The Café is moderately busy when Karen arrives, but homey feeling, the scent of freshly baked pastries and carefully hand brewed coffee is relaxing to her already jittery nerves.
She had waited only a day to request they both meet up to speak in person, something she knew was beyond dangerous, but necessary. There was only so much they could speak about via text, but according the him, he had gotten a hold of important files. He never said how or what they were, just that had them on a drive and was willing to show her.
Time wasn't on her side, she had realized that people were dying quickly, and with the authorities quietly looking for Frank, she needed to get as much information as possible to relay to him.
Karen analyzed the shop, trying to find who could possibly be the one she was meant to be meeting. He had mentioned that he would have a laptop on the table, however there were two individuals in this shop with a laptop, a young brown haired woman, seemingly scrolling through something with a bored, tired look on her face. The other was a larger Filipino boy, high school aged, with his laptop open but not in use. He was glancing around the shop anxiously before he met her eyes, staring before looking around some more, as if trying to confirm something.
Oh no...
Hesitantly, he put his hand up and waved her over, and reluctantly, she followed his instructions, standing in front of the table.
"Are you..." She began, but her voice petered out, and he nodded fiercely.
"Yeah, that's me, my name is Ned Leeds!" He was speaking in an enthusiastic whisper, putting out his hand for her to shake. She reciprocated the gesture, but her stomach sunk.
Had she been tricked by some overly interested teenager? Had he noticed things were weird and went to the forums to play it up, dragging her in as some sort of joke?
"Oh, uh, sit down, let's talk here." He pointed at the opposite chair, and Karen sat, sighing.
"Look, you might think this is funny, and maybe to you it is, but this is really, really dangerous and you shouldn't have gotten involved! These people-- they are bad news, you can't go around forums talking about it, even if you think it doesn't mean anything. You could fall into a Honey Pot or they could catch wind, so don't... just don't try to trick people into thinking you have information. It isn't safe." The entire time she spoke, the more and more confused the kid looked at her speech. While she spoke, her opened something up on his computer, eyes flicking between the screen and her face.
"Uh, Miss..." Ned began, but Karen wasn't done. Her frustration is matched only by her concern for this kid, who is getting himself into something he doesn't understand, all to be some sort of internet troll, or catfish, or whatever this situation is.
"God, how old are you?" Karen whispered, horrified, and the Asian boy grew embarrassed, ducking his head away, nervously clicking away on his laptops keys.
"... I'm sixteen, I go to Midtown Tech..." he admitted.
"Oh Christ..." Karen pressed her face into her hands, deflating, realizing that for sure she had to go to Frank with nothing to show.
"This... is so bad..." She breathed. The kid in front of her finished what he was doing with his computer, turning it to face her. There sat an untitled folder, and she noticed that plugged into the laptop was a Spider-Man themed USB stick.
"Here, look at this stuff," eyeing him, she did, clicking on the folder only to be met with file after file, the names only be numbers and letters with no discernable meaning behind them. She clicked on the first file, finding herself face to face with a very official looking document. Skimming through it, it spoke of the plans to develop a station in New York to expand their exportation of illegal goods. "I managed to breach one of their servers for a while, and got as much as I could. You're right about th being bad news..." further in, it spoke of am Executive of the group, Dazai Osamu, being assigned to this new out-of-country project, a brief description of this man's accomplishments, referencing events she was unfamiliar with, such as the Dragon Head Conflict and formation of Double Black.
"How... Did you get this stuff?" She questioned, awed, not looking away from the screen as she continued to read.
"Well... I'm kinda good with completely computers and stuff, and a friend of mine asked me to look into it, but it was really hard... The security around most of the servers was insane-- like SHIELD level crazy strong, but one was a bit easier to get into, and so I was able to get through, I guess?" He explained, wringing his hands together. Karen looked up from the screen at him.
"You've tried to hack SHIELD?" Karen asked, bewildered, and he seemed to realize he let that slip.
"I guess once a few years ago... because I was curious... but I couldn't get in." She nodded.
