything this guy is doing is wrong.
And when the man lifted his head slightly, there was no room for doubt.
Punisher.
Peter sighed, tossing the milk carton into a trash bin before pulling out a lollipop and walking toward him.
Punisher was struggling to wrap his wound tightly, but the blood was flowing heavily. His injury resulted from a drug smuggling operation that hadn’t gone as planned. He had wandered the streets for hours, avoiding passersby until the heavy rain and biting cold exhausted him. His teeth ground against each other from pain, and his trembling hands barely held the bandage.
Then, suddenly, he felt an umbrella covering him and heard a familiar, unusually calm voice.
"You're doing it wrong."
Punisher slowly lifted his head, his eyes filled with anger and exhaustion. Rain dripped from his soaked hair, and his shaky hands still struggled to tighten the bandage around the bleeding wound. He shot Peter a sharp glare, then growled lowly.
"You… again?—Damn it, what’s it to you? Shut up and go away."
But Peter didn’t move. He simply smirked slightly, glancing at the wound before nodding toward it.
"If you're going to do that, do it right."
Punisher’s irritation flared. He suddenly grabbed Peter’s sleeve and yanked him closer, then raised his gun, pressing the barrel against Peter’s forehead, his eyes burning with intensity and tension.
"I told you, get lost. Don’t show me that damn face of yours."
Yet Peter didn’t even blink. He remained silent, showing no sign of fear or retreat. Then, slowly, he raised his hand, firmly grasping the gun’s barrel and tilting his head slightly as he whispered and moved the gun.
"You’re aiming at the wrong place."
He placed it over his chest, right above his heart.
"Shoot here."
Punisher tightened his grip on the gun, his breathing slightly quickened, and his teeth ground together in suppressed frustration. Peter stared at him calmly, unfazed, uninterested in the situation.
Punisher pressed the barrel harder against Peter’s chest, as if testing him, waiting for him to flinch, to beg, to show any natural human reaction. But he didn’t.
"…Damn you," Punisher muttered under his breath, his tone more of resigned frustration than a real threat.
But Peter just gave a barely noticeable smirk, as if he had expected this outcome all along.
"I thought so."
Punisher slowly lowered the gun, staring at Peter for a long moment before turning his head to the side, exhaling a weary sigh. There was no point in this. He knew he couldn’t kill him—not now, at least.
Peter, as if he hadn’t just been at the brink of death, pulled out a clean bandage from his pocket and extended it toward Punisher.
"Let me show you how to do it properly."
Punisher remained silent for a moment, watching as Peter wrapped the bandage around his wound. He didn’t want to admit it, but the bleeding finally stopped, and the pain became more bearable.
Peter observed him for a moment before speaking in a calm yet practical tone.
"Do you need help walking, or can you manage on your own?"
Punisher exhaled in frustration before pressing his hand against the ground and slowly pushing himself up. His body ached, but he wasn’t about to ask for help.
"I’ll walk," he said firmly, though he could barely stay upright.
Peter didn’t comment. He simply raised his umbrella over them and waited.
When he saw Punisher struggling to stand, Peter didn’t say anything, but he subtly tilted the umbrella to cover him more. It wasn’t an act of kindness—just simple logic. The last thing a bleeding wound needed was to get soaked and worsen.
Punisher noticed but said nothing, simply straightening up, testing his endurance against the pain. He took a deep breath before looking at Peter.
"You’re not just gonna stand there all night, are you?"
Peter gave a faint smile before turning and starting to walk.
"Follow me."
Punisher muttered something under his breath, but he began walking behind him, slightly favoring one side to maintain his balance. The rain continued to fall, cars sped past them, but all of it faded into the sound of their slow steps under the umbrella.
When they reached the clinic, Peter pushed the door open with his shoulder and gestured for Punisher to enter. The place wasn’t fancy or equipped with the latest technology, but it was clean and organized, filled with the scent of antiseptics and medicine.
Punisher sat on the medical bed, watching as Peter pulled out a first-aid kit and placed it beside him. Peter took out some gauze and cotton, then knelt before him, unwrapping the poorly applied bandage Punisher had put on.
"This will hurt," Peter said calmly before pressing a disinfectant-soaked cotton ball onto the wound.
Punisher growled lowly, clenching his teeth but not moving. Peter continued working with focused precision, as if his patients’ complaints or threats no longer fazed him.
For a moment, there was silence—just the sound of rain outside and Punisher’s slightly labored breathing. But Punisher was the first to break it.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked sharply, his gaze filled with suspicion.
Peter raised an eyebrow slightly but didn’t lift his eyes from the wound he was stitching.
"What do you mean?"
"You’re treating me, and I’m a bad man," Punisher said, his voice low but firm. "You know that, don’t you? I kill people a lot of them—and I don’t care. Yet here you are, stitching my wound like I’m someone worth saving."
Peter didn’t look up, finishing another stitch before answering with the same response he had given a thousand times.
