Frank huffed, scanning the crowd with his scope as he lay on the rooftop of a dingy Chinese restaurant that, in his four nights of recon, he'd seen at least seven health code violations at. Still, that was to be expected; food wasn't its primary source of income, that would be the drug dealing. Its position next to the docks made it the perfect front, with the suppliers being able to bring the product by boat, dump it in carts, and walk it to the restaurant ready for cutting and packaging.
It was also the perfect position for Frank to get a good shot from with a clear view of the docks, the suppliers, and everyone involved in the operation.
Frank had been there for hours, keeping a close eye on the crowd for any of his targets. The area was busier than normal, Frank having forgotten it was Halloween and therefore all the kids would be out trick-or-treating. Frank ignored the feeling of being punched in the chest whenever his eyes landed on a little girl dressed as a cowgirl or witch or a little boy dressed as Frankenstein's Monster or a knight, the memories of his own children and the fun they had at Halloween coming back to him full force.
There was always the keen sting of loss, the ghosts of Frank's past and his family following him around constantly, but over the years it had gone from consuming his days and dreams and filling him with the desperate need for revenge and rage to a steady pang in his chest. Around the holidays it was worse, making the last few months of the year Hell on Earth for Frank. Seeing all the laughing children skipping around the streets all dressed up on the hunt for candy or waiting in line at the mall in the hopes of seeing Santa used to bring him so much joy, but now it just filled his brain with what ifs.
Halloween had always been Lisa's favourite holiday; she'd loved it even more than Christmas when she got an admittedly extortionate number of presents. She'd always wanted to be different, dressing up as a dragon or a zombie when all her friends were princesses and fairies, and proving time and time again she wasn't afraid to be herself. Frank had asked her once why she enjoyed Halloween so much, expecting an answer that revolved around sugar or being able to dress up as someone you weren't but, like always, his brave little girl had surprised him.
"It's when all the monsters get the love they deserve, Daddy. Even monsters need a hug."
Frank sometimes wondered what Lisa would think of him now. Would she be repulsed by him, by the monster the world perceived? Or would she still love him and hold him close and hug him because she saw him for who he was?
Frank shook the thoughts away. Dwelling on those sorts of things was dangerous, and now was not the time to get distracted by the past and could've beens; he had a job to do, and he needed to focus to do it properly.
He couldn't shoot when there were kids around. He was confident in his abilities and knew he wouldn't hit them unless he deliberately aimed at them, but he wasn't going to be the reason they suffered PTSD. Luckily, it was getting late enough that the docks were starting to empty out, the parents dragging their protesting children home with them as soon as they showed signs of sleepiness. It was for the best, for some reason the worst criminals made their appearance on Halloween night. It made Frank shudder remembering how he'd done the very same not so long ago, keeping his children out as long as possible not knowing that a bunch of freaks into a whole lot of fucked up shit lurked in the shadows on this particular night. Now he knew though. And now he could do something about it.
Finally, after what felt like hours, the last of the children disappeared from Frank's scope and he felt himself physically relax. He wouldn't have shot with them around, but the knowledge they were now safe from getting caught up in a shoot-out was a massive relief. He wasn't sure he was strong enough to live through that again, to hear the screams and cries of children as they bled out and desperately, futilely, tried to cling to life. To hear their choked sobs as they cried out for their parents, begging them to save them and promise them they'd be alright even though they knew they wouldn't be. To have to see the questions in their eyes as the light dimmed: why, why, why?
No, he couldn't live through it again, even if this time it wouldn't be his own children.
He'd lived through one horror story, he didn't need more.
It took about an hour from when the last civilian disappeared for the scum to come out of hiding. Frank watched carefully as one by one men and women started hurrying from the street to the loading area, some dressed shabbily and glancing over their shoulders nervously – first timers and the desperate -, some wearing clothes smarter and more expensive than Frank earned in six months as a marine and strolling confidently across like nothing and nobody could hurt them – middle-management.
Of course they were wrong; Frank could and would do more than hurt them. He'd make sure of it.