"Why was your friend asking?" Ned paled at that, and looked to grow clammy. He shuffled in his seat before leaning forward conspiratorily, Karen leaning in as well.
"You're Karen Page, right?" He whispered, and it was Karen's own turn to freeze, but she slowly nodded.
"And you're getting this information for Frank Castle, right?" Just before Karen was about to let out a sharp denial, the kid continued on.
"I'm getting this for a Vigilante too, he asked me to help get him this info after he came across the dock fire. Homeland Security was there, and so was Jessica Jones. He wanted to figure out what's going on... so he asked me." As Karen was about to speak, the quietness of the shop became all the more prominent, and she was careful to keep her voice very low as to make sure there would be no one overhearing.
"Okay, yeah, I'm getting it for Frank. Who's the Vigilante your getting information for?" He hesitated to answer, but eventually he responded.
"Spider-Man." Ned tapped the USB as he said it, and Karen was a little surprised. She knew Spider-Man was young, but it made sense that the two would know each other from school, considering he had been referred to as a "friend". That and recalling the voice of the vigilante from videos she'd seen of him at work, all the more clear that he was just a higher school became.
"No offense, but isn't that guy funded by Tony Stark? Why wouldn't he go to him about this instead?" She inquired, and the kid nodded enthusiastically, a little awed looking.
"Yeah, he came to him a few years ago, and he made his suit, but I'm not sure he knows whether he should bring it up yet. This isn't exactly Avengers level."
"Yet," Karen added, and the boy nodded sullenly, "I gave the files to him and he passed them on to Jessica Jones, but I don't really know what we can do... there's still a lot that doesn't make sense in those files." He explained and Karen hummed in return.
"Like what?" He took the computer back, scrolling through the files before clicking on one, turning the laptop back to her and pointing at it.
"Ability Users. Neither of us have heard of it, and I think he should ask Mr Stark about it, but he's really hesitant. He says he'll figure it out and that he doesn't want to "bother" him." Karen's brows pinched as she read through, and from what she was getting, an Ability user was similar in some vein to a Mutant, but from the way this file posed them as compared to a Mutant, they were much more valued. Who these files were written for, the were apparently allowing them to borrow an ability user who's ability was titled No Longer Human. No description of the ability was given, nor a normal, human name attached, just this individuals ability and that,they were being leant to them.
The "them" was the most concerning part, though, because "they" could be anyone. Any criminal I'm this city could be on the receiving end of this seemingly powerful ability, and with no idea what the fuck it meant or did, this was a terrible place to be in.
"He definitely needs to, whatever this ability is, it's one-hundred percent something to be worried about." Ned nodded in agreement.
"Oh, crap!" He yelped, a little louder than she had expected, making her jump.
"What? What's wrong?" She questioned, concern as well as panic swelling in her chest. They were discussing incredibly important, stolen information about a crime syndicate... reacting like that would be a clear red flag of no good.
"I'm sorry Miss Page, my lunch break is over, I need to get back to class, uh, here, keep this drive, I have another backed up at home, so you can keep it to look over and stuff." He stands, frantically stuffing his laptop into his bag, leaving the USB in front of her, throwing the bag onto his back as he wiggled out.
"I'd either of us learn anymore, we can continue using the chat log, I'd that cool?" He asked, eyes flicking between her and the door, as if he were anxious to run back to school at any moment, or worried at being late and marked tardy.
"Uh, yeah, that's... okay, you get back to school, I'll head to work." He nodded, bolting out the door.
Karen is left in the coffee shop, USB in hand, not for the first time wishing she were a human lie detector like Matt.
She's back at the office in under thirty minutes.
Frank thinks they should get on the move. The problem is trying to move this kid, who's hell bent on making his day as shitty as possible. Each time he had uncuffed him, he had managed to go for a gun, though Frank was now paying extremely close attention, keeping the bag with him wherever he move in the hotel.
He missed the initial quiet the kid had provided, the contemplative observing from the other side of the room was replaced with taunting malice, and as patient as Frank was with kids, it still wore on his nerves.