"I’m a doctor."
"And what does that mean?"
Peter sighed, finally lifting his gaze to meet Punisher’s.
"It means I treat those who need treatment, regardless of who they are."
Punisher scoffed, an empty, tired chuckle escaping him. "That’s stupid."
"Maybe," Peter replied simply before continuing his work.
Punisher watched him for a moment before speaking more seriously.
"When you treat a bad man, you’re giving him a chance to go back and kill more. Maybe you save a life tonight, but he might take ten more tomorrow. Have you thought about that?"
Peter didn’t stop working, but he said quietly, "And you?"
"What about me?"
"You’re sitting here, bleeding, while I treat you," Peter said as he tied the final knot in the stitches and looked directly at him. "But out there, maybe someone else is bleeding because of you. Someone with a family, kids, a mother waiting for him to come home, but he never will."
Punisher narrowed his eyes, saying nothing. There was something unsettling about Peter’s words, but he refused to let it show.
Peter stood up, washed his hands, and tossed the medical gloves into the trash.
"You see the world in black and white villains and victims. But life isn’t that simple. I’m not a judge or executioner. It’s not my job to decide who deserves to live or die."
Punisher exhaled slowly, staring at his freshly stitched wound. He wasn’t sure what to say, but for the first time in a long while, he felt something unfamiliar...doubt
But no... his words meant nothing, it was just nonsense.
Punisher ignored his thoughts and smiled slyly and evilly as he watched the doctor turn his back on him. He decided to mess with the doctor's emotions and break his calm. Then suddenly, he stood up, grabbed Peter, and tied his hands around his neck in a choking position. He wasn’t really choking him, though—he just wanted to test the man. He was annoying him, making him want to hit him, so he decided to do it since he had failed his mission and needed to release some energy.
To his surprise, Peter immediately noticed his movement and dodged it. He wanted to say something, but Punisher was quicker. He grabbed him, restrained him, and wrapped his legs around his ankles, bringing him down into a wrestling position, laughing roughly, while Peter slapped his wrists hard, trying to break free.
To his shock, he heard curses coming from the doctor’s mouth for the first time. When he saw him, he seemed like a truly respectable man, but it was easy to anger him, and that was quite obvious. Punisher felt a bit of a victorious thrill.
Then suddenly, he felt something strange.
Why is he flipped? What...?
Suddenly, he found himself flipped, and he lifted and fell on his side with force, whispering in pain as he laughed, then freed his wrists from the doctor's neck who immediately pulled away from him and tried to lift himself in a strange way.
Wait, hold on, wait a moment! Why is he upside down? And why are the doctor's hands, which are not holding him now, at his feet instead of his face? He shakes his hair and wipes his glasses.
Are... these hands coming out of his back? Three... Oh my God! Six claws?! Oh my God! And they look sharp and red!
Damn it! What is this thing?
Did I get myself into something?...
Punisher swallowed his saliva, laughed nervously, his eyes shaking a little, while upside down.
Peter looked at him, rubbed his forehead as if he had done something he didn't mean to, and looked at Punisher with annoyance, looking extremely frustrated and angry at himself Then, he flipped Punisher like a board and sat him on the bed. Punisher looked at him in shock, as if he had seen something he wasn't supposed to see.
His claws returned under his coat as if nothing had happened.
Peter said, sitting on a chair, not knowing how to bring up the topic with Punisher, who saw him use his spider-like hands for the first time... Oh God, this is going to be complicated.
Peter spoke, his expression not fitting his face at all, his hands sweating and tense for the first time, trying to maintain eye contact and adjusting his glasses while looking at Punisher.
"Look, man, you just..."
Punisher immediately responded seriously and coldly, "I didn’t see anything."
Peter raised an eyebrow... Is he denying what he saw out of shock? Or is he acting based on that?
Peter really doesn't know... and he doesn't want to know, because of all the people who saw him as a shapeshifter, Punisher ... had only met him twice.
Peter blinked and said in surprise, "You... don't deny this because you're acting...".
Punisher interrupted him again, suddenly standing up, yanking his coat, and storming out, shouting in anger, "I didn’t see anything! Do you understand? You’re human! And I’m human! Goodbye!"
Then he left, leaving Peter standing, his hesitant hand outstretched as if trying to stop Punisher to make sure he wouldn't tell anyone...
But it seems like he wouldn’t need to worry about that. He sighed.
Well, I expected a negative reaction when he saw me as human and discovered I’m a shapeshifter, but that was a bit strange...
Oh well, it doesn’t matter. I think he was just terrified of the hands...
Peter wiped his hand across his face with exhaustion and muttered in annoyance,
"He started it... If he hadn’t done that... I wouldn't have had to bring them out."
Peter stood up and began tidying the clinic, muttering, trying to forget the whole situation.
"Forget it, forget it. Don't think about it. He said I’m human, so he doesn’t want to believe what he saw. It doesn’t matter. Yes, forget..."