Frank hummed to himself as he began to wonder how long he should wait until he started to pick them off. None of those he'd seen so far were the big hitters which was disappointing; offing these bunch of lowlifes would take scumbags who hurt people off the street, but it would only delay the inevitable rather than stop it. What Frank really wanted was to take out the bosses and he'd been hoping they'd turn up that night for what he'd heard was a big shipment, but it seemed the assholes were unfortunately smart enough to not do that. It wasn't a huge deal because Frank would eventually find them and take them out, but getting them tonight would've been something nice on what was otherwise a crappy and painful night for Frank.
The last of the daylight was starting to fade, the sunset silhouetting the buildings so they were just a black smudge on the skyline. Frank watched as the shadows gradually crept up the docks, sheltering the criminals from the daylight and the law and justice. Or so they thought. By the end of the night, most would meet Frank's own brand of justice: at the end of his gun.
There was a yell from below him and Frank instinctively aimed his gun down, his finger tapping at the trigger ready to open fire if he'd been spotted. To his relief (and slight dismay he couldn't shoot yet), all he found was a guy yelling behind him into the restaurant and pointing into the distance. Frank followed where the man was pointing, squinting his eyes as he searched and stiffened when he noticed the shape on the horizon, heading straight towards them.
A large group of people stampeded out of the restaurant, making their way together to one of the docking areas. To Frank's surprise, another group was making their way from street level and another from the tackle shop next door to the same place; like a large colony of ants scurrying towards a piece of dropped food the moment it hit the ground and gathering around it in mass.
A thrill shot through Frank when he recognised the shape as a small ship and his heart started to pound harder in anticipation as he realised what was going on. It wasn't just a large shipment of drugs making their way to Hell's Kitchen tonight, it was the large shipment: the sort of shipment dealers exported once in a blue moon, the sort that had all hands on deck, the sort that had the big bosses on lookout, and the sort that had huge ramifications should it go wrong – say, for instance, if half the organisation got wiped out in some freak shooting by an unknown entity.
The sort Frank lived to destroy.
Frank licked his lips and returned his eyes to his scope, paying extra attention now to the numbers of vermin and trying to pick out faces in the crowd to see if any of the bosses had arrived. Every so often, he darted his gaze up to the incoming ship, his anticipation growing as he watched it get closer and closer and finally, after what felt like hours, when his back was aching and the cold had started to seep through his coat, the ship finally came in to dock.
Frank watched hungrily as the group hurriedly went to the ship and started the unloading process: catching the dock lines thrown from the ship and securing them to the cleats, pulling down the gangplank, and then forming a line ready for the product to be carried to the deck. They moved swiftly and silently, the fluidity of their movements making it obvious that the group were experts at this and had done it numerous times. It made Frank's blood boil thinking about how many people had died because of the assholes below him pumping those drugs out onto the streets, how many loved ones had been torn away from their families due to their actions, how many mothers and fathers had their children ripped from them, how many children had been orphaned, and how many partners had lost the love of their life due to the greed of others.
Frank was slightly surprised they were moving the product before night had completely fallen. The light was gradually disappearing, the shadows growing darker and travelling further, but it wasn't the pitch black that criminals usually reserved their activities for. It felt risky with the number of pedestrians wandering around and the potential for a clueless cop to stumble across them, but who was Frank to question the decisions of the criminal underworld. All that mattered to Frank was their guilt, his gun, and the bullets that would hopefully rip through their heads the same way they'd ripped families apart. Frank just hoped he could manage to do that before someone innocent found the group up to no good and heroically tried to stop them, because that would not end well for them. He didn't want to start shooting just yet though, he wanted the big boss to step off that ship so Frank could cut off the head of the organisation, but if someone else found them first he would have to hunt the psychos later.
The moment the shadows reached the end of the dock, a man dressed in a sharp black suit and a woman dressed in an even sharper black suit stepped off the ship surrounded by five armed guards, and Frank grinned. There they were. This was his chance. Frank lined up his shot, his aim pointing straight at the woman's forehead, and his finger twitched over the trigger.
