In case of emotional turmoil, here's the softer ending.
They go through the motions: Red waking, Curt making breakfast, Frank drinking his coffee. The kid takes Curt up on the offer of a shower and a change of clothes. He listens patiently and politely to Curt's description of the support group. But then it's high noon, and Red goes to leave, staggering out of the apartment on his own two feet, looking small-as-fuck in borrowed civvies and only marginally less dead than he looked last night.
"See you round, Red," Frank says.
Red gives him the finger.
There's no sign of the Devil that night or the next. He uses the time Red gives him, walking or driving around with Curt. He turns his sights high, up to the buildings, looking at the city through old eyes that feel new again. He ignores the gleaming panes of glass, the balconies, and there it appears, exactly what he's looking for: a construction site. A steel frame, totally open, shaded from view. Perfect place for a nest. Sure enough, Frank finds metal shavings shuffled around. A few ripped playing cards near the ledge where the rifle used to hang.
He goes to group. Last time he's going, so Frank embraces every step. Sees the whole damn city clearly through old eyes that feel brand new. He's crossing the last block when he finally notices the footsteps behind him. A slightly staggered gait. Left leg lagging behind the right. Toe knocking into the base of the streetlamp because the guy can't see.
Frank stops. He turns slightly, finds the oversized coat on the undersized kid looming behind him in the shadows. Thought the kid's costume was dopey, but now he really looks like he's playing dress-up. Kid wearing Dad's clothes.
"You stalking me?" Frank asks.
"Just headed in the same direction, Frank," the kid replies.
Christ, it sound so stupid coming from his mouth, which only makes Frank feel stupid. "This isn't gonna work, Red. You checking up on me. Making sure I walk the line."
"Good thing I'm not here to check up on you."
"What, you're here for group?"
"I was invited." Red staggers towards the building nearby. "Be rude not to show up at least once."
Frank grabs him by the forearm, and Red reacts under the coat, ready to attack, to throw down right here in the street. They could, too. Fight it out. Keep going with what they started and won't ever stop.
But Red's reaching a hand out of the grave, and it would give him what he wants to push him back in the ground. The fighting feels real, is real, but those quiet moments, the ones in the dark, where their souls are bared and broken together, they're real too. A different kind of real.
"It's the next one," Frank says, dragging Red along. "What are you, blind?"
The kid's laugh shifts – Murdock to the Devil: "Fuck off, Frank."
They walk together into the church.
Happy reading!
