Author's Note: So… here's the thing. I absolutely loved the new Punisher series. Absolutely. Possibly my favorite Marvel TV show so far.

Inspired by a recent interview of Ben Barnes (Billy Russo), in which he revealed they shot more flashback scenes that he hopes we see in future seasons (that may also contain a serious twist to what we know so far), I wanted to take some time and write one of those scenes, as I imagined it.

Enjoy!

"… so that's where it'll happen. It's the perfect place"

Billy stood in front of Rawlins's desk, clenching his teeth, eyes sparkling.

"No"

Rawlins raised his eyebrows.

"Excuse me, lieutenant?"

"There should be another way. A cleaner way. There is no need for anyone else to get hurt. You want him, fair enough. His family doesn't have anything to do with it"

"Use your mind, Russo" he chuckled. "Murder a former marine, and the world will go crazy with suspicion, and guess against whom those suspicions are going to be! But take him down with his family, in a park, and make it look like a Mob hit… no one will blink an eye against us. They just happened to be there, in a tragic moment"

Billy's face tensed, his eyes dropping on the floor. No. This wasn't because of that. It was because this sadistic prick would enjoy it. Because he wanted Frank punished. Apparently, his own life wasn't enough.

He felt unnerved. His stomach turned. Anger.

Nobody could possibly talk Rawlins out of something once he made a decision. That much he knew by now. Whatever he did… anything he would possibly try to do to prevent this, would fail. He knew.

Think. Think now. Think fast. Decide. Realism should prevail. No room for emotions here.

As much as this was cold… Frank was already as good as dead. The thought of it left an emptiness inside. But that was it. He needed to decide. He could lose everything he had accomplished so far and go down with him. Even worse… go back to what he was before. The Orphan. The Man with Nothing.

Or… he could go on. He wouldn't lie to himself: he loved every bit of the life he had built. He had worked his guts out to obtain all of those things. He had done unspeakable things. If he did this… all of those things would be for nothing. So… he could simply go on. Go on… and wait for a chance. For the right moment to make this bastard pay. To avenge Frank.

He didn't want this. It wasn't right. It wouldn't be clean. No… it wouldn't.

Ours is not to reason why, Frankie-boy. Ours is but to do or die.

"I'll have nothing to do with this" he said abruptly. "Whatever happens, I'm out"

"Absolutely not. I need an experienced shooter. Someone that won't fail in any case"

He calmly put his hands over the desk, and looked Rawlins in the eyes.

In the eye.

"You can find a great deal of skillful people to do your bidding. Listen to me. I… am… out of this. I'll have nothing to do with it. Τhere are certain things someone like you would never understand. I know those people. I've been with them in that very same place. Frank and I served together for eight years. Until yesterday, he got my back and I got his back. I'm staying… out"

Rawlins's eye darkened, his jaw clenching with anger.

"You don't want get your hands dirty, Billy?"

"Do you know me for a person that often refuses to do so?"

Rawlins smirked, but nodded.

"Very well then. Maybe it's for the best. Emotional weaknesses don't fit anywhere around a mission. One would expect you would know that by now"

"Emotional. Do I look like I'm emotional?"

"Well… quite frankly, yes. Maybe I should rethink how much responsibility I'm giving you. Maybe you're not the right person for this after all"

He remained eerily calm and expressionless, successfully hiding his anger and even more successfully ignoring the desire for taking his other eye out as well, right in the spot. Or at least breaking his jaw. Something. Instead, he simply smirked a little, answering nothing. He was patient enough. He could wait. Knowing that he had the power to do it if he wanted was satisfying enough.

"Dismissed" Rawlins almost barked at him.

He turned and walked away, but the sound of his voice stopped him at the doorstep.

"And Russo… I hope you do know your phone is being tracked. Just a reminder, in case some… 'emotional urge' gets to you these two days. Two dead, fellow marines at the same time would raise high suspicion, it's true… but I'd make it work, if necessary"

Day Zero

He was sitting on his fancy couch, in his fancy apartment, in his fancy life. The coffee on the fancy coffee table in front of him was getting cold, still untouched. The huge screen TV was off. He was staring at nothing. The only sound he could hear was the clock, ticking. Nothing else.

Yet he didn't dare to look at it.

He noticed a wrinkle on his shirt and fixed it.