Frank caught movement in his periphery and he dropped his finger with a growl; he couldn't risk firing with an unknown in the area, even if that meant temporarily aborting his shot. It might be an innocent person and even if Frank didn't hit them, if he shot the gang would open fire and there'd be one more dead body than Frank wanted at the dock within minutes.
Frank instantly turned to see what had caught his attention and practically snarled when he found his least favourite interfering costumed vigilante who lived to annoy Frank stumbling out of the shadows. (A lie. If Frank was being honest, he was the only interfering costumed vigilante Frank could stand.)
Fucking Red.
Frank groaned lowly. Of course he'd turn up; the stubborn fucker didn't know when to leave well enough alone and just loved giving Frank a headache prattling on about hope and second chances and innocence when he didn't know the meaning of the word. If Frank had to hear one more time about law and order and doing things the right way from the parkouring douchebag, pretending like he didn't spend his nights fighting for justice with his fists and probably did more saving as Daredevil than law-abiding Matt Murdock, he was going to shoot himself. Or Red. Frank hadn't decided yet.
Frank could admit that the guy was good at his job – both jobs, the vigilante gig and his side-hustle as a lawyer. He didn't think Red was effective, seeing as the only good scumbag was a dead scumbag and the only sure-fire way to stop them was to put them in the ground, which Red refused to do, but at least he was doing something. Red was taking action to protect his city and the innocent lives within it, which was more than the 'for the people' politicians and local cops were doing. Frank didn't necessarily like Red, but he appreciated him in a professional capacity and yes, he'd saved Frank's ass on more than one occasion. If Frank was in over his head (and would admit to it), he knew he could call Red and Red would come without hesitation, even if Frank refused to promise not to kill anyone – though he didn't tend to on their team ups out of courtesy and because Red was even more of a nightmare when he was angry. Frank knew that Red always had his back, which was more than most people in Frank's life. It was a bonus that Frank knew Red could take care of himself. Whilst Frank trusted Curt and David with his life, in a battle a part of him would always be concerned about them and distracted in case they got hurt, but he had seen Red fight, been on the other side of those fists, and knew it took a lot to knock the Devil down.
They had a mutual agreement to neither kill each other or put each other behind bars. Red had said he would leave Frank be because it was pointless to have him arrested; both because Frank kept escaping prison and because Nelson & Murdock were officially Frank's lawyers, and it would be a waste of time and energy for Daredevil to get Frank locked up only for Murdock to have to get him out. Red said that, but Frank was 90% sure he abided by their truce for the same reason Frank initially had: he really, really didn't want to piss off Karen. The woman had passion, a steady hand and a loaded weapon, and she loved both of them, so if one of them hurt the other there would be hell to pay.
Didn't stop Red from kicking Frank in the head on occasion or Frank's fist meeting Red's jaw, but Karen hadn't mentioned the black eyes and grazes, and more often than not nowadays both he and Red did it for stress relief rather than wanting to do actual physical damage.
So Frank didn't like Red, but he appreciated him (professionally). They weren't friends, they were reluctant team mates and occasional allies. He didn't consider them brothers, but he trusted him. He didn't enjoy spending time with him, but he enjoyed fighting him and the relief Red brought with him. He didn't like the constant yapping about the value of lives, but he liked that the two of them could sit in comfortable silence for hours. He didn't like the judgement and naiveite, but he liked the compassion and understanding and empathy that Red had which Frank struggled to find in others.
He thought Red felt the same.
He also thought that if he told himself often enough that he and Red weren't friends and that he didn't care about him, that would make it true.
But fuck it was like talking to a brick wall who refused to listen to reason when the subject of morals and life and methods came up, and Frank didn't need him showing up now and going on a rant when there was a huge and ruthless gang right in front of them that Frank could wipe out and get out of Hell's Kitchen. Frank had everything under control so there was no reason for Red to show up and do his whole altar boy routine.
Frank lowered his head back down to look at the scope, flicking it to the gang - who still hadn't noticed a douchebag dressed in a gimp outfit getting closer to their drug operation - to make sure nothing needed his immediate attention, before focusing it back on Red.
