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"Ceasefire! Come on, children, this way!"
----
He's made it.
Goddamnit. Fucking finally.
It's...a bit surprising he didn't die, if he's being honest with himself.
(And also bit boring. Death's been avoiding him like the plague lately, the old bastard.)
Doesn't matter. Not now.
The kids are safe. At last. He hopes that he's not making the wrong choice. He hopes they grow up to be better than their parents.
He wouldn't want to cross paths with them again if they don't.
Their footsteps are slowly dissapearing, along with their tiny, shaking voices, as they're getting closer and closer to their salvation.
Except for one. She's holding a baby doll, curled up in the very corner of the bus, quietly sobbing.
He scoops her in his arms. She startles a bit as he shushes her and lightly rocks her, but she quickly quiets down, almost melting into the touch of his scarred hands.
Annie...no, not her.
Annie's gone.
What's her name again?
Was it Fel...
(Not Felice. She's gone too.)
Katie.
That's right.
Katie shakes as he holds her, (or is that him?) her sobbing slowly quieting down as she nuzzles her face closer to his chest.
(Felice used to do that too.
What would they think of their daddy now?
Would they scream?
Would they run away?
Would they even know him anymore?)
The other kids rush from the stolen bus into the police's embrace, but not Katie.
She doesn't get down. She offers him her battered doll with one hand as the other one curls onto a tiny, terrified fist.
She asks him if he's sick.
Oh, little girl.
You cannot imagine how much.
(You shouldn't have to.)
He carries her down the stairs onto the street, lets her go, gently, and raises his hands in defeat as the men and women in blue point his guns towards his chest.
And to think that only five years ago, he would have been one of them, standing on the other side.
Bah.
Let them shoot him.
In fact, maybe they'll be doing him a favour.
He can't see straight. The taste of bile permeates his mouth, his muscles are stretched sore, like the feeling he used to get after a good run, only increased tenfold.
He's exhausted, he's hurt, and he needs his stash.
Or a bullet to the chest. Either would do.
Either way, he needs to stop shaking like an old leaf. He needs this feeling to go away.
The Punisher doesn't get sick. Doesn't get...whatever this is.
(Withdrawal. It's withdrawal. Admit it, you addict trash)
If he's sloppy, the guilty walk free.
And if the guilty walk free, people die.
The mission is the only thing that matters. He's but a vessel.
God's punishment, given flesh.
(God's soldiers don't need amphetamines to numb the pain, idiot)
And so, he lets them take him.
Lets the cold steel of the cuffs bite into his feverish wrists, feeling more like a branding iron than a tool of restraint, lets them toss away his weapons (expensive, he'll have to retrieve them later. Or steal more), lets them manhandle him into the cramped police car, the smell of stale coffee, cheap shampoo and a faint whiff of dried blood that he cannot distinguish if it's coming from him or from the ambience itself.
Once again his mind wonders to a time where life seemed bright, where he still held joy in his eyes, and muses once again about how odd is the fact that only a couple years ago, he would be the one driving.
No. Not him.
Frank Castle is dead.
He died with his family a long time ago.
He was buried with his girls in a no-name cemetery five years ago, surrounded by flags and condolences from people they barely even knew.
No, Frank Castle doesn't exist.
That's not who he is anymore.
Frank Castle is no more.
Only The Punisher remains.
(Only, why does he have to keep reminding himself of it, then?)
Someone is barking orders at him. He can't understand what they're saying, his ears feel like a busted radio, catching only a sharp, painful static. His vision tunnels and blurs at the same time.
He can't understand the words, but he figures that these rookies must be terrified, or at the very least in awe.
Frank Castle was a legend at the precinct, after all.
It must be quite the sight to be carrying a ghost with his face in the back of their cars.
As the patrol car speeds away from the scene, he swears for a moment he can see a face.
A familiar one.
Used to be...a friend.
(Jake? Jake Berkowitz?)
The memories don't come knocking, they slam upon the doors of his brain and enter like the Great Flood from The Good Book, destructive, unwanted, all-encompassing. A sharp pang (like a bullet) crosses through his head as flashes of a picnic, a BBQ, the car steakout to catch Moretti all come back to him at once.
(I'm sorr-)
...
He shuts it all off, shaking his head to get both the thoughts and the headache away.
Not important.
Not relevant for the mission.
God, he hopes they dump him in a cell soon. The chills are getting worse, and it's not because of the weather.
He needs to stop.
No...
He...
He needs it.
He needs more.
He needs to stay awake.
Focused.
Sharp.
His throat aches, and there's a sticky warm sensation on his upper lip.
Goddamn it, is it really blood?
Has he really sunk that low?
He reached rock bottom and kept digging, it seems.
He wipes it on his sleeve, the dark, thick red mixing with the black leather, dissapearing in a perfect harmony, but he does it so quickly that his bruised ribcage screams in protest at the sudden movement, and the wound on his shoulder screams like the damned. He swallows the grunt. They don't need to know.
He doesn't need the fake pity or the side stares from a bunch of baby-faced rookies who'll forget about him as soon as the file is stored in the folder. Just as quickly as they forgot about his girls.
(No, he doesn't need them. What he needs are the pills, the syringes. Anything now. Anything to take the fucking edge off. God, it hurts. Ithurtsithurtsithurts-
FOCUS.)
A sharp sting invades his nostrils...wait no, not a sting. Lilac?
Is that her perfume?
(Is that Julie's face watching him?
Honey? Why...why do you look so...mad?...
No.
No.
NO.
She's gone. She's GONE.)
Goddamnit, he needs a fix.
Or at least a cot to crash onto.
This is getting unsustainable.
Is this God's answer to his prayers?
Is this his way of saying "Stop"?
Or is this just another test?