His mind was getting numb. It was so, so annoying. Finally, unnerved and irritated, he grabbed on his phone and looked at the time.

59 minutes.

His put it down and crossed his hands, fingernails digging against his own skin.

"I'm coming with you!"

"Bill! Stay here! Keep them safe! Cover me!"

He stood up, took the cup and spilled the coffee on the sink. He accidentally dropped it on the floor. Luckily, it didn't break. It was still whole.

"We can't do THIS anymore! Look at us, Frank!"

He picked it up and put it on the sink. Trying to avoid the thoughts. Trying not to listen-

"Look at yourself"

No. Too late. There already was a crack on the cup. A big one.

"Hey, Uncle Billy…"

A huge one.

"Did you hear Uncle Billy, dad?"

He tossed it in the trash and turned around to get another, when he realized there was now a small cut on his thumb. Some drops of blood spilled on his sleeve.

"This is all the family you need, right here"

He grabbed a napkin.

"He was betrayed by his friend…"

He felt an anger he knew to be absurd. Why the hell was this happening? Why had he let that happen? That was a good shirt. A damn good one. One that he really liked. Really, really liked. And now it had to be washed again. Because it was uncleaned. Stained.

"… for money and fame"

Stained.

"For money and fame"

Why wasn't he careful enough? He was always careful, wasn't he?

"For money and fame"

He didn't want to look at his watch. He was afraid to look at his fucking watch.

"For money and fame"

54 minutes.

"This is all the family you need, right here"

53 minutes.

He was in the other room in an instant, furiously digging into some drawer, until he found the spare cellphone he was looking for. He turned it on while putting his gun in place, and dialed Frank's number.

It was calling. Again. And again. And again.

"The number you have called is not available at the moment. Please, try later"

"Oh, come on!" he hissed.

He called again, and then tried Maria's phone. Unsuccessfully.

43 minutes.

No time left.

He grabbed a jacket while stepping out of the house. He didn't even notice which one, only that it had a hoodie. He kept calling while he was getting in the car. And then he remembered who provided that car for him. One that would certainly recognize it, if it was seen anywhere around the place…

30 minutes.

He went out on the street and didn't give it much thought. He easily broke into the first car he saw, and drove as fast as he could.

27 minutes.

"The number you have called is not available at the moment. Please, try later"

He reached Central Park's entrance. Only 9 minutes remained.

He put on the hoodie, got out of the car and started walking -almost running- ignoring all the people that shouted at him furiously for leaving the car like that in the middle of the street.

6 minutes, and it seemed like the air was starting to smell like Kandahar. He was almost feeling it to his bones, like they felt it back there. That stiff, metallic taste, the gunpowder, the dust. Was Frank feeling it as well? Or it was simply because he knew what was coming?

The storm was close. So close.

Dial. Dial. Dial.

"The number you have called is not available at the moment. Please, try later"

3 minutes. No use.

He could see the carousel, but he couldn't run. He shouldn't. Running catches attention. Just get there fast.

Fast.

FASTER.

It was on. Kids were on it. Parents all around. He couldn't see Frank. He was standing with Maria on the opposite side, probably. Right where he was supposed to be…

No. No, he must have been alone. Because Maria was in the carousel as well. He could see her. He saw Lisa on a horse beside her. Frankie a bit behind.

One minute.

He felt his heart would explode and sink at the same time as he approached the carousel. He couldn't see Frank behind it. But Maria saw him. She did. She didn't know who it was. Didn't cast a second look. But her eyes spotted him right there, for an instant, as his hand clenched around the handle of the gun.

And right then, in that moment, he felt overcome by an all too familiar, yet all forgotten desperation. An emptiness. Something he hadn't felt for years, as he realized… he had no idea what to do.

A scream. The first of many.

Ground Zero.

"LISA!"

Frank.

When there is no plan, instinct is all that takes over. That's how it is in a war. He moved swiftly, as always, and did the only thing that seemed possible at that moment: someone. Try and save at least one of them. As the carousel turned, he reached out and grabbed Frankie, the closest one to him, pulling him down on the ground, the very same moment that a storm of fire burst out.

For an instant, he thought he could pull down Lisa too. But he didn't calculate well.

"Uncle… Uncle Billy—?"

The child was disoriented, completely lost in shock and fear. He put his hands on his shoulders, as screams filled the air.