"Fuck off and find your own scumbags to take down," Frank said lowly, letting a growl leak into his voice.
Red didn't seem to hear him which was strange because Frank knew the asshole heard everything. Maybe he'd come from another fight and had his bell rung enough that it had fucked up his super-senses; it wouldn't be the first time Frank had seen Red take a bad knock to the head and spend the rest of the night stumbling around like a baby deer. He'd been adamantly informed several times that that was the only reason Frank beat him in that second fight, where Red ended up chained to a roof that led to their first proper conversation. Frank didn't believe him, but if that's what helped Red sleep at night…
Red was leaning pretty heavily against the wall, which backed up the 'had the crap knocked out of him' theory, but Red usually responded to Frank's voice. Not in a creepy way, Red had said he recognised his voice easier than a lot of others because he had a distinct one and he'd spent a lot of time with him so could pick him out of a crowd on the other side of the city…which yeah, now Frank was thinking about it was a little creepy, and inconvenient, and he was going to ignore the little spark of warmth in his chest that he was one of the people Red knew well enough that he could find him instantly in a city this large. They'd been in the midst of heavy gunfire before, Frank stabbed and Red with blood trickling out from under his mask, and Frank had only whispered Red's name in warning for him to cock his head and seek out Frank immediately. So for Red not to pick him up now meant either he was mad at him (likely, Frank made him angry regularly but had done nothing recently for such a reaction), he was dazed from a recent fight (extremely likely, but Red usually recovered quickly), or something was very, very wrong (unlikely, but worrying, not that Frank would admit that).
It was looking to be the latter, because Red pushed himself off the wall and immediately started to stroll up to the heavily armed, ruthless army of well-trained fighters and drug dealers, out in the open in his 'I fight crime' costume without hesitation or keeping to the shadows or seeming to notice he was walking into trouble at all.
It took less than three minutes for him to be noticed, which was longer than Frank expected and wasn't hard seeing as he'd stopped right under the one working streetlamp on the whole damn dock. Frank saw the moment one of them turned, spotted Red and frowned before he hit the guy next to him on the shoulder and pointed. One by one, each member of the gang's attention fell on Red, their confused expressions lasting until one of the leaders noticed their divided attention. When her eyes fell on Murdock, she immediately barked out an order, and those confused expressions morphed into determination as all but two of the army charged towards the vigilante.
It was okay, Red probably had a plan…
Who was Frank kidding, Red never had a plan; no strategy, no briefing, no mission, he just tracked down trouble, went in swinging and hoped his training was enough to not get him killed.
Maybe this one time…
Frank shook his head. No, that wasn't like Red. Even when the guy did have a specific target in mind and went out hunting for them, the plan usually consisted of sneak in, knock out as many as possible without drawing attention to himself, and then unleash hell.
It didn't matter. Even if Red hadn't expected this, he could look after himself. Sure, these guys were heavily armed but Red could sense the trajectory and speed of bullets to dodge them, and when he wasn't quick enough they seemed to almost bounce off him anyway. Whilst he was outnumbered, Frank knew this wasn't even close to the highest number of bad guys Red had taken on at once. He'd single-handedly taken out at least thirty Dogs of Hell members with a gun taped to one hand and a chain restricting the movement on his other, and fuck knows how many ninjas had been on that roof with him and his girl that time. This group were nothing in comparison. As much as Frank hated to admit it, Red's skills were impeccable and he was better than anyone else Frank had seen at hand-to-hand combat. This would be a walk in the park for him and he'd be fine.
Frank told himself that even as the first person reached Red and drew his fist back before ploughing it into Red's face.
Red's mouth dropped open in surprise as he staggered back from the force, his hand automatically going up to cup his cheek where the impact had been. The fact Red apparently hadn't heard them coming confirmed something was wrong, something that was only emphasised when another person rushed him from behind, hitting him in the back with a lead pipe and pushing him forward again into the chest of the first guy. The man grabbed the collar of Red's suit, headbutting him before flinging him behind him into the rest of the group who were all instantly on him: punching, pulling, scratching, kicking, and hitting him with weapons until Red had dropped to his knees. Two held Red in place whilst a third walked closer and hook kicked Red in the face so he fell backwards and ended up lying spread-eagled on the floor, the gang surrounding him and pointing their guns directly at him before he hit the ground.