Still, before they moved hotels, he needed to get the kid a change of clothes. So, he had left the kid cuffed to the headboard (he'd moved him, since he knew that staying in the position he was in for extensive amount of time was hard on the body, and it was clearly causing trouble for his back, which knew was already injured in some way from their initial tussle.
Coming back with a T-shirt and jeans in the kids (aproximate) size, Frank cut the tags off the newly bought clothing and placed it on the bathroom sink, carefully removing everything sharp from the room in case the kid tried to shank him on his way out.
"Alright kid, you're going to shower and get changed into those new clothes and we're going to go." He swiftly uncuffs him, careful to keep a steady hand on him to guide him to the bathroom.
"Before we go, though, I'm checking your back." The kid scowled at him over his shoulder.
"Why? That's stupid. There's no reason to look at my back." The mafioso replies petulantly, stepping into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him with much more force than necessary.
"Because clearly there's something fucked up with your back." The lock clicks in place, but Frank isn't overly concerned. Need be, he can force his way through these cheap, shitty doors with little to no issue.
"I think you just want to seem me with my shirt off!" He replied childishly, and he can imagine the sticking his nose into the air like a spoiled brat with the wrong brand of almond milk placed in front of him.
"The fuck would I want to see you with your shirt off? You think I'm some sort of creep?" Frank asks, sounding a lot more outraged than he had meant to.
"Maybe! You've kept me handcuffed to a bed these last couple days, which just happens to be very trademark for a creep!" He chirp cheerily back, and Frank can admit, but only to himself, that the kid does have a point with that one.
"That's because you won't stop being an ass, now shower and get changed." An exasperated huff fills his ears as he walks away, making sure not to take his gaze away from the bathroom, making sure the kid didn't suddenly try to make a run for it. Not long after, the shower was turned on.
For ten minutes the shower ran, and another ten was spent changing, which was a lot more time than strictly necessary.
"What are you doing in there?" Frank sat, returning to the door, leaning against the frame to await the answer.
"There's not enough bandages~," Frank blinked, because he indeed expected the kid to change his bandages, but there was two damn rolls in there, which is enough for any sane person.
"What do you mean there's not enough bandages? How much are you trying to use?" A frustrated noise emanated from inside, echo-y in the small room.
"The necessary amount, but it's not enough!" He exclaimed.
"What are you trying to bandage?"
"Me!" The kid seemed to be giving up.
"More specific, smart-ass." The vet pinched the bridge if his nose. At this point he would be lucky to get going by the time the regular patrons are up and moving.
"That is specific!"
"Christ, just get out here and I'll get you more bandages later. I'll need to restock anyway..." It's silent on the other end for a while, and after a few moments of this silence, he's preparing to break the door down when, slowly, it creaks open.
The kid waiting for Frank to move from the doorway, so he does, looking the kid over for a moment. The first thing he notices is the lack of bandages around his head, and his right eye looks a tad odd, the one usually covered, it tracks normally like the other eye, but as the lighting in the room changes as he steps out from the brightly lit bathroom to the dim main room, the right eyes pupil does not expand like the other does. Unresponsive to light, and it kind of reminds him of Murdock's fucked up eyes.
But that isn't the particularly notable part, stands stiffly, shoulders hiked up and arms doing their best to cover his neck. His bandaged arms are on display, and he's not particularly surprised that they're now out of bandages, as his arms are cover for the bottom of the palm up to, seemingly, the shoulder.
"... What the fuck are you doing?" He asks, and the kid grimaces.
"There wasn't enough bandages." And Frank catches a glimpse through the a gap between his arms, and sees scar tissue.
"I need to check your back." The kid looks ready to fight him again.
"If I just tell you what's wrong with my back, will you stop trying to look at it." The kid offers tersely, and Frank mulls it over briefly.
"Fine, but be honest with me, no bullshit." The kid nods, eyes flickering away, around the room, anywhere but at Frank.