"Buddy… we have to stay down now, alright? Just stay down, everything will be alright"

"What… what's happening?" he stammered terrified, his voice trembling, tears welling up in his eyes.

"Frankie, just stay down, did you hear me?"

"But mom… dad…"

With the child now safely beside him, he looked up, cautiously, staying behind the carousel, not to betray his position. He could see one of them in the mirror. He raised the gun and shot. Right in the neck. He shot two more times.

And then he saw Frank down, near the fence where he always stood. Blood pouring from his head.

"I gotta get home. I gotta go"

Maria and Lisa lied on the floor, very close to one another. Everything around them painted red.

"Mom! MOMMY!"

He hadn't realized that the kid was now looking at the same direction. And when he reached his hand to grab him and keep him down, stop him from running towards his mother, it was already too late.

"Frankie, don't-"

Two gunshots. One went to the child's belly, the other on the shoulder. Instant kill.

Then the world went silent. The remaining screams were coming from far, very far away. Because there was nobody left right there to scream.

He let himself slip down on the ground, eyes wide open, starring at nothing, gun still on his hand. He was holding it so hard his fist hurt. Everything was getting slower now. As if this wasn't real.

It shouldn't have been real.

He raised his hand to his face and realized it was wet with tears. He couldn't remember the last time this happened. Probably when he was still a child.

You didn't make it. You failed.

He had to think clearly now. He had to try at least.

Police sirens reached his ears, and he had to remind himself he needed to disappear from that place. They shouldn't spot him there. It was no use anymore, after all.

No use.

He momentarily glanced at Frankie's soulless body. And as he walked away, all he could think about was that day they had spent together in that very same park. A beautiful day. But gone. So long gone. As if it happened in another lifetime. To another person.

A very different one.

Present, Lieberman's warehouse (series)

"But you knew about it, didn't you?"

And there it was. There he was.

He didn't think it would ever come down to that. Frank looking at him in the eyes, asking that thing. Waiting for an answer. A convincing one. For the truth.

But what was the truth, exactly? Was it that he tried to prevent it? Yes. He did. At the very last moment, he did try. He risked… everything. He risked losing all the things he cared about in that hour, that very last hour. The money, the cars, the luxury he always craved for, the fame. He put at risk his place, his career, his fancy life. For him. For them. To save them. To prevent this.

But then again… he was late. Far too late. He did let it get to that point in the first place, didn't he?

He was actually surprised to realize that the thought still caused him pain. But he never lied to himself. He wouldn't do that now. Because the truth was, he could have done something earlier. But he didn't. Out of fear. Fear of losing all the things he cared about, and his own life as well. It was selfish and cold… and rotten. But it was… true.

And even if he told him he tried to help… why should Frank believe him? Why would he trust his word now, after all of this shit? Why would he believe that to this day he still woke up sometimes thinking about it. Thinking of Frankie's dead corpse. Cursing himself for not holding him back, instead of trying to bring down the shooters. That he thought of Lisa and Maria too, and that day in the park, and all those other days they had spent together. When he could really be something better than himself alongside them.

There was absolutely no one that would be able to confirm anything he said.

He didn't do the best he could. He didn't do enough. How could he explain how much regret was filling him ever since? And even if he tried to, what would it matter to Frank? What good would knowing do him? Maria was gone. Frankie. Lisa. All gone. Even if he believed him, he'd still hate him. Loathe him. Maybe even more than he already did. He'd still want him dead. And he would be right to do so. He understood that very well. Sometimes… sometimes he thought that maybe he wanted the same.

"Did you know about it, Bill?"

He tried. Yes. But not enough.

It wouldn't matter to him now. He simply needed an answer. He saw it in his tearful eyes that he was afraid to hear it, though. That he desperately wished for him to say no, that he didn't know about it, not for a long time.

He could lie to somebody else, perhaps. But not now. Not to Frank. He would never do that. It would be disrespectful. Dishonorable. And God knew, his honor was already so stained it was hard for him to spot it. He couldn't lie. Not to the only person that ever stood by his side, unconditionally, ever since he could remember himself.

So he choked down his own truth, and let the simple one, the short one come out. The one he believed Frank needed.

He simply nodded slowly, trying to remain expressionless.

"Yeah. I knew"

Thank you all for reading! I'd love to read any comment you might have.