He wasn't getting up.
Red was fine, it was a trick. It had to be a trick. He'd survived worse, taken bullets and knives and had the shit kicked out of him and kept fighting like it was nothing. He was just as stubborn as Frank in that regard and believed it was getting up that mattered, not the way you hit the ground.
Except Red wasn't getting up.
He wasn't getting up and the gang leader nodded her head in a signal, the sound of at least eight guns clicking cracking through the night air in response as her minions prepared to shoot.
Frank panicked.
He didn't hesitate, didn't pause to think like his instructors in the corps had always insisted on; his finger was pressing down on the trigger and the gun pumping out bullets as he screamed before he could even think of the consequences.
It had the desired effect though. Several of the guys aiming at Red dropped like flies, crying out if they were lucky and blissfully silent if they weren't. The others scattered and dove for cover, searching for the attacker in the shadows and rooftops with scared expressions. Gunfire tended to do that.
Distantly, Frank was aware of the shouts as the two leaders fled to a car parked on the dock, the doors already open as their guards rushed them towards it. Frank re-directed his aim, turning his wrath onto the now moving car that was speeding out of the dock. It was useless, his bullets bounced off the bullet-proof windows instead of drilling into heads because of course the leaders of a multi-billion-dollar drug smuggling operation wouldn't have normal windows and would have protection.
The gun clicked empty the moment the car drove out of his sight and Frank stopped screaming. He turned back to the area in front of him to find it cleared, the thumping of footsteps on the wooden platform and the backs of the stragglers sprinting in the opposite direction the only sign that others had been there moments ago. Frank watched them go, cursing under his breath and grinding his teeth in frustration. He'd have to call Micro and hope to God the man could track these guys. It had taken him weeks to get this lead and he'd had the leaders of the operation and a lot of their goons right there in front of him, and that had all gone to shit because of the self-sacrificing idiot who just waltzed into trouble without any care for whose evening he was ruining.
A self-sacrificing idiot who was still there, the only person left except the dead or unconscious bodies surrounding him.
Right. That was it.
Frank stood, hefting his gun up with him and headed straight for the fire escape he'd climbed up originally. He was down it in seconds, not bothering to be quiet and stealthy this time around – there was no point, his targets were gone and everyone else in the area would've heard the gunfire so any hope of going undetected was screwed. Frank estimated he had maybe fifteen minutes before the cops started arriving, busy elsewhere as they always were on Halloween, which gave him plenty of time to make Red wish those scumbags had put him out of his misery quickly.
"What the fuck are you doing, Red?!" Frank yelled, storming forward with his arms out.
Red groaned, still sprawled on the ground like a star fish. Frank wondered if maybe he was being too loud for Red's sensitive hearing.
Frank raised his voice. "Don't you have kittens to save or something? Why the fuck are you screwing with my operation when there's an entire city in need of saving? Do you know how long it took me to gather all that intel and track these assholes? Do you know how many people they've killed? I had them, all ready and lined up and about to make the streets of your beloved Hell's Kitchen cleaner and in you stumble with your holier-than-thou attitude and shred it to pieces? Fuck you."
Red didn't respond. That was weird, usually he didn't shut up.
Frank kicked one of his boots hard and Red groaned again, but managed to push himself up onto his elbows, shaking his head as if trying to clear it. Red looked up at Frank and to Frank's absolute horror, Daredevil's frown transformed into a wide, beaming smile the moment his eyes fell on him – or more likely the moment he recognised him.
"Woah," Red said a little breathlessly. He grinned. "Cool costume, dude."
What the actual fuck.
"What?" Frank said articulately.