"I have a fractured vertebrae." He says it so plainly that Frank doesn't quite believe him for a moment, but theh he recalls the hunching in odd positions and flinching at movement and he hisses out a breath.
"Fuck, kid, you need a doctor." His eyes snap back to him, startled.
"What? No! I don't! I was honest with you!" The kid backs away, arms dropping, and for a quick moment, he spots mangled flesh before he attempts to slam the door shut, Frank quickly jamming his footing inside to stop it for shutting, pushing the door open. "This is where honesty gets me!"
"With a fractured vertebrae you can end up paralyzed any second! The hell were you thinking, hiding that?" Carefully bracing and arm across his back, keeping is still as possible against the kids struggling as he guides him out.
"I was hoping it'd kill me!" He whined, and Christ, he believes the kid when he gets a good look at the mangled flesh of his throat. The scar not dissimilar to rope burn surrounding his neck, cuts, both lateral and not decorate it, miscolouring the neck different shades. It continues down what what can see of his collar, cuts in carefully life's, raised and pink while others are a deep, disconcerting red, the flesh parting oddly as it seems to have healed oddly. Though, he also thinks that best it could have healed, it looks as if he had be trying to jam a blade beneath his collar bone, gouging out flesh and mutilating himself. It's disturbing, even to Frank,because while he's seen the aftermath of IED's and Government approved torture, and hell, suicide as well, but there's something about the viciousness of these self inflicted wounds, it looks like he was near desperate in making them. A bullet to the head is messy, but it's still over quick, and if not you're not conscious as life slowly fades, the bullet to the brain taking care of that. He does think of the unlike folk who's hands slip as they fire, mutilating their faces and surviving with little quality of life afterwards.
Suicide is a terrible but common end for those who return from war, Frank had seen it plenty in his life, and it felt like he was seeing it all again as he carefully draped the jacket over the kids shoulders, sure not to jostle or agitate the kids back and pick up the duffle bag.
As they leave, silently, the kid no longer arguing, simply gripping the coat around his neck, keeping it out of both Frank and any passerby sight.
The morning is still dark and has a biting chill despite that it was mid June, and once again he loads the boy into the van, depositing the bag in the back and briefly checking around incase there were and bandages he may have stashed somewhere. He comes up empty handed, sadly, and moves back to the front, starting up the engine and tossing the hotel key card out of the window.
"Aren't you supposed to return that?" The kid questions, but there's no bite nor teasing he had grown accustomed to in his voice, just a blank, toneless question.
"Yeah, well returning the card isn't really as important as getting your back checked." He peers at him quietly for a moment, so similarly to the way he had been that first half a day.
"And where do you intend to take me? From your phone calls, I'd say your a wanted man, and that does not get you arrest, possibly both of us depending on if they see me as an accomplice, the moment any doctor catches sight of me they'll be calling social services." The kids bright, that much is clear, no matter how childishly he may act sometimes, and he's very right about going to a hospital.
"I know a guy with a nurse friend, I'll stop by at her place and she can have a look at you. She won't call the cops." If only Claire Temple didn't live on the opposite fucking side of New York from where they are at the moment.
"That's awfully irresponsible for a nurse." He hummed, and Frank laughed at that.
"Yeah, well, she's a damn good nurse, even if she breaks the rules for this cities vigilantes." He grins, and the kid nods.
"I assume that she's that man you were on the phone with the other days nurse?" While it was posed as a question, the kid clearly already knew the answer.
"Yeah, but she helps most of New Yorks vigilante. A real nice lady." The kid adds nothing else, and while he wonders why the kid is suddenly so docile, he finds soon after that the kid has fallen asleep. He knew the kid wasn't sleep at all, he seemed to always be awake, whenever he awoke in the middle of the night he was simply peering up at the ceiling and he never napped during the day. He hadn't gotten much, if any sleep in a few days, and it finally seemed to have caught with him from what Frank had realized back in the hotel room to be stress.
As the sunrise splits the horizon, he makes a very quiet phone call to Claire, sure not to wake him up, letting her know he would be there later that day.