Red pushed himself up higher until he was in a sitting position. "Seriously, it's awesome. Super realistic. It looks like it was taken right off the news reports and papers: the skull is amazingly stencilled, the boots perfect, and the blood looks so real! What did you use for that? My buddy Benji says corn syrup is best but I still stick to the classic ketchup." He tilted his head to the side, but not in the way Red usually did when he was listening to something, more like he was considering Frank. "Your makeup looks great too, you look just like him. What brand did you use? Was it from one of those Halloween makeup kits or high-end stuff or professionally done?"
Frank was confused. More than confused, he had no fucking clue what Red was talking about. He assumed his previous theory of Red having been bashed around earlier was true because he didn't sound like himself. He was talking in a very un-Red sounding kinda voice; it was slightly slurred and lighter with a gentle twang to it, not the smooth, deep voice that belonged to Red. The guy was swaying gently, which either meant he was drunk or was hurt and had a concussion. Either way, it explained the speech and the nonsensical babbling and the questions about Frank wearing makeup and his inability to fight off goons and the staying down when he usually jumped up and him not recognising or hearing Frank earlier and…and…
And this…this wasn't Red.
Then who the fuck was it?
"I am The Punisher," Frank tried, aiming for semi-friendly but his confusion and frustration leaked through. "And who the fuck are you supposed to be?"
Not-Red chuckled. "You even sound like him. You need to do a bit more manic laughter and snarling and evil smiles, but apart from that," he raised his hand and gave him a thumbs up. "Perfection." He dropped his hand and raised his eyebrows. "Seriously, what do you use for the blood? I'm thinking of doing zombie Captain America next year, I could do with some tips."
'Manic laughter and snarling and evil smiles?' Is that how people saw Frank? Some cheap movie villain with a secret lair and plotting world domination? He wasn't some two-dimensional bad guy who killed people for fun or selfish reasons: Frank had purpose and logic and wants. He was kinda offended.
"You ain't hearing me," Frank said, stepping closer to him and hoping that maybe the light from the one streetlamp would help. "I am The Punisher. Frank Castle. And this." He pointed to his vest. "This is real blood."
It was the wrong thing to say. Not-Red stared at him for a few moments, the serene smile still on his face, then his eyes roamed over Frank, taking him in properly, and as he did his smile dropped slowly and his face paled.
Not-Red scrambled back and to his feet, holding his hands out in defence with wide, terrified eyes.
"Oh my…please don't hurt me."
Frank sighed. "I ain't gonna hurt you."
"I know I've done bad things in the past, but I can be good!"
"What kind of bad things?"
"The robbery…I was eight, and the chocolate was just there and my mom wouldn't let me have it, and I gave it back! And the fight with Sammy Jones, I only pushed him because he told the teacher he'd seen me cheat on the quiz when I hadn't. And the girl in the bar," Frank straightened up. "Look, I know the love poem wasn't mine and it was wrong to plagiarize, I thought she'd like it though and really wanted to get laid. Didn't work, the author was her best friend."
Frank gawped at him, stuck somewhere between amusement, alarm and sympathy.
"You ever killed anyone?"
"No?"
"Part of a gang?"
"No!"
"Then I ain't gonna hurt you," Frank emphasised. "What's your name?" Not that Frank cared, but perhaps being more personal would convince this guy Frank wasn't gonna smash his head onto the concrete and spill his brains everywhere for stealing candy when he was a kid.
"Adrian."
"Right, Adrian." Frank waved his hand wildly at his costume. "Now you gonna tell me why you're dressed like the Dickhead of Hell's Kitchen?"
"Daredevil?" Adrian said, confused.
"Who else?"
"It's my Halloween costume," Adrian said with a frown. Frank wasn't sure he liked his tone, like he thought Frank was stupid.
"But why?"
"Because it's Halloween, dude."
Frank was 80% sure this guy was drunk. That was the only explanation for him not getting it. He made sure to speak slower and pronounce his words clearer. "Why choose Daredevil as your Halloween costume?"
"Why? Because Daredevil is cool," Adrian declared firmly, as if it were a fact and nothing Frank said would convince him otherwise.
"Daredevil is a dick," Frank countered. "Take it from someone who knows the asshole."
"You know Daredevil?" Adrian said, awe in his voice. It seemed he'd forgotten to be afraid for the love of his hero.
"Unfortunately."
"Woah," Adrian said. He walked closer to Frank, hands clasped in front of him. "Is he as muscly as he looks? Does he move with the same grace and poise as he does on TV? Is his voice as smooth and seductive as the rumours say? Does he smell like strawberries?"
"Does he smell like-I don't go around sniffing him!" Frank could admit the other points were true though.
"Can you introduce me?" Adrian said, almost desperately.
For one brief moment Frank considered it, just so he could see the expression on Red's face at coming face-to-face with a superfan. Frank didn't think Red would know what to do or how to take it, whether to be flattered or alarmed, and would babble incoherently, maybe even just fling his grappling hook onto the nearest building and flee the scene rather than have to deal with it.
Frank smiled at the thought.
"No," Frank said. Adrian looked like he was going to cry because Frank had crushed his dreams, so he hurried on. "I can't just go round introducing people to other vigilantes. They've got work to do, you know? If he's chatting away with you, he ain't, I dunno, stopping someone getting mugged. And when he found out he'd missed something he'd get all mopey and he is unbearable when he's mopey. Besides, it's Hell's Kitchen. You'll probably stumble across each other eventually. You'll be the one getting mugged or something."
Adrian seemed to brighten immediately, and Frank wondered if he needed to worry that Adrian would throw himself into danger in the hopes that Daredevil would save him. Red would, but it wasn't worth tempting fate.
"Do you have no self-respect?" Frank said instead. At Adrian's confused expression he gestured at the costume again. "Being a grown-ass adult going around dressed as some dude in a costume that beats up people in his down time? A real person, not something fictional? Are you not embarrassed to be out like that in public and for people to see you?"
"Not really," Adrian explained with a shrug. "There's a bunch of us. It's a pretty popular costume."
"Un-fucking-believable," Frank said. He didn't know why he was surprised. "What happened to the good old classic witches, vampires, ghosts, zombies, demons and devils?" Frank asked exasperated. "When did vigilantes become the go-to costumes?"
The guy raised his eyebrows at Frank and had the audacity to eye him up and down like Frank was the weird one before snorting. "Er, I am a devil," he said, gesturing to his horns. Frank considered shooting him for the hell of it. "Besides, how old are you? Those others are so old-fashioned, dude. My Nan dressed as a witch back in her day. Do you also wear a bedsheet and pretend you're a ghost?"
'Dude.' Yeah, Frank was gonna shoot him. There was no fear left in Adrian now, and Frank was insulted he was now seen as an old man with no taste stuck in the old days whilst Red was a superhero and idolised.
"Well, are there any mes?" Frank asked before he could stop himself, despite not wanting to know the answer. "People dressed in a Punisher costume?"
"Er…no? Nobody wants to get arrested by the cops – or shot – because they're dressed as the freaking Punisher," the guy replied, which, yeah, that was fair. His face brightened. "Oh, no wait, I saw a dog dressed up in a Punisher costume earlier. That was cool. So you are loved."
He said it like Frank should be grateful for that. Red got a small army of people emulating him out of awe and respect and Frank got a dog. He put in just as much effort as Red; more even, seeing as he researched his targets rather than just rock up and hope for the best like some people.
"For fuck's sake," Frank said.
Adrian shrugged. "Maybe next year, dude." He smiled. "Hey, if I work out how to do decent blood, I'll dress as you rather than zombie Captain America so you have at least one human dressed as you."
Frank wasn't sure whether to be glad or insulted that he was a pity costume.
"Whatever, hit the road," Frank said, jerking his head in the direction of the nearest entrance to the main street. "Don't drink anymore and maybe call it a night. Don't kill anyone."
Adrian snorted. "Call it a night? Yeah, right. The night is still young, man, and there's so much more trouble to get into."
Yeah, that was what Frank was worried about. The night had barely started and he'd already had a drug-smuggling operation gone wrong and someone almost die in front of him. He couldn't imagine what kinda shit would happen later in the night when the real monsters came out. Frank would've thought about calling it a night himself, but on a night where crime was particularly high and with that gang still on the loose, he couldn't.
Adrian skipped off before Frank could say anything with a wave goodbye. Frank shook his head and pulled out his phone to dial David's number.
"Hello!" David's voice greeted cheerily.
"I need you to track a car for me and run some faces through your identification software to see if you can get some IDs and addresses," Frank said.
"Well, Happy Halloween to you too," David said, his voice light. "How urgently do you need it?"
"I've got two gang leaders who run a huge drug-smuggling operation and their cronies on the run with their biggest haul of the year," Frank said. "I need it soon."
"Oh, come on! You know it's Halloween, right?"
"Yes, David, I know it's Halloween." He didn't need the reminder after running into a costumed weirdo dressed as a costumed weirdo when all he got was a dog. "It's one of the nights of the year that has the highest crime rate."
David gave a long-suffering sigh. "Fine. I'm out with the kids at the moment, doing their trick-or-treating, can you wait an hour until we're home or do I have to sneak off and use my phone for illegal activity."
Frank huffed. "I suppose it can wait an hour."
"Hey, cheer up. Guess who Zach wanted to go dressed as this year?" David said excitedly.
"It better not be fucking Daredevil."
"Nope," David said. "He wanted to go dressed as his favourite vigilante and honorary uncle who has 'a kick-ass skull vest and really cool boots.'"
Frank smiled genuinely, a rare instance these days but more common than it had been a few years ago. "Is that right?"
"Uh huh," David said. "Only three people have given me and Sarah disapproving looks and one old lady told us we should be ashamed of ourselves for letting him wear that, but who cares. Zach's happy, we're happy, screw her. Zach told her as much and said The Punisher was a better person than she'd ever be, which completely scandalised her, then Leo threatened to hit her with her stick if she didn't beat it. I think me and Sarah have nailed parenting."
"What about Leo?" Frank asked, pushing down the memories of him and Maria taking Frankie and Lisa out every year. Sometimes the Libermans reminded him so much of his family it was like a stab to the chest, all the could've beens and would've beens right in front of him to see. "She a princess? Or a witch if she has a stick." The latter was more likely.
David snorted. "Leo? Nah. She wanted to go as your BFF."
"My who?"
"Your best friend forever," David said with a sigh. "Well, your third BFF, next to me and Curtis. I'd make a very boring costume unfortunately, even though Sarah disagrees. She's dressed as me."
Frank frowned, trying to think of who it could be. Karen? No, Leo hadn't met her, nor had she met Amy. Madani? More likely.
A pit of dread started to form in Frank's stomach as he thought of another option.
"I don't know, who is it?" Frank said. He knew the answer before David said it.
"Well, as you so eloquently put it, fucking Daredevil." There was a yelp and Sarah's voice reprimanding David for using that language around the children, but Frank wasn't listening.
"Tell Leo I thought she had better taste."
"Sure. Hey, sweetie?" David called.
"No, no, don't actually-"
"Uncle Frank says he thought you had better taste."
David was silent and Frank could just about make out the sound of Leo's muffled voice replying on the other end.
"Leo says could you please ask Daredevil how he throws his sticks with such accuracy, because she keeps trying to hit Zach and misses."
Because he has superpowers.
"Tell her to stop trying to hit her brother."
David laughed. "Is that a no?"
"It's a 'I know how he does it so don't need to ask him and I ain't telling you.' Call me when you got something."
He hung up before David could answer with another question.
Typical. His own friends had turned against him and thought Daredevil was the perfect Halloween costume. At least Zach had the right idea and loved him; Frank was more than flattered about him emulating Frank. He made a note to pick Zach up some chocolate as a reward. Leo got nothing for being a traitor.
(Who was Frank kidding, he would cave and get her something.)
Frank drew his collar up and hopped up the steps that led to the main street. Hopefully people just thought he was someone dressed as The Punisher rather than the real one like Adrian had before.
He stopped as two different people dressed as Daredevil walked past him, one of them punching Frank on the shoulder with a 'Ah ha! My greatest enemy!' and a grin when he spotted him.
Un-fucking-believable.
